Arts and Literature

The Resurrection

Resurrector: So you’ve gift wrapped the body in white linen for me. Did you remember to bring the money?

Man: In the bags next to the stretcher. But please kind resurrector, I’m a few million Tomans short and she’s at you mercy.

Resurrector: Mercy? This is not a charity. That diamond chandelier above our heads is there to tell you just that. Payment in full. Borrow if you have to.

Man: I have, resurrector. My friends are tapped out on what they can lend. My bank accounts are all emptied, and I have no more lands to sell. I wanted to keep one house and the store. It was for her, not me >>>

Night's Mistress

In the late evening hours
When the sun has long set sail,
I watch the moonlight casting
That silvery satin veil
Her see-through silky white sheet
Covering the long Night's bed

I listen to what the "Night" whispers
His love songs echo in trees
Music carried by the breeze into
The quiet of dark blue skies >>>

مردان میهن

در این گرداب خواب و بیداری
ز زخم تاول تسلیم
میچکد کینۀ عصیان.
در این گودال عقربها
ز زهر منبر تقلید
می بارد سنگ سار لاله ای زیبا.
در این مرداب نامردان
ز خشم نعرۀ تحقیر
می پاشد بذر بیزار جوانمردان. >>>

This great moment of change

Swaying from this moment to another, I’m going from age to age, looking back with resentment or thrill, to define this singular instant that carries its weight on me, and I’m disfigured, haunted, stabbed, distorted, disappointed or content – over and over -- by times, by faces, by who I were. By who I didn’t want to be. I’m three. Running in between dying trees of my grandmother’s backyard, I’m surrounded by the shadows of the tallest walls of the world. I leap over dead roots of oaks and I touch the sadness of Grandma’s weeping tree. I pass by that broken seesaw that nobody else has ever shared with me, and the sky gets lost and the trail that could take me back to the house. It’s raining and I’m scared>>>

Farimah's Story

Farimah was late to the wedding. By the time she showed up the Aghd was over and the guests at her friend Sima’s daughter’s wedding were drinking merrily in preparation for the dinner reception. She found Sima with the bride and handed her small package containing her present to the beautiful bride. Sima told her she looked exceptionally lovely tonight. Farimah appreciated the rare compliment from her fashion designer friend! The photographer was busy flashing pictures at the clusters of guests surrounding the bride and the groom. She joined in a pose with Sima and the newlyweds, flashing her smile at the photographer. She felt his gaze on her before her eyes could see him and her brain started a somersault of puzzlement and slow recognition>>>

وصل

مادرم که در همه این سالها ی

کورمالی من اینجا بوده است

نمی داند

قبرها کجایند

دراین بهشت زهرای بزرگ >>>

The interrogation

"I had forgotten,
pumping my iron,
then falling asleep,
unwell and dirty,
the latticework
of reality
zooming  into  focus
from far to the close.
Shall I describe
how I feel? >>>

Life in Iran and America

Reza Varjavand arrived for the first time in the United States from Iran - a country with a long and rich history of accomplishment - in 1973. He attended the University of Oklahoma and received a Ph.D. in economics. Reza came from humble surroundings in what he describes as the Misery Alley. He had seven siblings and was the youngest of four brothers. Their father was a farmer and mother taught Quran to a few girls in the Reza's neighborhood. Fortunately, because he did not have to work alongside his brothers and father on the farm, Reza was allowed indulge his curiosity and desire for an education>>>

اشتباه در اشتباه

هر کسی در در این دنیا عیبی دارد و عیب من هم عشق به تاتر هست و ترجیح میدهم در تاتر و اگر نشد در تله تاتر های تلویزیونی و فیلم های سینمایی بازی کنم. شاید تصور کنید که اشتیاق من برای هنر بازیگری نه تنها ایرادی نیست بلکه حتماً حسن است ولی با توضیحاتی که خدمتتان عرض خواهم کرد کاملاً متوجه خواهید شد که چرا این علاقه من به هنر نمایش باعث درد سرم شده است. در مدرسه که بودیم همیشه جزو گروه تاتر و نمایش فعالیت میکردم. حافظه و صدای خوبی داشته و در تقریبا در همه ژانرهای نمایشی استعداد داشتم. از همان نوجوانی از دیدن تاتر های چخوف نویسنده روسی از خود بیخود میشدم. نمیدانم چرا من اینقدر نوشته های چخوف را درک میکردم. شاید دلیل عمده آن همسایگی دو کشور و داشتن شرایط تقریباً یکسان سیاسی و فرهنگی میتواند باشد. >>>

Hollow Soul

There's darkness in your candle
And the inviting words you express,
Conceals the coward in you.

