Poetry
كاشكى شاه از وطنش جدا نبود – كاشكى
در باره تحقيقات عباس قلى خان كاشكى شاه از وطنش جدا نبود – كاشكى كاشكى شاه نوكر آمريكا نبود – كاشكى كاشكى اينهمه غارت نمى
September 22, 2013
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در باره تحقيقات عباس قلى خان كاشكى شاه از وطنش جدا نبود – كاشكى كاشكى شاه نوكر آمريكا نبود – كاشكى كاشكى اينهمه غارت نمى
Democracy in US Has become a real mess Democracy for lobbies Democracy for press Democracy in UK At one time it was ok But
I wrote this letter to President Obama following the ground invasion of Gaza by Israelis in January 2009 and the massacre that followed. The invasion
رده دوم با استقبال از شاهنامه فردوسی بشد روى يك اسب تارى سوار و گفتا چنين كوسه نامدار کسی کو هوای فِریدون کند
I pronounce her name Among roses Wet with my tears Placed on the chimney breast Beneath my eyes. And then I gather the scent
Down in the courtyard, Haji Firooz is playing– singing, wailing beating his tambourine. But the children are all gone. Lined up like tea spoons
They say Americans aren’t welcome abroad –Na Baba! We can wield that big stick, but we’re no longer free to trod –Na Baba! I
The guests are filling the other room, and still you lie here, pretending to sleep. You’ve got your headphones on- but your not listening
Today, we are casting winter from our hearts while everywhere around us earth devours the last tadigh of snow. Today, the lady of the house
عادت های کوچک، مرا شکل میدهند و رویای بزرگ مرا از یاد برده است با صدای آدمک ساعتی بیدار میشوم پاجامه ام را میپوشم و
I gained the wind And you the fire. Ignite! So we can dance Over the ruins of the world. By Majid Naficy October 15,
در ——- درِ خانه ی من تنها یک لنگه دارد کُلون ندارد و کوبه ندارد و روی سینه ی آن را گُلمیخ های قدیمی نپوشانده
Emily Dickinson calls “hope” a bird Who has perched in her soul And without asking for seeds Sings incessantly. I saw it as a cricket
The night is half over in Texas And it is past midnight in New York. The day is opening its eyes in Sweden Only in
On my balcony There are three things That make my day: Wind chimes, a red rose and a stationary bike. Every morning when I sit
پرده تمدنش را کنار زدم تا آبشاری از مرمر سپید نمایان شد. دستهای زمخت و تیره رنگم با هیجان سرگرم ستایش آن اعجاز شدند. …
My neighbor and her grandchildren Are going to the zoo To visit the crocodiles of the Nile river Who, everyday after lunch Lie back on
We grow old far from each other, You, there Where shady trees lead to Philosophers’ Way With a tree house built by a playful forest
There is a green fence Between death and me Covered by an old vine. When passing by I part the dense leaves To see the
O Mountain! One day I will return to you And put a crown of paper on your head. Cloudy or sunny, it doesn’t matter. Starting
You put your right hand on my pillow I lay my left cheek on your palm You close your eyes And I hold you with
We climbed the Great Wall of China And reached the second watchtower Where a narrow, dark minaret Joined the blue sky in a balcony. There,
Over the city of Istanbul A bird circles And moans in the moonlight: Perhaps it has come from the strait of Bosphorus From the port
HAKIM ABOLGHASEM FERDOWSI TOOSI (935-1020) Ferdowsi has been considered as the first Iranian poet of national epics. Most Iranians regard Ferdowsi as the greatest of
Today New York bent down And cried In the Atlantic waters She sustained a wound To her spine Then she remembered The old wounds of
