Carnage

I’ve killed so many people in my imagination,
People that I love...
I have chosen a way to kill them,
I’ve been the grave-digger,
the one who puts them in the hole,
and I have been the one who throws dirt over them.

Supposedly,
the confrontation,
the exposure was gonna make me better.

But I’ve come to realize something,
You,
were not one of those whom I love.

Killing you was the easiest.
My anxiety level didn’t go up,
even a bit!
It was pleasant!
You kept asking why,
though you knew that I never have all the answers.

I know I can dig you up every time,
just to kill you again.
In my story,
it never matters how you die,
as long as I get to bury you with my own hands in the end.

I see myself praying for you,
for the lord to accept you in his kingdom.

It really does taste too good to be my medicine.
Something breaks
and damn it,
It is not my heart this time.
It’s your pride,
Your soul,
Your whole existence,
It’s your beautiful face that breaks. . .
And I wash the blood off of it.

It’s wrong.
It is sadistic,
Aggressive,
And it is sick,
But so are you. . .

I close my eyes,
In my story you just died again,
And I can’t stop laughing.

July 22, 09

To my past

Don't stand in the way of my dreams.
Don't try to make me think about all the sweet memories that I don't own.
Don't make me worship a god that fails to exist. . .

Something in me wants to break
and I've decided to let it fall apart.

It's been a long ride on the train of my ignorant cynical soul mates.
I couldn't remember anything for so long,
But now I do.

I remember how innocently you would laugh while lying to me;
how tired I was when you would call me
and how naively,
like a good puppy,
I would recognize you voice.

It wouldn't have mattered to you
if I was wearing a swastika,
a cross or a pentagram,
or just my heart around my neck.

Today I realized that I truly am capable of killing...
now I want to be a wolf,
and I would slay every lamb just for the heck of it.

Do you remember?
Your hands were shaking while you were saying the last "Fateha" beside my bed...
it took me a long time to look
and only when I was being stepped on and crushed like a dried leaf,
I had a chance to see…
to see a light,
smeared with blood,
from behind my closed eyes.

It is so hard to spit out so much hate...
Weren't I the idiot that kept looking at the finger
when it was pointing to heaven?

Now I'm just lost in a limbo.
There was a time when I was longing for silence;
but all I could hear was your dry,
deafening bellowing.

Now that I'm dead
and my days are filled with silence
the tittering of little worms that are eating my flesh
reminds me of you.

Now if you are writing another story about a little star
that lives behind a fairy tale,
drinks tea and thinks how wonderful it is
that it's not raining tonight,
just remember...
remember that it was my hands
that warmed your dead stony heart...

I've walked all your walkable paths
and I already know that the story ends
with a black hole.

Let go of this lure of life and let us all die...
once and for all...

You don't know me,
Nobody knows how many lives I've lived,
and nobody knew
how thin the walls,
behind which we shared our deadliest secrets, were.

I know by heart,
all the stories of the prostitute that used to live next door.

I am the question
and I have all the possible answers.

I am a white lie on your big fat black heart.
I'm a loop-hole in God's eternal plan.
And I am the black blood that gushes out of your heart
when I thrust the dagger in it.
I'm the epitome of a mistake.
I'm the responsible misfit,
for all the unwanted happiness,
and ungranted wishes.
I don't want a flame;
I am the fire.
I am the thirst,
quench me.

Splash some water and wake me up
from the bitter nightmare of being.

At least give me a soul to want it back from me.
If I turn inward,
who would find me?

I've found shelter in my own hands.
You,
set me on fire.

I was just a millisecond in perpetuity,
and you were all my years...

I'm blinded by death
and I'm reading the letter of my sins in my grave
so loudly that I can not hear that God is knocking on my door.

I lock all the doors
thinking that you can never come back,
But you are just like an infection,
you're in me...

I would have told you how much I hated you
if only I hadn't pitied those lovers of yours
that without you,
are only old rotten corpses.

