by Soheyla Marzvaan

Consciousness, for some a worldly trait

A world, we all dictate. Yet…

A few are free of this earth

Those who transcend this state

In seconds death arrives

In seconds lives can change

In seconds you lose your soul

Your life spent in cage

In days the innocent child dies

The faster that he learns

To follow your rules and games

He too will kill, in hate, he remains

Then one after another

We carve our separate beings

So solid in our minds

That my Gods are better than that of yours

No unity, we’re separate

We’re different in disguise

The righteous, the silent death, welcomes duality

 Deny source, you must hate, must destroy

Destroy totality , hell with commonality

Don’t put more logs on fire

And hope for distant freedom

Give love, and shine like “Mitra”

Sun, true light, that Divine “Meehan”

Roar like the “lion” that you are

Make goodness from “Ahreeman”


Recently by Soheyla MarzvaanCommentsDate
Nov 26, 2009
Oct 26, 2009
Follow the Stream
Sep 16, 2009
more from Soheyla Marzvaan
Soheyla Marzvaan


by Soheyla Marzvaan on

 Dear Divinity,

Thanks for noticing my abscence. I am flattered. You are a keen observer. thanks for your kind words.

With Gratitude,



Soheyla Marzvaan

Thank you Eric

by Soheyla Marzvaan on

Soheyla Marzvaan

Dear Eric,

Thank you for sharing your poem with me. You have a big heart.

In hope of global unity,




You're back

by Divinity on


I am glad you posted another jewel after a long abscense. We missed you. This piece cleverly has two beautiful messages. Spiritual and political. Nestled in simplicity, yet drentched with deep wisdom .

Post more, and inspire ....  



Eric Alai

Great poem, Soheyla! Here's one of mine.

by Eric Alai on

Poem for Neda

Open Your Eyes by Eric Alai

I wonder if pres. Monkey imagined that his daughter might lie there in the street where I saw the faces of my sisters in Neda’s face after she fell with her eyes looking at me and her father telling her, “Open your eyes, open your eyes!”

My heart bursts for those who suffer, even the Sharpshooter, who put Neda in his sight, burst the heart of Neda for theological “right.” Sharpshooter—what do you think of while you lie in bed at night after you’ve taken off your bullet belts, holsters, and helmets? Sharpshooter—did they order you to shoot one, an order from Bearded Turban Man and Monkey? Afterward, did you joke with your comrades, saying “What a shot!” Or did you cry in the darkness of your room while your bullet belts, holsters, and helmet lay on your dresser?

Biker Baboons and their vroom, vroom, vrooms down streets with iron mallets, playing polo, and the young and old stumble, bloody, broken bones, toward the eyes of the cell phones.

pres. Monkey, Bearded Turban Man, Sharpshooter , and Biker Baboon claim spirituality, yet they kill spirit, silence voices— how can that be, that in this they rejoice? They cause the silence of spirit, the voice of freedom.

Their crime not only a crime against one, but billions—us. Neda is all of humanity.

One morning soon as they begin to put on their garb, they will decide to not to, decide to open their eyes.