Arts and Literature

The End of the Road

And now, Majid,
You've ended here
Leaning back in a rocking chair
With a baby's swing nearby--
A gift you bought for Âzad
And now should go to Good Will.
What did you want
And where have you gotten?>>>

هوس

صدای پارس سگها، تاریکی شب، بیگانگی با محیط و بیشتر از همه خشم و سراسیمگی او را درمانده کرده بود. هرچه تلاش می کرد نمی توانست در آن فضای کم نور عقزبه های ساعت را ببیند اما می دانست چیزی به طلوع خورشید نمانده و بزودی شب شکسته و روز آغاز خواهد شد. نمی توانست پیش از برآمدن آفتاب خود را به شهر برساند و در روشنایی روز هم نمی شد با آن حال و روز و سر و وضع در برابر چشم مردم ظاهر شود. تازه فرضا هم که خود را به خانه می رساند مگر چقدر فرصت داشت در آنجا بماند و به سر و وضع خود برسد.>>>

درحسرت ُهرم آفتاب

وسردمان بود ما،
در عنفوان بلوغ.
تب ِ داغی دربطن تن داشتیم و
لرزش موجی بر جدار جان؛
و در انبوه ِ ازدحام ِ شهر شلوغ
ما مدام سردمان بود >>>

Akmed Strikes Back

I was getting on a flight to start my vacation. When I approached my seat, a nice Texan lady in the seat next to mine started eyeing me with a bit of suspicion. "What's wrong with you?... Your hair is all... dark and ethnic. Your eyes are so... not blue... so demonic. You look so... unlike us. Oh my god! I'm scared." Before I could react she began screaming frantically: "Marshal! Air marshal!" A mean-looking large man and a tiny one trying to look mean by chewing a toothpick jumped out of their seats, pulled out their Tasers, approached and assumed shooting postures. "Don't move, scumbag," yelled the large one>>>

The News

There are good days and bad days, even good years and bad years. But then, there are years like the year my son was born. It was the same year my father died. Who knows how these years are supposed to be called? A simple ringtone started this all. It was my mother. Father’s stroke was two months behind us and everything, like in fairy tales, was going to work out just fine. Father was going to wake up one morning, remembering us and remembering who he was and we were going to talk about the past the same way we used to tell a story with happy ending>>>

زاهد مکار

یارب ار زاهد مکار نهد چهره به خاک
نیک داند که کند خاک پلیدی را پاک

دامن آلوده، تن آلوده، ردا آلوده
این بود زاد ره رجعت او در فتراک

ظاهرش پاک و درون ناک و عمل در لاک است
نییت‌اش ناسره، معجون ریا، جوهره ناک >>>

Fuzzy Logic, fuzzy thought, and fuzzy Dardedel

Strolling on a foggy night,
Talking to Zadeh, a witty scientist,
I discovered how fuzzy our minds are.
When I told him that my lover wore red silk
He asked me: 'What shade of red?'
I said: 'Well, it was not maroon or magenta or pink,
But a sexy red just a little lighter than the stoplight
That freezes people in their tracks.' >>>

Starstruck

Since they were children in Iran, the sisters Shirin and Nasrin Asgari dreamt of becoming opera singers. They spent their playtime pretending be Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music. Later they made friends with Kamelia Dara, who had also been training to sing since early childhood, and practiced together. Yet hard work and ambition could only take the aspiring artists so far. They quickly realized they needed better training than they could find in Iran. Opera is rooted in Europe; you can’t perfect it in Tehran any more than you can perfect the Persian radif of music in Vienna. So the three came to Austria on tourist visas, hoping they could pass the auditions to be admitted as students>>>

The Earth Will Be Pawing

The words are pealing
on a moist Tuesday morning
to be a reminder of the mortality
of all. The pain, a burning ocean causes
while it pours through the fist,
and the fist pushes through the heart. >>>

In Praise of Big Noses

I am the only one of four sisters
who hasn’t gone under the knife.
I resisted the pleas of my aunt and sisters
to become “more beautiful,” “more you.”
I’ve kept my stately proboscis
in-tact—choosing not to excise its grandeur.
It suits me, I suppose—evidence of my father,
those people who live in the dryer, hotter climes >>>

پارک استقلال

من به عنوان یک تریاکی قدیمی و متعصب در اعتیاد خود، هرگز حاضر نیستم رفاهی را که در این شهر کویری جنوب شرقی ایران و نزدیک به مرزهای افغانستان دارم، با هیچ جای دیگری در دنیا عوض کنم. وقتی به دوستانم می گویم که من از دود و دم و آلودگی هوای تهران بدم می آید، اغلب به من می خندند و می گویند: تو که همیشه تو دودی، حالا چه فرقی می کند؟ یکی دو روزی هم دود تهران رابخور. البته من از صحبت با کسانی که واقعاً فواید کشیدن تریاک را درک نمی کنند و آن رابا دود اتومبیل و اتوبوس مقایسه می کنند، دیگر چه صنمی دارم و اتلاف وقت با این قشر، مثال انداختن جواهرات گرانبها در آب است و پیمودن بادیه جهالت با شتری چلاق و همراهی ناباب. >>>

Let’s not forget our beautiful brave children

Do you remember how one day
In trying to fly to the green meadows
Of love, liberty, and laughter,
To heal their wounded wings and broken souls,
To breathe the cool soothing air
Of peace and munificence,
And to wash their naked bodies
In the green seas of purity
They decided to break the walls of their cages? >>>

دلتا های از شکل افتاده

دلتاهای از شکل افتاده حجاری های فرسوده را با آب رودخانه ها در هم می آمیزند تا از سکوت، ترانه ای بسازند برای منی که، در انتهای این دشت پر ملال به انتظار رودخانه های تاریخ مصرف گذشته نشسته ام. پیچ های تو در تو را از هم باز می کنم مثل حرکت دو دستی که در شنا موج آب های دو طرف شناگر را به طرف مخالف سوق می دهد. شن های این جایی که هستم خیلی نرم و آسان برای کنده شدن نیستند. کمی آب لازم دارم تا مثل وقتی که موهای بلندت را قیچی می زدم آسان تر کارم را انجام بدهم. >>>

Coffee and Conversation (6)

I smell the bacon and eggs and hear the mystic groan of his Cello. I roll towards the window and pull the curtain back a smidge. The blizzard of the night before has dumped at least two feet of snow. A pristine white blanket covers everything in sight, from the neighbor’s porch to the cars parked in the open space. I lazily get out of bed; wash, dress and tip toe up the stairs to the living area. His smile greets me. “Morning Sunshine.” He puts the instrument on its stand, gets up and comes toward me to place a sweet kiss on my cheek.>>>