It has been so

In these moments, as past, present, and future coalesce to form the hours of my life, I feel dissatisfied and disgusted by the circumstances of my life. And what is the rationale behind this pain, what is this bad karma the consequence of? Context, or lack thereof, deprives us of our vital needs to belong to, to interact with, and to experience magic and serendipity. Without context we are children of odds and random collisions of particles; since every atom belonging to me, as well may not belong to you.

Unpretentious

The irony of modern man is that he can look at himself from 1000 m high, see all of his follies, and keep going indifferently. Simply put, the modern man is unpretentiously callous!
In widening the arena of discourse, we have sacrificed grace upon the altar of freedom.

Do not go gentle into that good night

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, 
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15377

Unbearable

“She had studied the universe all her life, but had overlooked its clearest message: For small creatures such as we the vastness is bearable only through love.”  ― Carl Sagan,

Walter Benjamin

"There is no document of civilization which is not at the same time a document of barbarism." --Walter Benjamin

Real Life

Welcome to real life!
-Paying out of pocket
-Services amazingly work!
-Not many lucky nights
-Going to bed alone Friday nights!  - M. Kh

بهار

بوی باران، بوی سبزه، بوی خاک
شاخه‌های شسته، باران خورده، پاک
آسمان آبی و ابر سپيد
برگهای سبز بيد
عطر نرگس، رقص باد
نغمه شوق پرستوهای شاد
خلوت گرم کبوترهای مست

نرم نرمک می رسد اينک بهار
خوش به حال روزگار

خوش به حال چشمه ‌ها و دشتها
خوش به حال دانه‌ها و سبزه‌ها
خوش به حال غنچه‌های نيمه‌باز
خوش به حال دختر ميخک که می خندد به ناز

خوش به حال جام لبريز از شراب
خوش به حال آفتاب

ای دل من گرچه در اين روزگار
جامه رنگين نمی‌ پوشی به کام
باده رنگين نمی ‌بينی به جام
نقل و سبزه در ميان سفره نيست
جامت از آن می که می ‌بايد تهی است

ای دريغ از تو اگر چون گل نرقصی با نسيم
ای دريغ از من اگر مستم نسازد آفتاب
ای دريغ از ما اگر کامی نگيريم از بهار

گر نکوبی شيشه غم را به سنگ
هفت رنگش می‌شود هفتاد رنگ

--فریدون مشیری

Among the crowed

Among the crowed

And then there're those moments

When you feel the presence of another body

Next to you,

In a party,

Among the crowed,

And she tells you,

Please do not misunderstand

My arms touching

Your wide, manly shoulders ...

I am here to depart,

And to give you

One last special attention;

That you may cherish, and never forget

As you get back among the crowed

Where a Palestinian girl has found a lover

Of Zoroastrian origin,

In an evening of Persian new year celebration,

A Romanian and Serbian reunite over their perfect bodies,

A professor sheds tears out of his loneliness,

In a space where a Basque man, once, called home

I carry the weight of these hours;

Only made bearable

by that one last special attention.

Getting back to the crowed

For soon going back to the ground,

Where the Hyacinth roots

Awaiting another resurrection!

From Ordinary to Extraordinary

The weekend magic was in another liberation from homeostasis

In a beautiful Japanese girl who took a bath

In a planed evening laughed by Gods

In a clandestine Walgreens purchase

In discussions of meaning and happiness

In a ordinary person meeting an ordinary person

In land of snow and ice

Recovering from the wreckages of a bygone day

In clarity of purpose

In caring, in Philo, in lobsters, margaritas

In understanding the difference between red and green

In a journey to determine what 1 gant can buy you

You may start with your first $12

Loose your rhythm and give in to the streams of consciousness ...

To Andre

Boy! Your eyes, wide open, was intensely trilling and humbling, simultaneously.
You brought a sense of flow and continuation that was absent from my years of intense struggle and isolation to define my “self”.
You were a reminder that mortality is as much real as a fallacy
of the limited representation of self as the ultimate reality.
That from time to time we may seek solace in the cycle of life-and-renewal
that brings a sense of stability to our representation of nature;
the eternal oak trees and roses.


I also realized that if all goes well, you’ll be there at my funeral
with your 10 or 15-year old, telling him/her stories of your idiosyncratic uncle.
And if not, you’ll be having pop-corns and watching Oscars,
or having sex and celebrating life,
as that mortal singularity that defines my existence dissolves and my body returns to the mother earth.

By moon, by Sun

I watched a thousand drops of rain

Pour into these hands again
Flooding very rivulet
Where destiny begins and confines
In love and indifference
In life and death
By moon
By Sun!