I was so brimming with hatred
that I thought you would bend under the guilt...

Maybe if I had broken the illusion of your presence earlier,
I wouldn't have blamed you so much.

I linger in a trance now
and you write to me about youth
and life
and opportunities.

But I have only one line to write to you,
You are dead,
just like me,
and you still don't know it.

Dec 01, 08 Tehran Iran

Free

What if I don’t wake up tomorrow?
Or what if I just wake up and see that I’m still 9?
What if I have already died?
What if this is the dream of my afterlife?

I’m scared, all the childhood fears have returned.
I hear strange noises from under my bed at nights
and I want to leave the lights on when I sleep.

It’s a big shock you know;
when you suddenly realize that you,
are the only one who is responsible...

It’s scary when you see all the fears that you had as a child,
are all standing behind you
and now they’re called your issues.

When did this darkness become you?
When did we become sinners for believing?
When did my home become a prison?

The dark night is looming behind every single window,
and we are too terrified of the scarecrows,
which we put on every corner to keep the evil away,
that we just can’t walk up to our windows
and tear the curtain of this fake night,
down the sunrise of our souls.

when I was 5,
I could swear that the coat-hanger in the corner of my room,
moved at night; and I would hide underneath my covers, prying that I was dreaming.
and now I can see many of them, walking around every where.

A ritual’s due.
there will be a sacrifice . . . of something grand . . .
and the blood
is on the hands of my monster.

We followed the Milky Way
made up of fake little papery stars,
and it lead us to the wrongest of places.

I feel tainted.
My home is my prison...

I lit a candle,
to face the monster that has been my nightmare all my life.
and for the first time, I opened my eyes to see...just to see,
that there's an spitting image of me,
standing there with blood on her hands...

Is it a price we had to pay for a life that was never mine to begin with?
...We had to sacrifice...to live.

A moment of clarity,
as if lucid for the first time...
we killed our freedom and chose a lifetime,
without it.



What have we done?


July 17, 2008

Embracing my curls

Suddenly,
today has lost its significance.

I constantly need to be reminded
that the hollow in me is not filled yet.

The tears on the picture frame,
remind me of a day when it was okay to be sad.
I didn’t have to explain to anybody
and I wouldn’t be misunderstood.

I don’t remember the talks
but I remember the faces…

I have finally got over my suppressed resentment
for every hypocrite I got to know.
Because I’ve grown to learn, that I am one of them.

I have finally come to this realization
that I should accept, me.

So,
I’m embracing my curls,
I’m embracing my memories
and I’m embracing all the things I lack;

all my flaws and all my mistakes.
It took me a long time
but I won’t straighten my hair today!

Today I let myself know
that I am moving on...

My childhood blanket
has been waiting for me all this time.
It felt like she had been weeping when I hugged her...
So I told her what I have learned while I was away.

I told her that it's ok to be sad,
because nothing is here to stay.
Things pass and morph too quickly
too quickly for us to have a chance to shed a tear over them
or smile about the little sweet moments.

Just like a little doodle,
sketched on a little piece of paper,
we're gonna lose our meaning anyway.

So we’re gonna sail right through it all,
together,
like we did that summer
and every summer for that matter.

We’re gonna be strong
and we’re gonna make sure
that we will make everyone proud;

even those who didn’t give themselves a chance
to make us proud.

This year I’m accepting...
this year I’m fine
with all the reality, that make my life
so not pink and fluffy and sweet sometimes!

This year
I’ll let the waves in my hair
redefine me. . .

July 04, 08

The Day of Descent

What?
I never lied!

I have truly built a castle out of my chaotic life,
I have ridden the fiery chariot of the gods,
And I have learned to age,
without ever growing up.

I have found clarity
from amongst my shattered conscience,
I have managed
to ignore all of my moments,
I have weaved long tales
out of the sound of the wings
of the pigeons in the neighbor's yard.

