Where were you?

Where were you?

When I cried out your name,

and heard not even my own echo…

Where were you?

When I walked in haste and bewildered among the crowds;

every face bearing your likeness, and yet

YOU were no where to be found…

Where were you?

When a single kind word uttered through your sweet lips, 

was the only remedy to my ill faded affliction…

Where were you?

When lost in thought and lost in time,

I watched days slip into nights and nights into days;

as I stared through the window of my memories!

Burned and broken, void of all pride;

a fetus, crouched in a corner of an empty room;

I took refuge in the womb of your silence…

Where were you?

Where were you?

Where were you?

…

My incubation, pain and sorrow;

my gestation, mourning and regret…

A seedling of change,

I was reborn, 

an orphan!!!

DREAM...

Slowly roused from a solemn slumber…

No longer dreaming… but yet, still lost in a dream…

Heedless of time, neglectful of my surroundings…

I strain to hold onto the images that rush through my mind’s eye…

Sweet remnants of a reverie…

Passing by just as fast as they vanish from my conscious memory for ever…

Unreservedly, I float in endless time and space…

Unleashed from the perils of the conscious mind…

At the core, I am one with the essence…

Nay, I AM the essence!

Time, futile and meaningless…

I am untainted and unalloyed!

Drowned and saturated with utter love!

I am immersed in a dance…

With YOU!!!

برگ پاییز - Autumn Leaf

...من تنها، من شیدا
...بی‌ تو گریان
!غرق در بوسه‌‌های اشک


...من مسافر، تویی پایان
...راه خود باخته
!حیرانم در این میان

...چشمان چو دریا...
...گوهر دیده نثار تو کردم


...با این هدایا، با این گوهر ها، آشوفتهٔ عشق
...قلب خود قربانی معبد تو کردم



...جز اسارت، جز حقارت
...نصیبم نشد چیز دگر

...دست بسته، دل‌ شکسته
...همچو برگ پاییزی
!!!فرش زیر پای تو بود مرا پایان

I, the MIRROR, or my own REFLECTION?

I, a stranger, even to my own self it seems…

As I sit in solitude and stare at my own reflection…

Details blur and blur even more, illegible and unfamiliar…

How did I ever come to deserve this affliction?...

I have traveled this road, so long and so far…

An accomplished traveler to many, yet unacquainted with my own destination…

Who am I, and what purpose do I serve?...

What were the significance and the consequence of my conception?

A son, a brother, a friend, or a lover? The creator or the creation?...

Playing the part in the theater of LIFE, engrossed and obsessed with utter perfection…

Mind, body and soul, intermingled into an indecipherable illusion…

This trinity, my golden cage, how can I break free from this triangulation?...

Agonizing search for the truth of it all, these days, my only companion…

Determined, and yet uncertain of the merit of my own dissertation…

When the observer is observed, and the perceiver perceived…

Which is existent, genuine and real? I, the MIRROR, or my own REFLECTION?!!!

Trapped!!!

Present time, halted…  Tomorrow concealed…

Can’t see the future, for the past…

Memories, haunting me still…

How long will the dreadful nightmare last?

Broken, into infinite pieces, little by little…

Whole on the outside, and yet, lost in this cosmic vast…

Trusting?  No longer and never more…

My faith in purity and propriety, I’m losing fast…

Fatigued and weary of self reflection, yet in this mirror I still gaze…

Trapped inside myself, wishing desperately to break this cast!!!

A Note to My English-Speaking Readers

My dearest English-Speaking readers (old and new):  

Although all of the work I have published thus far is in English, I do, from time to time, write poems in my native language (Farsi) because in certain cases the true essence of what I try to capture and convey is best done in that language.

I thought about providing an English translation of the poems along with the original, but as you probably know, a lot gets lost in translation from one language to another.  Especially in poetry, as the poem loses its delicate use of words and rhymes once translated.

The following two posts are poems written in Farsi because I could best capture their essence in that language.  

If you are a new English-speaking reader, simply scroll down passed these two posts (or use the BLOG ARCHIVE navigation on the right) to read the content written in English.

Kami

!مگو

ندا دادم, صدا کردم وفریاد زدم که ای یار من کجایی, کجایی؟

از دور شنیدمش گریان و گریزان و در قصد رهایی

گفتمش که دل تنگم و از تو بی خبرم

گفت از دل تنگی و بی خبری رنج مبر و هیچ مگو

گفتمش ز عشق و ز درد دوری و نیاز

گفت ز عشق و ز دردت دگر هیچ مگو

گفتمش من انم که غمش تیره کند روز

گفت بار غمت به دوش بگیر و از غم هیچ مگو

گفتمش که خانه ام بی تو متروکست و خاموش

گفت از این خانه برو, از تاریکی و خاموشی دگر هیچ مگو

گفتمش که دل بسته ام به تو، من عاشقم

گفت از دلبستگی و عاشقی هیچ مگو

گفتمش که دلم تشنه چو صحراست

گفت باران ز ابر دگر جوی وز تشنگی دگر هیچ مگو

گفتمش ای یار شیرین، خاموشم مساز

!گفت خاموش بمان و به من دگر هیچ مگو

!بگو

...بگو, ای یار من, بگو
...از خود بگو
...از من بگو
...از ما بگو

...از عشق بی پروا بگو
...از شادی و از غم بگو
...از بسیاری و از کم بگو

...بگو
...از بوسه های اتشین
...از لحظه های اخرین
...از اسمان و از کهکشان بگو

...ندانم دگر انچه بود و انچه هست
...!ز فردای این دل بی سامان بگو

...بگو تو ای یگانه شیرین زبان
...بگو تو ای یگانه یار من
!!!بگو

RAVEN'S CALL!

