Ayatollahs & Rial's misery
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«اسارت» یک لفظ نیست، یک واژه نیست. اسارت یعنی زوال، یعنی مرگ تدریجی
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IT SEEMS THAT WE ARE STILL TRYING TO FORCE OUR VIEWS UPON OTHERS IN THE MIDDLE EAST AND ASIA
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How democratic are Iranians really? In my view, just an objective survey can really reveal this. I now have created an easy online possibilty to find out more.
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In this short yet deeply meaningful essay, we will develop the thrills and perils of Iranian sex even furher.
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در اين نوشته، به صاحبان قدرت در درون رژيم، پرداخته شده است.
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what people think about some times
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POETRY
last night I began to paint.
I painted and painted all night until
she opened her eyes and ran out screaming.
My choice of canvas may have shocked her.
I thought it would be a good idea to paint us,
a beautiful portrait of us.
From when things were good and beautiful and real.
I started looking for something to paint on and
that’s when I started to paint us inside my eyelids.
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POETRY
With song for grandfather
by Azad Naficy
ساعت 7 روی تخت "برادر کوچک" ام بیدار شدم
محروم از خواب، بوی ملایم مرگ را شنیدم
از جا پریدم، یک ساعت دیگر امتحان روانشناسی داشتم
باید به خانه ی خودم می رفتم برای صبحانه و حمام
اما هنوز وارد خانه نشده، تلفن زنگ زد
پدرم بود که می گفت بابابزرگ در بستر مرگ است
شماره ی اصفهان را گرفتم و به خانه اش زنگ زدم
و از مامان بزرگ پرسیدم آیا بابابزرگ به ابدیت پیوسته؟
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POETRY
For my son, Azad and in memory of my father, Abutorab Naficy (1914-2007)
My father brought them from America
They were soft and cozy
Red on the outside and white inside
With a green headpiece in between.
We were sitting in the "turret room".
Father wore a sheepskin Caucasian cap.
His eyes were opened wide
And his hands covered his ears
Looking like a wolf in the snow.
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PICTORY
Photo essay: General Hassan Arfa's "Under Five Shahs"
by
Darius Kadivar >>>