Today, all the rivers
turned into mirages,
and the asphalt,
shiny from few drops of rain,
only mirrored the blue of the sky.

After a long time
that I waited for a crow
to come and sit
on the wires of my loneliness,
I only today found out
that I have become the anguish.

Suddenly I feel
that all my life
has been a lesson
I never learned.

Suddenly
21 seem to be such a small number after all,
cuz I feel so damn old. . .

These days any little sound scares me
and every new path loses me. . .

Now I think,
if all my life,
I didn't want all the things
that were bad for me,
I could have found happiness somewhere.

I see myself in days when my hair
would dance in a breeze, of not knowing
and I had a skylight that had the sun in it,
a time when the moonlight
wouldn't kill all my stars,
days I knew,
I don't have a sea of insanity to deny.

I know about the tide now,
some nights, when I feel like the sorrow is overwhelming,
I know it's because of the flow
of the tears 
and when I have no tears to shed,
I know that every flow must have it's ebb.

I don't want the night to be so dark;
the stars can never measure up to the moonlight,

Ask the moon to stay;
I don't care tonight if all my stars are dead,
Tonight I'll understand it if I'm told that I never had a sun,
And I'll accept that I don't want anything 
Nothing at all. . .
Not even the sweet sweet candies
that used to be the simplest definition of me.

Happy Birthday indeed.

 Dec 27, 07 Tehran Iran

Purple

“Shhh . . . can you hear it?”
The notes stroke me,
like thunders of Zeus striking a sinner.
I just sat erect hoping the music is not only in my head.

Everything
is turning Purple. . .

The sky,
the stars,
the little bird on the wire,
my finger nails . . . his lips. . .

I have always loved this color,
It reminds me of something fragile,
Snow and a gray pullover. . .

The smell of the fire,
not woods or candle,
the fire itself,
kindles something in me.

It smells like Satan,
Like forbidden. . .

I can tell it's different.
I have always walked between the lines,
on cold concrete
that freezes all my senses.

I’m thrown back to a dark road. . .
I keep asking: "are we there yet?"
my father tells me
we’re there
when the little white lines on the road are finished.

I looked out of the car window,
White/black/white/black...

I guess we never really arrived,
‘cause the little sniggering white lines never ended...

The black background finally took over the roads
that were supposed to take us home...

I'm brimming with paradoxes.
I’m bored to death
and I hate amusement parks.
My fingers are chilled
and yet my hands aflame everything they touch...

I painted all the mirrors black,
for I am mourning...

The sad girl in the mirror died last night
when I was trying to tell her the truth...
That she never existed...
She was looking in the coffee cup,
she was just telling me
that I am holding a green moon in my hands
and I thought,
she's not as good a liar as I am...

She burned down while I was holding her hands
trying to tell her
that everything is going to be ok.

Her ashes burden my soul...
Should I have let her stay in her little lie of an imaginary life?

Even in my dreams,
I can see the little boy in the street with bouquets of Narcissus
running between cars begging people
to buy flowers,
to buy happiness,
to buy life...
and glassy eyes
look right through him,
to the red lights,
stopping them,
from being alive...

God how much I want to smell those flowers again,
they remind me of the days when flowers were forbidden for us...
when it would make him feel worse,
I would smell them and describe the scent to my father...

I thought it’s a good day to leave,
I packed all my loneliness
and dragged it with me all the way...
All the way I yawned
and tried to find the moon,
to hug it for a man,
who lives in my mail box,
with sun in his every word
and his heart,
but I guess I swallowed it
in one of my dreary yawns,
‘cause I feel bright inside
and dark and jaded on the outside.

 I took another sedative and numbed everything again...
They weaken the reality,
They weaken logic,
They weaken loneliness,
They weaken faith,
sorrow,
Heart...
They weaken all that defines me...

I’m home now,
The music is still playing in my head,
Now I'm back.
I’m where everything is fragile
and white
and the gray pullover is still in the closet...

