Archive - Mar 20, 2010 - Article

Naneh Sarma and Amu Nowruz

Every year it is the same ritual. On the Spring Equinox, when the days and nights are equal in Iran and all the expanses that once belonged to her, I fly down Mount Qâf, carrying Young Man Spring, Amu Nowruz, on my back. I am Mother Simorq and Amu Nowruz is one of my eternal friends high up on Mount Qâf. When my wings fold down over the slopes of the mountain, I drop off this beautiful messenger of spring and watch him walk to a chestnut horse that waits for him>>>

Predictions of a Great Guru

When I was a kid growing up in the small city of Shahr-e-Rey, about ten kilometers south of Tehran, where its major industry was importing corps and exporting Bacheh Akhond, baby mullahs, most exciting entertainment in our daily life was to sit around with the other kids watching each other grow. Moving to the capital, Tehran was the most stimulating experience in my life. Everything appeared unimaginably different: much bigger, shinier, newer, and on the grandest of scales, so spectacular that could drive a kid literally mad>>>

Green Skies (3)

Colonel Nazemi is standing in the falling snow.With his right hand, he is holding the collar of his navy blue coat tight against his freezing neck.He is holding a radio in his left hand.Standing next to him are the military police major and lieutenant who had shown up at his office earlier.There are about a dozen other men, officers and maintenance men, standing behind him.They are all gazing at the sky.Lt. Parsaa has radioed in, and they are awaiting his arrival.They know that his aircraft has been hit and is severely damaged>>>

هفت سین کوچک

هفت سین کوچک من
بگو کجاست ریشه من
در خاک یا آتش و باد
هستی،  نبرد
در انتظار عیدی شاد
هفت سین کوچک من >>>