Arts and Literature

بوی تبعید

پدرم باران بود
همره چرخش دریا چرخید؛
با سخاوت بارید.
و چو در پهنه گسترده خاک
،چهره اش پنهان شد
چشمه ها جوشیدند
شاخه ها گل دادند؛
سبزه ها رقصیدند؛
لاله ها خندیدند.

>>>

The Spider Killings (16)

Roxanne went straight to Peyman’s house after checking in at her hotel in Mashad. Though she had telephoned Ramin from Tehran about her friend’s disappearance, she found that she could not sit by the telephone, idly awaiting news from the Brigadier-General. She must be there in person. There had been another row with Manou but Roxanne was used to that. What she was more upset about was leaving Setareh again. She would tell her daughter about everything once she got back to Tehran. It was high time she knew the details of her mother’s work. It would help her to understand. When she reached Peyman’s home, the door was slightly ajar. She pushed it open and walked in. No sign of Peyman.>>>

The Pomegranate Path (2)

It was exactly 5:03 when Ollie walked in the door. “Ali joon, is that you?” his mother called out from the kitchen. “Baleh, maman! Kohjahee?” Ollie answered. “I’m in the kitchen,” she hollered back. He didn’t need to ask her what she was doing because he could smell the sweet, yet pungent aroma of pomegranate paste in the air, and he knew in an instant that this could mean only one thing – khoreste fesenjan, or simply fesenjan, for short! Ollie never could figure out why his mother and other Iranians spelled fesenjan in English the way they did, f-e-s-e-n-j-a-n; the way they pronounced it when speaking Persian was f-e-s-e-n-j-o-o-n. Fesenjan was Ollie’s favorite Persian food>>>

Saving the Death

Mary secretly moves her air mattress and blanket to the Red Cross tent, where the corpses are laid out in plastic bags. Since there is no running water to give them a proper Islamic wash, someone will come tomorrow to give them ablution by earth before they are buried in a mass grave. She sets her cot by the opening of the tent and lies with her back to the dead; It is better to breathe the freezing air of the desert winter, than the odour of decaying bodies. Two corpses—a young woman and a young man partly wrapped in white cotton sheets—share a plastic bag as if asleep side by side. Mary feels a pang in her breast and gasps.>>>

How I Became My Older Brother

I am sure there is a problem that can hopefully be rectified, said my sixth grade teacher. While he was patting my back gently as the sign of support, he told me you should be able to take the final exams when we correct the mistake. After nearly fifty nine years of age, I still think about the boyhood memories and cherish them with an open heart. May be the weird and wonderful stories that happened in my life in a very distant past are reawakening my mind to the childhood era. Past memories appear like crystal clear drops of water providing me with interesting subjects to write about. They are like burning clean natural gas creating clear blue flames; they are like acid reflux at the middle of night keeping you awake and thinking>>>

یک سوزن به خودت بزن یک جوال دوز به مردم

خیلی ازایرانیها میگویند که خارجیها (اروپائی و آمریکائها) نژاد پرست هستند و ما مهمان دوستیم. من تا حالا افغانی ندیدم که از مهمان نوازی ایرانیها تعریف کند! از لحنی که درباره اعراب صحبت میکنیم که نمیگم. قبول اونام به ما میگن عجم ولی این هر دوش نژاد پرستی است. تا حال چند نفر ایرانی دهید ه اید که با یک سیاه پو ست یا عرب ازدواج کرده باشه؟ چاپلوسی به خارجیان پولدار را بجای مهمان نوازی جلوه دادن هنریست که نزد ایرانیان است و بس.>>>

Pomegranates

When I was a child
Living in Shiraz
I never had one or two
Pomegranates
Eating pomegranates
Was about having
5 or 6 large fruits
In one sitting >>>

Normal, in a weird way

Today was the first day of Spring, which is also the Persian New Year. I've been trying to adjust to the time difference and get my sleep pattern back in order but otherwise, it hasn't really been difficult acclimating to Iran. Although the Islamic regime is still the ruling governing body, a lot of things have changed since my last trip 5 years ago. I haven't felt weird about being here since I arrived and it's actually a little strange that I haven't felt that way. It feels very normal...as normal as when I would fly to L.A. from NY to visit my family...like being at home even though I didn't grow up here.>>>

Persian Dirt Under The Carpet

When you speak of purging gender apartheid

 

Bear in mind mixing public places would invite

Sexual harassment of anything female that moves

As it was done by men and boys under the Shah.

>>>

The Islamic Mission to Europe

On the auspicious day of 25 of Shawwal (the tenth Muhammedan month, beginning with the feast of breaking the fast of Ramadan) of the year 1346, representatives of the Muslim nations were solemnly invited to participate in a conference in Samarrah, one of the prosperous cities of Arabia, in order to deliberate and consult about sending a team of missionaries to disseminate and promulgate the orthodox Islamic teachings throughout the world. Mr. Crown of the Orators (Taj ul-Mutakallimin) was the president, Mr. Nightingale of Islam (‘Andalib ul-Islam) the deputy, Mr.Helm of the Law (Sukkan u-ShShari’a) the consultant and accountant, and Mr. Chief of Commanders (Sunnat ul-Aqtab) the stenographer of the conference>>>

The Pomegranate Path

The sun was just beginning to rise over the March horizon as Ollie’s new alarm clock began to ring. He struggled to open his eyes, but with the room still dark and the bed so invitingly warm, he fought to resist the temptation to lay back down for just a few minutes more. The last time that he closed his eyes for just a few minutes more, he ended up being an hour and a half late for school. This is the reason why his mother bought him this damn new monstrosity. As he struggled to consciousness, the fleeting thought popped into his groggy head that this was no ordinary clock; no, this was Big Ben!>>>

نگاه بامدادان

ز سر کرم که گوید مه شاد خوش لقا را
که به رسم دلنوازی بنوازد آشنا را؟
نه به دل شکیب ماندم که طریق عقل پویم
که به اوش وام دارم قدح جهان نما را.
چو ثمر فراتر افتد ز دو دست کوته ما
>>>

The Spider Killings (15)

Babak had not dreamt of his mother Fati in a long time. He still missed her a lot but he was glad he was not having his nightmares anymore where a creature resembling his mother but smelling of damp earth and with two gaping black holes where its eyes should have been would fool him into thinking she was still alive, waiting for him at Kuh Sangi Park. Accepting the harsh reality that his mother was gone forever and would never come back to pick him up from Mahin Khanoom’s house had been a traumatic ordeal for the five year old>>>

لرزه های تن تو

می دانی وقتی به تو فکر می کنم
پیراهن روحم را از تنم بیرون می کنم
تا به تو بیاویزم من
لبان صورتی ات را به دهانم می دوزم
ودر جسم تو حل می شوم
تا تنمانمان در هم دوخته شود
>>>

It's a girl

On Presidents' Day, Rain is keeping pace, With moans in the bathtub, Cutting through her dream, Riding the waves of pain. >>>