I’m home,
Where everybody buys me Narcissus to make me happy...
I’m home where everything smells like my mom,
like her ultra human patience,
like, purple. 

Dec 02, 07 Isfahan Iran

Let Go...

Some say I'm so blessed. . .
Some think I'm unthankful,
Some think I'm sweet. . .
I closed my eyes and shut my mouth and plugged my ears to keep this sweetness within.

Look at the newborn baby.
Her little fists were holding on to something.
It's like she didn't want to let go of the divine cord that bonds her with her angel,
with a soft lullaby in her ears. . .

Eventually she is going to let go. . .
Like when I let go of the fake sweet smile and everybody would panic . . . ‌"you're not smiling today!‌"

I looked at the long gray road leading to a tomorrow that I know minute by minute. 
I know we are not people of the earth. we are not people of boundaries. cause I just walked on the soft sands in my dreams and took a glance at the bleeding dawn.

I looked at the mountains, their curves . . . so beautiful and untouched . . .
only the soothing fingers of the rain clouds, running through their hair of wind,
comforting the sky after a big storm. . .

All I feel in me is the sands running through my fingers,
like my sweet memories slipping through burning fingers of God,
decant in the goblet of the ground,
absorbed and cooled. . .
like insomnia slipping to my coffee. . .

I should wake up someday and step on the mirror.
The sad girl would disappear under me, like my shadow in the noon sun. . .
I still feel the cold chain tying me to something in the past,
a hot summer day, that I long to let go. . .

Guess I am that little dark spot on the face of the moon.
Dropping from God's hand like a little rock in the bright lake of silver,
forming circles and circles for ever around me,
spinning and echoing my fall, I'm disturbing moon's peace
like a scratch on the lucid skin of God.

I have got to let go.
Maybe He's tired too; maybe he just needs a break from my sighs.
Maybe He's already gone.
I hope He comes back soon,

for these fiery hands are searing all the violets violently.

There's got to be an explanation.
The happiness it seems, for us was just a bite of the apple in that painting on the big painting shop
so unreachable that we decided to put it out of our minds.

We just looked at it from outside the window. 
I'm not even sure if we want it any more. . .you can see from their faces, they have forgotten the apple. . .
It must be rotten by now anyway. . .

It's not your fault . . . it never was.

If I could, I would lose my fingers one by one just for pointing them at you. . .

If only I could snip away my long green hope from its root. . .to let everything just go...float away from me...
If only I could believe that this is how it's supposed to be. . .
If only I was not so impatient
If only I could believe the tomorrows
...  If only I could, hold on.

Nov 14, 07

Innocensce

I miss my window with its only tree in it and a chocolaty sky above it! … There he was. My childhood playmate! …holding the saddest book of the world in his hand, with tired bloodshot eyes… Every living creature seems to be an enemy to him. He looks pale and confused. He is probably burning the last existing parts of his heart inside, Blowing the bitter smoke out so distressingly… His forgotten innocence barely survived his senseless hatred. But …I could still see it in his eyes…he looks old… He whispers: something's wrong!… And I think to myself, if only you could see, how everything's right... it's just you flying in a sky that leads to the wrongest place of all times… He was wearing a blue shirt, defying all the things he once fought for! Now I'm sure he doesn't remember me… I wish I could give him a piece of my window… ______________________________________________________________________________ There's just a thought, And I just keep going on and on and… The word independence rings as a falsetto in my song! Huge gates and spread wings and yet, hesitation. It's like a raw of green lights and my feet stuck to a fragile fact! How much I wanna break it and free myself from this doubt… I felt the flash of my soul for an instant, like that of a camera, not permanent…a temporary feeling, a short lasting truth… and then I thought, there's something wrong here, a burning spot in my blue tranquility…or maybe, like a black spot on the face of the moon… I try to rationalize how I feel… I close my eyes and I see a little girl weaving a carpet deep down in the ocean…It moves straight to my core… And I feel a queer taste in my mouth…like chewing a piece of aluminum! I chew my heart and gulp it down again! … I yawned and tried to escape the desire to sleep… I looked at the grey sky out of the window dotted by small rain drops. Small bright spots cut into halves by sharp nails of the wind, remind me Of the miracle of a prophet who cut the full moon in half, Yet people denied his irrefutable prophecy… In the shadowy sky of today, though I can't see anything, I can still feel a heavy silence in the heart of the shiniest star… It is not my sigh that is casting a shadow over the evening sky… I wanna prove my innocence to everybody, but something shines through me... like a little gold fish under murky waters… What does innocence mean anyway? Doesn't it mean to some how believe in all the things that make no sense? Then I am guilty of this innocence… But I'll make up for it... I would give them my hands in return; they are broken I know...I broke them while I was digging deep to find my innocence... but u can still shred them into little pieces… They'd make good birdseed for those birdbrains! … I'm crying my eyes out with green tears that make my eyes look pale…closer and closer to whiteness… Green lights are gone… Now all I see are close gates and drowned wings and a tomorrow which will never arrive… Nov 14, 07 Tehran Iran

