Arts and Literature

بن بست

مرگ هنگامیست
که بخواهی بیافرینی، اما دنیایی نیست
بخواهی عشق بورزی، اما قلبی نیست
بخواهی بنوشی، اما جامی‌ نیست
بخواهی زمزمه کنی‌، اما هوایی نیست >>>

Invisible

I am invisible. A dark ghost ship
searching the seafloor, with fingers
that mistake junk for its lost anchor.

To be frank, I expected more,
say as a victorian, a romantic
or a soul that tosses and turns
waiting for something that burns.
You'd rightly say: “Oh, please! >>>

Fessenjoon

...>>>

Those hands belong to the world

Try mentioning your Iranian background in a circle of cultured American friends. Instead of the usual questions about politics they may ask, “Do you know of Lily Afshar?” This is because Afshar is one of the world’s leading classical guitarists, with remarkable innovations furthering the influence of the instrument. In fact, someone once asked Afshar herself where she was from. That “someone” was Maestro Andres Segovia, the terrifyingly eminent virtuoso authority on the classical guitar. A group of 12 young guitarists had been selected out of hundreds of international competitors vying for the honor of playing in front of the guitar legend, hoping for an approving nod>>>

Coffee and Conversation (4)

Men come in all shapes and sizes. Yet there is something distinct about the Iranian man; for however ordinary his looks may be in his youth, the passage of time is kind to him. No matter what his shortcomings, philosophies or occupation, one thing is for certain; the Iranian man ages well. Nowhere is this more apparent than when he has been groomed throughout a long marriage to a woman who is a notch or two above him. It is as if she has taken an eraser and painstakingly softened the edges. Having carefully done away with the coarse language, the poor taste in clothing and the uncouth mannerisms; she has lovingly filled the void with refined sensibility>>>

Shahadat of Hazrat Ali

you look at the sky and you see blood
you see mourners streaming by the casket with thirst and hunger
you are so small to comprehend
you just cry because your mother is crying
and you can't wait for this day to be over
for sun to show up again
making every one happy >>>

Love in Masquerade

Even though life is short,
painful with stories,
and forgotten in retort

Even though memories' glory,
like bright stars in a dark night,
seduce the lessons learnt in part >>>

Truth

I am sitting in a high school class. It’s the end of grade eleven and I can barely take it anymore. I feel I am suffocating. I want my freedom. Outside the walls of this school is where I thought my freedom would be. On this particular day, in a stuffy, windowless classroom, our religion teacher is discussing about Truth. The students around me seem to be listening partially, as if waiting for it all to come to an end. I am tired too, but something in the teacher’s sentences catches my attention, the word “Truth”>>>

Scented candle

It had been many years since I had seen my Uncle Homayoun, with the difference that this time Auntie Shahin was gone. Tragically, his wife of 50+ years had died in a car crash. So when I opened the door to greet him, he simply fell into my arms and wept. This was a different man – someone who was far quicker to show his vulnerabilities, but even stronger than before because he didn’t waste time controlling impressions. Spending time with Dai Homayoun was nothing short of a pilgrimage for me. So many stories to share, so many new ways to look at everything>>>

Conspiracy for Greatness

For many years, I was fascinated by our ability as a human race to shift our thinking. One of the main elements that define us from other species is this ability to “think,” and to decide and redirect our minds to what we always knew we could do! Look at our collective recorded human history, and you will find all those wonderful, brilliant and fascinating human beings who directed their thinking to an area or topic, producing unprecedented results, incredible inventions and so many amazing creations that we can barely keep count. Now, you and I are taking advantage of the outcome of those brilliant thinkers!>>>

Time Line

Anger was at age of five
As she reached out to lend a hand
No care for her kind intent
No talking... attention!  Be still;
They shouted in demand
 
Sadness came by at seven
Heart wrenching scenery
Her yellow shaded dog that
Followed in hope for miles >>>

Pand az Koja

...>>>

The Ascension (3)

“No smiling today. It’s Ashura... First you have to tear your shirt.” He yanked off some of my buttons and put them in my shirt pocket. “Your mom can sew them back on later,” he said. Then he reached down and grabbed a fistful of dust and poured it on my head. Standing back to admire his work he said, “Excellent, now run all the way to the back of the dasteh with the other kids, and they’ll show you how to beat your chest and chant.” I thanked him for tearing my shirt and putting dirt on my head, then I ran back and joined the procession>>>

A Father is Bigger Than a King

When I was seven years old, there were two men. There was my father and there was the Shah. Everyone else was waiting to see what would happen, even if they didn't know it. I knew it at least, and I considered myself an authority on the struggle between them. I knew the number-one rule, which was that you stayed humble in the face of the struggle. You didn't ask too many questions, and if you did, you asked third parties. You didn't ask my father because he was in it. It would be like asking Magic Johnson about basketball in the middle of a game>>>

One husband and three wives

My heart has two birds
Cohabiting its nest, a beast
And a prince.

One chases a flame, not
Knowing it is in pursuit of lust;
The other free-falls in fire,
Royal blood maturing through burning scars >>>

عشق پوسیده

فیلم "دزدان دریایی کارائیب" را به خاطر آورید و کشتی "مروارید سیاه" را ایران فرض کنید، و همه مان را نفرین زده‌های ابدی! به گناه حرکتی که در ابتدا عشق و گرمی‌ به وجودمان داد، و به لعنتی تاریخی‌ یا جبری جغرافیایی، که از آغاز جنبش مان را محکوم به شکست نمود. حالا، چه مثل نود و پنج در صدی که در ایران هستند و بر آن‌ "کشتی‌ سیاه" زجر میکشند و برای اربابانش فعلگی میکنند، و چه مانند پنج در صدی که اینور آب به زور و زحمت لقمه نانی در می‌‌آورند؛ مذاق جملگی تلخ است و طعم شیرینی‌ و عشق نمی‌‌بیند. پس، از عشق نمی‌‌نویسم؛ چون در دل‌ نسل ما سالهاست که مرده و پوسیده است. >>>

S & M Iranian style

Nazy joon is 40-years old going on 13 and often says she’s in her early 30s. She considers herself a virgin [I mean virgin-like] after 5 years of marriage to a man in his early 60s who brought her to LA from Iran. After arriving in LA, she told her newly wed husband that she's a virgin and so afraid of having sex that he has to wait til she’s comfortable. So he said fine and he waited and waited till she disappointedly gave up (after 2 weeks) her virginity that had won a bid of 1349-gold-coins worth>>>