Arts and Literature

Nights in Laguna Hills

Flickering lantern lights,

Dancing butterflies,

A nervous mist settling in,

Night softening smooth Jazz, >>>

Tehran Girl

I am a Tehran girl. I was born in Tehran’s Amirieh neighborhood, but moved to Tehran Pars with my family before I turned one. The quiet and sleepy suburban neighborhood had all that was ideal about raising children, I guess. The perfect new streets, all straight and numbered, were signs that this was one of the first planned neighborhoods of Tehran. It had amenities no other neighborhood had as yet, a huge playground, a modern public swimming pool, a drive-in cinema, two adjacent elementary schools for girls and boys, and even aspirations for a casino!>>>

She

Is there anything more dreadful than a cold grey November day?
What could brighten it?
Really?
How about a ray of sunshine, bundled in a soft pink blanket?
That will do nicely – I say!
Within moments of emerging from the warm womb
The arrival of my one and only niece
The little sausage >>>

Dining Table

How beautiful you are, table!
You let us look at one another's eyes
And taste one another's joy.  
Hands and spoons,
Bites of bread,
And sips of water,
And the sound of friendship of glasses >>>

Baby Bride

The best day of my life was when mom bought me the Princess Saba in her long white dress covered with thousands of colorful tinsels. Her lush blonde hair falling over her chest was so shiny that when in stared at them it was like staring into the sun. Her eyes were blue, the type that open and close. Every day I combed her hair, I touch her breasts hoping one day mine would grow like them. My only wish was to become a bride just like the Princess with blonde hair, blue eyes, red lips and white gown>>>

تون تون ماکوتز

پرده برزنت آرام آرام شروع کرد به پائین آمدن و دسته موزیک به طور نا هم آهنگی به نواختن سرود ملی پرداخت. دقایقی طول کشید تا سطح آبهای استخر را همه ببینند. ناگهان همه جمعیت از وحشت بر جای خود میخکوب شدند. اسکلت های سربازان گم شده گروهان اول کوندور بر سطح آب شناور بود. سفیدی جمجمه ها زیر آفتاب استوائی می درخشید. آب استخر مخلوطی بود از خون و پوست و امعاء و احشاء سربازانی که بعد از بازگشت از ماموریت سرکوب شورش های انتخابات 12 ژوئن بدون اینکه شنا بلد باشند پریده بودند داخل استخر و همگی غرق شده بودند>>>

عشق مدیترانه ای

دریا که آرام است چیزی کم دارد
چیزی شبیه عشق مدیترانه ای
و عشق
این ژنی که در سلولهای من
هر روزه متولد می شود
مانند آونگی میان دو هیچ >>>

Pomegranate Planet

This is the time of year when the days grow shorter and darker. It's also the time that my son Niko and I love because it is the season of pomegranates and persimmons. We had the pleasure of partaking in our pomegranate pleasure at the annual Wolfskill Experimental Orchard's fall pomegranate and persimmon tasting day -- which my son has dubbed the "Pomegranate Festival." This year, in addition to going to the actual festival, I volunteered the day before at the USDA National Clonal Germplasm Repository where more than 200 varieties of wild and cultivated pomegranates (largely from Western and Central Asia) are grown, studied, and preserved>>>

حرامزاده

سلام ایران!
من دختر حرامزاده ی توام
پدرانم را می شناسم
ناصرالدین شاه و ملیجکانش
و مادرانم
زنان گیس بریده ی اندرونی ها >>>

ظلمت

شبانگاه است.
خیمۀ خون خطاکاران
گنبد گور دلیران است.
غروب قصۀ قران
طلوع آتش یکتا پرستان است.
شبانگاه است.
>>>

Who are we?

Homa Katouzian’s latest book The Persians is arguably the most comprehensive and learned history of Iran and the Iranian people encapsulated in a single volume in the English language to date. Few authors would be so bold as to take on the mammoth task of writing a history covering several millennia of Iranian history, but then again, few are as qualified as Katouzian for just such an undertaking. And the reason for Katouzian’s success in pulling off such a massive feat, is not only the wealth of experience and learning he has brought to bear in this book, but the tightly argued and analytical structure by means of which Iranian history, from the mythological birth of Kiumars to the Islamic Revolution, is deftly imparted to the reader >>>

Tricks (2)

Near Tehran’s Railway Station, a place once existed which went by the name of Nahieh Dah, or, in more colloquial terms, Joft Panj. Behind gates, the houses of pleasure were securely contained. There were sleeping quarters for the women to which they went, without men, after work. Close by, an orphanage housed their children. The flesh trade wasn’t for every woman, but for those who could and would – there was, if not full protection of the law and society, but at the very least a thin veil of safety.>>>

سربازان سپید روی

و چنین گفت مسافر روزگار باستان:
" سربازانی می بینم پنجاه هزار
 در آهنْ غرقْ تا دندانْ
هفت روز تمام
 روان در صحرای سوزان مصر
 تا واحه ای در جوار سیوا
می سُرایند زیر لب: >>>

My Evening With Orhan Pamuk

Orhan Pamuk walked into the stage and the excitement of hearing him reading from his new book took over my breathing system, inside my veins, my stomach, my eyes, and I felt enchanted by his tall silhouette and the shine in his silver hair. I couldn’t decide which one of his little gestures were the most charming; his subtle smile as he glanced at the audience, or his obvious difficulty in pronouncing some words? At the end, I was particularly captivated by his inquisitive eyes, as if he could still look at the world with amazement>>>

Not Without My Camel

It all started when Gretchen sued Ed for sexual harassment. "Your honor,” she told the court, “this man touches me inappropriately, constantly flirts with me, and always suggests some sort of intimate relation." "How long has this been going on?" The presiding judge asked. "Ever since we got married." Things only got worse. As the result of the suit, Ed lost his job at Frontières Sans Médecins, Borders Without Doctors, because they lost patients with him. He was able to land a job as a proof reader. He painstakingly corrected pages that had been intentionally left blank>>>