Hallucinated

I can't hear my angel anymore… It's been a long time since I took a pen between my fingers and now every dot seems to be an eternity… Isfahan isn't the way it used to be, It's lacking a strange thing that is no longer flowing in "Zayande Rood"! Be still…see? You can not hear the cricket in neighbor's yard that used to talk to the moon all night keeping her awake… No wonder it's such a dark night… Seems like I have been away a century rather than two years, now my books all smell like the clothes in my dad's closet… Why do I sleep so much? Why don't I listen? Why do the old man's hands, who would lean on the alley's wall all day, with an unbreakable faith, waiting for his son who went to the war long long ago, is not shaking anymore? He's still saying something under his breath, "خدایا.خدایا"… "Oh Dear Lord"… I lose my words when I see him… The sky is hot and swollen…black like tar. And God, sitting somewhere near, a little fan in his hands, is making some icy lemonades! I still remember a time, When a torrid lie in my head, bleed dry all my faith. Then stepped out in victory, and just walked away… Leaving me bewildered, Staring at the little shards of my inability on my mother's prayer rug… My mind is frozen ever since… I do feel shorter than all the pains standing tall beside me, But I DO try to rise up above it... Though I am left behind… Though I don't know anything for sure any more! Though I stretched as much as I could and yet I couldn't touch the moon… Couldn't get even close to her… Is it so hard to see me? I know…I am fading… Like I am evanescent… Just like a star which ascents in the morning, I loose all my shine beside the sun… I can't hear my angel anymore, Now I wonder, did she ever talk to me? or was that just another figment of my wandering imagination? Nov 03, 07 Isfahan Iran

I'm Okay!

There was a silver crescent hanging above my head…and a golden circle above his… I listened hard…I could hear nothing but his calm existence running under my skin… I thought about my courage… but just like the happy little gold fish in the jar that could not remember me talking about her approaching death, I couldn't remember where I put my courage! I listened again… The circle was blazing in perfection of a dream… A dream which was blooming in my every bit of being… I looked up and I knew…we'll never meet… High in the sky far far beyond my sight, I could feel a window opening, The wind brought the smell of God's poetry pages… And as I'm standing here, i feel like a dried leave on an old tree... and all I want, is for the neighbor's tree, not to cough in the autumn of our souls… I shake my pillow and it smells like my childhood doll… I see the light in his room; he didn't ask me to turn it off for him tonight! I went in; I turned the light of... for ever! He was so serenely asleep… I thought "let him sleep, pain free…" I was right; he never covered the bruises on his arms again… I cried a lot, when the button of my blouse dropped! I remembered my doll's eyes … She used to cool me down when I was burning in fever…so small that nobody noticed… Everybody separated me from "everybody". they drew a red circle around me, not that I was too important, I was just a sacrifice of "what if"s!! As I woke up the next day, I found the ashes of my courage somewhere between the pages of my high school philosophy book… It was burned by the true belief of my seclusion. The neighbor's tree coughs and I fall… The silver crescent dropped, I'm just partly moony after all! I saw him waving from his wide open window… He was writing the new words on the wind… The little girl was singing loudly in her fever… I walked in and turned the light on, Maybe he wakes up tonight… Nov 01, 07 Tehran Iran

Untitled...