The initial interrogation and the complimentary beating concluded!

He was then barely eighteen years of age.  Terrified, bleeding, and in pain – still wearing the heavy and odorous wool bag over his head (used as a blindfold and a measure to keep the identity of the guards and the interrogators secret) – he was guided by a guard down the hallway…

All he could see was the dirty vinyl floor beneath his feet.

Turn to your left and stop.  The guard commanded.

He heard the clanking of a heavy metal latch followed by the screeching sound of the metal door as it swung open on its rusty hinges.

The guard, now standing directly behind him, in a swift move, removed the blindfold and simultaneously kicked him in the middle of his spine.

Unable to breath and disoriented, it took him a few seconds to realize what had just happened…  He found himself, now, inside the holding cell as he heard the metal door screech again as it was shut behind him…

The cell, a very cold and damp 5’X5’ room with walls painted in pistachio green which held six prisoners (including him).  They had all crouched over sitting on the floor and leaning against the walls.  They all had wrapped themselves with standard army-issue blankets to keep warm. 

Prisoners shuffled around to open up room for him to sit.

The floor was covered with more than 20 blankets, but they were all damp and cold.

Now sitting against the wall with his knees under his chin, still bleeding from his mouth, nose, and the corner of his left eye, he surveyed his surroundings.  The cell was lit with a single 60 watt light bulb mounted on the high ceiling, had a very small 8”X12” window above reach, barred and missing glass.  It was snowing outside, and because of the broken window the wind blew snow inside the cell and it was collecting in a smile pile in the middle of the room.

To his right, sat a Kurdish man in his late forties.  His name was Ghader (meaning able).  He seemed warm hearted and kind and was genuinely concerned for the young man’s condition.

Where were you arrested? Ghader asked him.

Outside the city of Khoy right at the three-way pass. The young man replied.

Just a month ago-before I got arrested-WE were in control of that road and we were arresting these damn Hezbollah pigs. Ghader proudly proclaimed.

…

Two days passed.  Same routine…  Interrogation, beating, and back to the cell.

On the third day, as he was sharing a hardened loaf of bread with Ghader for breakfast, they heard a raven’s call outside the window.  It was odd and unusual because the raven didn’t stop and went on for at least 10 minutes.

Ghader turned to him and said: The raven’s call…  It is an omen of good luck.  Something good will happen today.  I promise.

Later on that day, at 11:30 pm to be exact, the Guards came and took Ghader away.

A few minutes later Ghader’s screams and cries echoed through the entire cell block.  20 minutes later, everything went silent!

At 2:00 am the guards came back.

They called him by name and announced that it was time for his trial.  They asked him to put on the head cover once again as they slid it through the small hatch in the cell door used for passing food and water. 

He did as he was instructed.

And as the guards walked and guided him down the hallway and away from the cell, once again, all he could see was the dirty vinyl flooring beneath his feet.  But this time, it was stained with blood.  Ghader’s blood on the floor as they dragged his lifeless body from the interrogation room to god knows where.

He was tried and freed that night...  

And now, decades later, still, every time he hears a Raven’s call, he is reminded of Ghader’s claim that it was an omen.  

An omen that foretold his freedom and Ghader’s death!

With that, I will give you my latest painting:  Raven’s Call

Fallen

Prelude

As you already know, most of my paintings and sculptures have very special meanings to me; and at times, you have read a poem or a story that accompany and compliment a particular piece.

This piece is my very first sculpture.  It came to me as a vision; and it took me weeks to bring it to life. Though I finished it and named it a long time ago, it took me many years to bring its true meaning into words…

I hope you enjoy the sculpture and the story named: “Fallen”

-----------------------

Fallen

It was one those dreary and gray colored winter afternoons… 

The days in which the air is pregnant with a thunder storm that is not yet due for delivery…

The days in which everything appears to be in black and white and in shades of gray…

No special day…  

Just a day we wish would pass quickly in hope of a new dawn.

The air was not too cold, but cold and breezy enough to be annoying…

…

I noticed him right away as I entered the café that afternoon.  He was, after all, very hard to miss.

Seated at the best table in the house, he had a certain air of eccentricity about him.  It felt as though he was at the center stage in this scenery and all the surroundings were nothing but a blur.

I grabbed a table nearby and sat down.

