Poetry

تو دلي

توي دلت مونسم تا به حال گريه كردي ؟
اشكها قظار شده ، پنهان از چشم ديگران كردي؟
گريه با آهي پر از سكوت در دل شب
گريه با حس درد با دل خالي در نيمه شب
گريه ترس و بي هق هقه كنار معشوق
گريه سرد و پر صدا در كنار سكوت درياچه عشق
>>>

Rus

Am I the only one remembering Malinin?
concentrating to become a bird or a cat
in those thin paperbacks on cheap paper
that crumbled after just a few reading?

Or in the first alternative theater
that showed film festivals for children,
those sparse Russian shorts, in woods,
a few kids lost among leaves of maple? >>>

Treading softly

October 7th 2008 marks the 80th anniversary of the birth of one of Iran’s most celebrated modern poets, Sohrab Sepehri. On that day, hundreds of people will make their way to the lonely, remote mosque of Mashhad Ardehal, (on the desert road between Kashan and Dilijan), to pay their respects, recite poetry and lay flowers on the grave of this much-loved poet. Awaiting them will be no grand memorial tomb such as that of Hafez or Sa’adi: no pavilion with fragrant gardens, no trees to adorn and give shade. All they will see is a marble flagstone in the courtyard of the mosque (outside the women’s entrance), sometimes trodden below the feet of visitors on their way to prayer. The inscription on the stone reads:>>>

یرما: آبرونامه ی زنان جهان

دیشب نمایش یرما اثر فدریکو گارسیا لورکا را دیدم. پیش از رفتن به نمایش دلم می خواست چند کلمه در موردش بنویسم ولی کار و گرفتاری نگذاشت و برای همین موکولش کردم به نوشتن مطلبی به بهانه اجرای یرما. از اجراهایی که در آن یرما از صبح تا شب با لباس خواب جلوی چشمان خوان می چرخد تا او را به رختخواب بکشاند و باز هم تلاشی بکنند تا شاید بچه دار شدند خوشم نمی آید. از ویکتوری که هی مردانگی مذکر خود را به رخ تماشاچی می کشد خوشم نمی آید. از خوان قلدری که زنش را له و لورده می کند خوشم نمی آید. نکته ی شخصیت های لورکا در دوگانگی وجودی شان است. یرما در عین عفیف بودن پر است از امیال سرکوب شده. خوان در عین قلدری و سختی، شکننده هم هست. ویکتور دخترکش نیست، بلکه جفت مناسبی است برای یرما و آن دو خودشان این را نمی دانند بلکه ما هستیم که این را می دانیم و در خلال نمایش به آن پی می بریم.>>>

The Reed flute

It was a summer day year 2000(I think it was 2000). I was in New York City to visit some relatives and enjoyed the stay. A cousin of mine who was interested in Sufism told me about a Rumi conference that was going to be held in the Columbia University. I have had read little about Rumi and remembered some famous lines of his poetry and his love for Shams Tabrizi, but I really did not know so much about him. Also, the only thing about sufism I knew was the paintings of old dervishes with their axe. Back at my parental home we used to have a very elegant copy of the Omar Khayyams Rubaiyat. I enjoyed reading its poems so much that I made my high school special assignment about Khayyam>>>

My Heart Knows Best

To my battered heart
By the thought of a new love
I keep screaming … ENOUGH IS ENOUGH!!!
But my heart shrugs it off, as if HE is the one in charge!
While the shadow of her smile
still covers the rays of my sun
While the sound of her name
still rings into my ears >>>

هيچ معجزه ای نيست!

هنوز نمی دانند
قهرمانان بازاری اند
پيامبران فرسوده
هيچ معجزه ای نيست
مگر عشق
ـ همان حيات هوشمندی که
تنها در سياره های زنده نفس می کشد،
از فرمان خدايان سر می پيچد،
و بر تن سيب بوسه می زند. >>>

Cycle of distance

He was from remote
mountains of Mazandaran, my father
son of horseback riding Amards.
Once a tall handsome man, his eyes Caspian Sea
under clear skies, his hair a dazzle of light, delicate glasses and ego
in stiff three piece silence, stony gaze and saucy grin, he spoke
like a starched sage >>>

اشگ شراب...

از وقتی تو رفته ای
صد ها نخ سیگار
در لابلای انگشتان تو
خاموش مانده است
و دودشان در دل من به آهی بدل.
>>>

این کافه چه می خواهد

این کافه به دستان من رشک می ورزد
غذای سوخته می دهد
آبجوی خوبی ندارد
صندلی هایش مرا لق می کنند
خرده های شکر روی میزهایش
تراشیده از مجسمه قهرمانی است ناکام >>>

Mistress

I have become jobless, no longer
Distracted by the mundane chores,
“Stillness” has become a mistress
But I am too scared to indulge –
Had never seen the majesty of
Ocean under the skylight of stars. >>>

Soul to Soul

Surrounded by two pillars of ivory
The gate is opening up
The path to her being is becoming visible
Her soul is calling
A crescent as bent as the moon
Occupies my vision form above
A crescent as white as the ivory pillars gently hugging my ears >>>

Death

No, I don't want you to trot
with your polite confidence
back and forth
in my nightmare.
Saddle, gun and spur
and the tilted hat, black
as the blood you spilled,
through the dead calm >>>

با زبان تو...

تا ظلم ِ رفته دیگر به یادم نیاید
به کشف زبانی نو
              در تو می­نگرم.
به جستجوی گرمایی ازلی
در شيارهای زمین
     بر تو دست می­سایم   
>>>

Messiah

A millinium has passed
and another and
another,
no Saoshyant has arrived.
Mahdi won’t arrive either.
By the Jewish account Jesus will come to save the Jews
Or
By the Christian account he will come to end the Judaism. >>>