The tender beating of his treacherous heart… The silent surrender of my soul… There's a hole in me and I can feel the wind blowing through me…like the anguish taking over me… The soft sands throbbing in my hands, like a living creature moving in me, growing in me… The dark of the sky blending in the blue of the sea… The odd clouds shaping my memories, fading…fading into something numb… I love the Sea with an undeniable fear in my heart…I wanna go back home… … I woke up in a cold trance…a dream with no dimension! An old gypsy took my hands and cried and my hands were full of crimson little worms turning into black butterflies… I'm scared… I touched the window and I stained the sky, now I burn in an illusion of a sin… I don't know why "old" is all I feel… A miracle happened and my sore throat closed any chance of a scream… Some one asked me: do you sew sorrow in your hair each night when you brush it? And then I gathered all the pains like rosary beads, like pills of pomegranate, and put them underneath my mattress so that nobody sees it and at nights as I sleep I feel them aching under the left side of my chest… In the room of 1460 days of battle, beside its huge window, with her always spread prayer rug, with a tired voice and shiny eyes, like having a little drop of tear within that she never sheds for all the sown seeds she never reaped, she is sitting, looking at the sky… "It's late, go get some sleep" she said… My mother is always afraid of the gray clouds in the sky… I look at "me" in the mirror…the invincible reflection of "NegiN", with eyes that seems to be reading a tragedy for the thousands time. I have always loved the cliché story of "the God that is just near by"… I just sometimes forget that I am so blessed… I should break the mirrors today… I just wanna wake up… ... I opened the blinds and the big yellow fish was starring at death on the surface of water… maybe it was the truth of "me" that made me fall to my knees… Oct 18, 2007 Babol Iran

Nightmares

What is this thrill we get out of doing the smallest forbidden things? Why is that we insist on doing something that we already know will go wrong? There is a thin line between dreams and reality...the people, who do not recognize the difference, are those who hurt and get hurt the most... I feel like a little bug, struggling, sinking deeper and deeper in a swamp knowing there would be no helping hand... It is as if people just love to see you in trouble, they just love to pity you, they love being sorry for you when deep inside they don't give a damn about you... it's like a nightmare...a nightmare I long to wake from, but seems like the sweet lullaby of their lies is keeping me trapped under the surface for ever, with no more air left to breathe... Would it be different? Would I feel different about them if I believe there is a little baby underneath those harsh frowns, those tough masks, craving attention, maybe a friendly hug? How can I tell them there's just a thin ice that needs to be broken, there's no need to an axe...there are no roots to my cold pretence... what do they want from me? Those sharpened nails standing by to scratch all the soft memories of my childhood... ready to cut all the wavy hair of my long lost happiness with their scissors of hatred... I miss the hands of god...I miss the time I used to fall asleep in his soothing hands while he would sing the sweetest lullabies of the truth... Sometimes silence rhymes with every word...like darkness rhymes with my days... Oct. 2007 Tehran Iran