Facts

The fact that clouds scud across the sky is a fact
The fact that somebody just took a bite off an apple is a fact
The fact that this crisp air is adulterated with cigarete smooks is a fact
The fact that the flu shot has delivered the poetry virus into me is a fact
The fact that autum is here is causing the leaves fall,
falling leaves make the birds fly,
and flying birds must fly is a fact!
The fact that this autum sun is keeping me warm and cooling down my tea
reminds me of
The fact that the world is more complex than simple maxims and partial facts!
But, since when I smile, I smile in fact
The fact that your smile makes me smile is always a fact!

Intelligence

Inference
Representation
Strategy

Fly

Fly down to that dungeon;
where no bird can fly,
where no window can bear
the unbearable weight of the wall!
Set up a stand;
where you may attend
to your restless mind,
and confront that which resides
in the dark dungeons of your mind!
Let alone that heart;
let it sing of no regard!
let it take those deep sighs,
let it tumble on its own rhymes

POETRY OF THE HOUR (or a little Monroe Moment)

Your voice was the poetry of the hour

Like the half moon
my heart half contentment
half pure desire!

Just as the ringing bells
reminded us
of another passing day....

We were being filled by feelings;
Of a summer night,
Of smoothie dates,
Of meeting of lovers,
Of melting of souls,
Of Life,
Of being Alive!

On top of the green hills,
where wind comes to pilgrimage of wild roses;
gently caressing one petal at a time,
in a moment of unbearable lightness,
barely long enough,
bare enough,
Heaven's promise of beauty and grace!

And I will Always remember
the color of your petal tiered dress.

friendship

"Do not be content with showing friendship in words alone. Let your heart burn with loving-kindness for all who may cross your path …" ~ Baha'i Writings

The American Mashed-Potato:

The egalitarian mindset of America- which for sometime now has been desperately trying to reconcile itself with the dominant economic ideology of Capitalistic Christianity, i.e., believing in salvation through financial success- has resulted in a cultural milieu of rotten-mashed-potatoes served on every party dining table:

Tiny little sprouts, a few white spots, and an oozing nasty brown liquid are good signs that a potato is not edible. Cook it for a while in a POT and smash it for a few decades under the heavily commercialized dominant pop culture of “get this cheap entertainment till you eventually realize your American Dream, You Bitch”, and the outcome is the 5-to-95 percentile of the youth in this country. Their favorite party activities: Movie Trivias; the ultimate intellectual teaser for this couch-potato generation. The ultimate fantasy of the liberated @Bostonian-girl is to suck on Oscar Wild’s (or some other 1880 counter-culture) #bonner-dick, as she shamelessly tweets it to the world. The Southern-Jewish-medical-school-intern-girl can’t wait to get on that time-capsule to finally meet Moses as he raises his “rod” and shoves it up her tight ass-hole. The white-blonde girl flirting with the muscle-douche is sure she’ll meet both of them at the local mall tomorrow; and yes, those extra small Ballerina Flats and Skinny Jeans are a bit loose on her delicate feet and thighs, but comfy nevertheless!

ps. In no event shall the American Mashed-Potato LLC, its affiliates and its third party providers be liable to you or any third parties for any illness or damages of any kind, direct or indirect, arising out of, or in any way connected with, your prolonged exposure to our cultural products. Consult the appropriate pharmaceutical drug companies or see a shrink for necessary tranquilizers before dropping by, wasting your youth and losing your sanity. We appreciate your business.

I have a Dream

“I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia, the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.”

King invokes a colourful landscape (the red hills of Georgia), stocks it with human characters (the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners) and gives those people something to do (sit down together at the table). Not until the end of the sentence does he deliver the abstract noun at its heart. Brotherhood, King shows us, is not just an empty ideal but a place, an action, a shared meal.

Today

"Yesterday is but a dream, and tomorrow is only a vision. But a today well-lived makes every yesterday a dream of happiness and every tomorrow a vision of hope."

Do Not Stop Writing!

"Do not stop writing," he said
Since your blood is dark green
and it makes a good ink,
when you mix it
with your deep turquoise heart.

"Do not stop writing," he said
Since your pericardium is
broken, cut open on the top,
and it makes a good bote de tinta
Or else, it's of no use.

"Do not stop writing," he said
Since when I said goodbye,
when I cried and cried,
you looked through me
as if I was not there already ...

How do you wash your eyes
off your lackadaisical soul
if not by writing?
How do you cry out your heart
if not by scribing?

I felt how heavy it was
and you're no champion lifter
Just sit and pour it out
Since you are not a drifter
Write my friend, and do not stop writing!