Poetry

Mashhad

He fans the embers with a paper plate,
atop the balcony of his remote refuge,
many miles away from the Holy City,
and the surrounding hills are protective cloaks.
I stand in the outskirts of a city,
in a nation behind the scenes,
with a double scotch in one hand,
and a jujeh kabob in the other. >>>

ماه مشوش میشود

آه – چقدر
با فریب نشسته ایم
با فریب به رویا رفته ایم
با فریب نگاه کرده ایم
چقدر – ظلمت را
پاداش آسمانی دانستیم
>>>

One more today

And sometimes we sit
thinking as others shuffle in
order coffee
chat about the election
and shuffle out
and sometimes we sit
just to get out and feel
somewhat un-alone >>>

The Reader Within Me

In the triangle of author, text, and reader, the reader has a divine power. If one does not pick up the text, nothing comes alive and the author remains trapped in the lifeless letters of the text. Moreover, the reader's role does not begin when a text is finished. As soon as authors pick up pens, they have their readers in mind, and the image of the reader never vanishes during the writing process. Every author has a reader within who not only knows the art of listening, but also speaks and, like a child's imaginary playmate, sometimes even has a name>>>

Hold the Receiver

I know your ring; who else would call on the first day
of Spring to wish me Happy New Year,
with seven S’s laid upon a table I have seen
in photographs embedded in your email

I hold the receiver
flush to the ear that hears the clearest,
my right, lips pursed at the mike.
I would whisper but for static
in the line >>>

Recursions and resignations

You said, "I'll come back."
As the train was snarling and hissing
At first refusing to budge
Then abruptly yanking you away
And you waved and shouted,
"See you later, see you later."
Remember? >>>

انتها نيز کلمه است

* فايل صوتی

هر شب خواب آن ماهی را می بينم
که در تنگه ی غرق شده می گردد
و در دی. ان. ای ِ شرابی باستانی
نام تو را می جويد

نامت کلمه است
نشسته ميانه ی آفتاب
و هر که می گذرد از آن
عاشق می شود

>>>

A lonely song

It was hot in the desert
a heat as sharp as the steel
of my financial defeat.

In the deep end of the bar
with sweats of alcohol
sticking my back to the seat. >>>

روسپی کوچک

می توان غمگین بود
بی آنکه گلی پژمرده شود
همیشه این تو هستی که
چیزی درون تو می جوشد
و حتی همبستر تو آهی نمی کشد
>>>

Hope

I can hear the splash of bliss
Beneath the wooden paddle of my dream

The dark night of my memories
In search of good old laughs >>>

Grim thoughts

As this year ends, as end it must,
As we must someday end in dust,
Salute the brave hours we have known
And not the cowardice we've shown >>>

اشعار هندسی: دلتنگی

بعضی روزا وقتیکه دلم تنگ میشه
زندگی یه جور رکودِ، نعمت حساب نمیشه
عجیبه، ولی وجودم هم یه جورایی غریبه میشه
تمام دنیام مثل یک شبِ تاریک بی ماه و ستاره میشه
فاصله های یک وجبی بیشتر از چندین و چند سال نوری میشه
>>>

Water Words Not Warfare

what a twisted time

water is thirsty

and words are soundless

pockets of void repeated

to the point of frenzy

do you discern the language

of water? what does awareness

mean? a followed insight?

>>>

My Heart Does Not Beat Half-fast

She said I do not dare to give myself all
I said I love no other way than full

She said I need to keep a piece of my heart for myself
I said love comes not in bits and pieces

She said I have been hurt in the past
I said that was for you to see the real one from the rest

She said I know no other way
I said I am here to show you the real way >>>

Head or Tail

Have no fear,
even though the center
of your psyche is far
from cupid's loving stare,

even though the finger
of the news points at you,
for nothing in particular,
personally, every day. >>>