The senseless hollow notes you sing
In your song of whatever journey
Feeds the ego who is in charge
The Fear of death of the only "I" you know
Only a warrior can resolve >>>

You and the Bear

Sitting in a room, feeling cavalier
There came to life an ornament
From the ceiling like a chandelier
A bear, reaching for me from the rear

Struggling to escape the brown bear
Calmly I begged him with eyes in despair
To spare me his strength and unintentional harm
He reached for me with all his might and charm
Spectators were terrified, screaming
The bear’s lower body stuck in the ceiling >>>

To the Children of Prison and Exile

After the silence of firing squads
Still it burns in our hearts
And we carry their corpses
On our broken backs.
I want to turn this death into life.
How many companions,
Who in these years of defeat and execution
Created life from an embryo? >>>

زنی می آید

زنی می آید
که روزی" ویرجینیا ولف" از او پا گرفته است
و زنی که راز مریم و مسیح را خوب می داند
و زنانی می آیند که با دختران هیتلر به بازار رفته اند
آه جهان کوچک است و ما تکرار می شویم
و دختری بنام لیلا مدام زاده می شود
با شاخه ی گل سرخی بر بلندای گیسوان ملتهبش
>>>

فیس بوک

رو فیس بوک بودم. جمعه بود و خوشحال از اینکه بالاخره دختره جواب داد. "چه دختر ناز و مامانی است." با خودم زمزمه کردم و دستهایم را به هم مالیدم. ناخودآگاه یاد ویدئو کلیپ نوری زاده افتادم که پشت مانیتور نشسته بود و با شادمانی می گفت: "خوشگلم اومد. به به." از کار خودم خنده ام گرفت. دخترک را ده دوازده باری تو مترو دیده بودم. قد بلندی درحدود شش فوت داشت و اندامی قلمی. موهای قهوه ای روشن و چشمان عسلی اش از بقیه متمایزش می کرد. لبخند ملیحی رو صورتش داشت که می شد با نگاه کردن بهش همه بدهی ها و صورتحسابهای آب و برق و اجاره و تلفن آخر ماه را فراموش کرد>>>

Teardrops in Barcelona

Set the walls on fire, ask the wind
To dance with flames before the ashes
Take over the night.
Don’t ask about the stranger’s home address
Or analyze her smile,
Just chase your own heart onto the next valley
Of sensation, there is glory in the “wake up” call. >>>

طناب

تو مرا نمیشناسی
منکه  یارطناب سحرم
تو مرا نمیفهمی
منکه در ادامه تاریک شبم
تو شرم مرا نمیبینی
منکه دیگر عشق روز را نمیبینم >>>

Life is a game of football

Ahmad Tousi, PhD, Head Coach of Cal State Stanislaus Warriors writes: No sport has experienced such a tremendous growth in popularity in the U.S. in the past few years as soccer. Soccer is now played everywhere around the globe. This book has been written to present the experience of a man over the years. The knowledge gained has been and will continue to be tested as new ideas emerge and changes occur. Nader is the maker of his own fortune. Soccer is an intriguing game. There is nothing like an exciting run, a great feint, an accurate pass, a good shot, a brilliant save or a dazzling goal... The goal of this book is to provide you with verbal and visual imagery to recall and adopt. I strongly believe that the author has scored on all accounts.>>>

Playground

My heart an old house of Love,
With a playground for nobles
Those immortals play my fate
Then, leave this house a war zone
What is left behind?
Pieces of memories
So, I put the scraps together
Ready for the next attack >>>