The Black In White

Sometimes the reality slaps me in the face, leaving me with a bruised hope and a fractured faith. The ink hardening in the pen's vessel reminds me of the blood congealing in my cold hands… There's a clock that tick tocks soundlessly on my walls and there's a crack widening in my soul observant of an imminent break down… A blind man's eyes on his fingertips looking for hope in the once healing, golden, sun ray… And the rain drops, delicate like Lily's tears soaking up my face, forcing their ways to my eyes. They make me think of all the pain, prying my heart open to numb everything I hid in it… Something's being awakened in me… Like a truth buried underneath an unfulfilled destiny… I have always been a little cat deep inside, waiting for someone to come and hate me for no reason, throw a stone at me, believing that I'm a witch! And I'm jumping up and down persistently hoping that some day I will jump high enough to reach the "Milky"way! The smell of burned up candles and incense sticks…the not granted wishes and unanswered prayers…the last flame elongating so high silently, stretching my nerves, And the sky, full of beautiful shining fake stars covering their fake God… What if the sky falls? What if their God reveals? What if our lie of living is exposed? What if… My soul is itching on the place of stitches left from my incident! The mark of the fingers of reality is burning on my ego… We need a redeemer…we need a savior… Something's gotta happen… Someone's gotta come… Oct 2007 Tehran Iran

The End is Near

1. She looked at the tree once again, She thought she was going to miss the place, but what else could she do? She wanted to share it with him…the exceptional knowledge…but what was going to happen after that?! He was so ignorant, he didn't have a clue & she was scared, She could feel it grow inside her… What did He expected her to do? She was born with it…with a huge burden on her fragile shoulders…He wanted her to know… 2. People seem to be so blur…they still got sharp tongues though! That's the only perceptible thing they own. Painfully noticeable… These are the people who scared the moon away. I looked at sky, I touched it's velvet skin inch by inch, I thought it must be concealed somewhere but, She was gone… And now, it's getting harder and harder to breath, she was the last outlet in the heavy cover from which you could still breathe God's breath… What are we being punished for? 3. Now she was carrying it heavily in her chest and it was pounding so hard, she was afraid he was gonna hear it… Maybe it was not his time! There were no temptation, no snake…there just was a doubt… It was not a regular knowledge. She watched him grabbing the apple, It was hot like flames, red like wine, glittering like a star… And now, he knew… They had something to feel with, other than their senses! Now the heaven was no longer enough for them, They had a fire in their chests, a piece of God maybe they were not supposed to have. They were grounded... Their infinite hearts died little by little there… And it still is dying… 4. We know it… Because Eve knew it all the way… I close my eyes, and I know the end is near…we're gonna be back soon… There is no heart left, People are so blur… They only got sharp tongues …nothing more than that… Oct 06, 07 Tehran Iran

Stranger! ...I've seen your face in another life...

The City

The trees were standing there…
in a magical silence.

Like evil soldiers of Satan himself...
Ready to ruin all the tranquility of the night,
waiting for a chance to throw their sharp arrows,
And restless until they strangle all the roses with their cold, savage hands…

The dark, cool breeze of autumn,
The falling of the last leaves…
And Us…
Figures of death,
beholding the true lie of an upcoming earthquake,
To bury all the unseen…
the hidden eyes of the roads…
I step in the blank pages of the future…
my childhood playmates,
dead leaves crushed under their feet…
No innocence left in their glassy eyes…
what am I doing here?
The only truth that can be found is up in the sky,
The white, bright stars leaning to the sky,
With a solid, unbreakable faith

to the moon…
_______________________________________________

I looked at his birth certificate for the last time.
For the last time I remembered a time when a few digits made sense,
And now he is sleeping
somewhere among nameless,
forgotten, and oblivious graves…

and I'm grieving,
for all the tick tocks of my life,
All the sunrise and sunsets I never noticed,
All the gifts I'm wasting…what could I be?

Now it feels as if I'm sitting in a swing
and I'm spinning and spinning …
And my blood aches,
Running with bruised feet in my purple veins…
We never decided…never chose,
The blood is just pushed in a path…
meaningless and still purposeful.
I hear its foot steps,
constantly running within.
Still painful, but is it meaningless?

I've had enough of doubting,
I do wake up to see a different day every morning.
I do not question the purpose anymore
and I do feel beautiful within my white aura…

So comforted and faithful,
To the moon…

Sep 27, 07 Tehran Iran