It is a strange sort of pain "to die of yearning for something you'll never experience"

Friday, April 30, 2004

The River

I'm sorry if I didn't show it all
Never meant to harm
I should cut my hair
To make peace with myself
But I don't have the courage
To do so

So I'm gonna crawl back to my bed
Where I can see the ceiling as it is
It's almost summer
And I can not sleep in the river anymore

Tuesday, April 20, 2004

There is no comprehension
There is real isolation
There is so much destruction
What I want is a celebration

I got you under my skin "


Thursday, April 15, 2004

Precious chaos

I was lying there in the red room
Your lips were there, tight in bloom
I saw them
Wrinkles of your virility
Ambivalence in your innocent rebel facility

Rebel was when he moved
Like the wrinkles on a hidden wood
In a beaver hood
That stood
And understood

"You saw it all..."
No you did not
You just choked
Even when we spoke and spoiled

I'm not here
And I will never be
Don't knock it up
Cuz I won't let that little girl inside down
I won't

Thursday, April 08, 2004


He's so damn like his dad
Asking me how I feel? Glad!
Dad says: I bought that Shakespeare's
They pause
He stairs at the maroon rows of chairs
How they would creak loudly?
Couple of minuets passes
He says; I love poems
Dad's reading the book
His brother, same similarity,
Crawls next to dad
Grandpa comes fat and red
I bet he's just been fed
They all share the same shape of head
He's still staring at the maroon rows of chairs
And they all creak
Asking me how I feel? I'm fuckin' glad!

Tuesday, April 06, 2004

چه بگویم؟
خسته ام.زیاد...
از این دخترک و سکوتهای طولانیش دلم می گیرد.
می کوبد خودش را بر تکه ای فلز بی احساس ،از ترس آنکه مبادا ما خجالت زده شویم.
می کوبد خودش را بر سردی لرزان آن و اشک می ریزد.
تاب تحملش را ندارم.

Thursday, April 01, 2004

صدای خودم را می شنوم که انگار سالها از من دور است
صدای حزن انگیز یک زن
چه بیهوده می کوشم که تو را گرم کنم
کودک،کودک فرِاّر
دستانم را باز می کنم
می لغزی
می روی

تسلی خواهم یافت
رشد خواهم کرد
نغمه خواهم ساخت
و به عقب باز نگرد
پشت سر چیزی نیست
هیچ چیز


"همیشه نا تمام می ماند
حرفهای من با خودم..."
( عباس کیارستمی)