Right beside him, leaning against his chair, was a beautiful cane, looking exotic and dassy.  Dark, shimmering black wood adorned with a heavy silver serpent head- a striking cobra-for the handle, and a heavy and pointy silver piece which resembled a serpent’s tale  at the other end.  Though it looked as if it was made just yesterday, one could easily tell that it was an antique, even a precious family heirloom perhaps.

Crouched over the table, a steaming cup of coffee by his side, he was writing something in a beautiful leather-bound sketchbook.  The cover made of soft luxurious leather ornamented with tribal branding and markings.  A long leather string-used to close the sketchbook by wrapping it around it-was coiled next to his hand.

I don’t exactly know why, I could not help but stare…  

He, of course, never noticed me, as he was deep in thought…  

Almost as though he was in a trance…

Writing…

Just writing…

His face, intensely determined, yet burdened.  His eyes focused razor sharp, as though he was looking not at the pages of the sketchbook, but rather through them…

…

“Can I get you something sir?”

“sir?”

“Sir?!”

“Ah, I’m sorry”, I replied looking up at the young dark haired waitress. 

Silence…

“Are you feeling ok?” She asked.

“Yes.  Yes, I am fine.  Thank you. I was just distracted for a moment”. I replied.

“What would you like?”

It took me a few moments to remember where I was and why I was there…

“Ah, yes a cappuccino please”.

“Would you like any pastries with that?”

“No.  Thank you.  The coffee will do for now”.

“Ok.  I’ll get that for you right away.  Would you like a glass of water?”

“No.  Thank you”.

And with that she turned around and walked away…  

Perhaps whispering under her breath something like: “what a lunatic!!!”…

My eyes followed her until she disappeared into the kitchen.  When I turned to once again find my eccentric writer, he was gone…!

I quickly glanced around the café to no avail. 

He was gone…

The cane was gone…

But the sketchpad remained on the table!

Instinctively, I leaped out of my seat, grabbed the sketchbook and stormed out the door...

There it was again, the grey winter afternoon…

Scattered number of passersby walking on the sidewalks… 

Hunkered deep into their winter coats and scarves, busily and desperately trying to get to their destinations where they could find warmth and comfort away from the cold, gray and gloomy streets.

I looked to my right…

I looked to my left…

I double and tripled checked…

But there was no sign of him.

He had simply vanished into the grayness of that winter afternoon!!!

I returned to the café and this time sat at his table.  The sketchpad in my hand felt lumpy in the middle, and when I parted it I found out why.  Marking the last page in which he had written and nestled in the fold of the book there was a very small and simple pencil.  Now, shorter than an inch, the pencil had written all it was going to write in its lifetime!

And…

He had written:

“It started on the 17^th …

And 472 days later…

It ended on the 17^th…

Today…

I thought of heaven and hell a fool’s dream…

An old wives tale…

My heaven and hell were here on earth, now I see…

I see…

My life, a quicksand…

The more persistently and indefatigably I sought my heaven, the deeper I sank in hell!!!

…

I am hanging off a cliff… 

Afraid to fall… 

I confessed to you long ago…

My hand is extended…

Take it…

I won’t ever let you fall…

You, so lovingly replied…

And so I did.

You said it aloud…

And you intended it earnestly…

But you couldn’t hold on…

I saw the hesitation in your eyes…

I heard the fear in your voice…

I felt the weakening of your grip…

I place on you no blame!…

For you not knew the heavy weight of my burdens!…

Today…

At last…

At the time I needed you the most…

The weight, proved far too grave…

Teary eyed…

Your grip loosened…

My desperate hand, you let go…

Plausible, credible, to my mind and yet ruinously shattering my heart…

I know not which is the greater pain…

The fall or the abandonment?!!!

For all I know…

Is that it is all too much to bear…

Far beyond my ability to cope…

I no longer have the will or the power to hold on…

And if I did…

There is nothing to hold on to!

Falling, finally inevitable and at hand…

I have no choice but to let go…

…

I thought of heaven and hell a fool’s dream…

An old wives tale…

My heaven and hell were here on earth, now I see…

I see…

My life, a quicksand…

The more persistently and indefatigably I sought my heaven, the deeper I sank in hell!!!

Falling, finally inevitable and at hand…

I have no choice but to let go…

It started on the 17^th …

And 472 days later…

It ended on the 17^th…

Today…

Forever silent…

From this point forth… 

Maybe… 

I find peace with the memory of those 472 days in between!!!

Goodbye!

 -------------------------

I sat there for a while…

Puzzled...

Pondering…

Trying to solve the riddle…

Trying to ascertain his meaning and his aim…

But I could only go as far as my imagination!!!

…

Now...

 I carry that sketchbook…

Out of respect for him I have not looked at all pages prior…

And…

The remaining pages…

As  many or as little as they may be…

Will bear my written word as their predecessors did his!!!

Avowal

Steering clear from inevitable judgment, for years have been I…

Ever so pleasing, to known and unknown, seeker of approval have been I…

Reclusive at heart and at the core, time after time, the center stage have taken I…

Wearing mask after mask and acting the part, building a wall have been I….

 

No longer, no further, and never more…

This ship has sailed its voyage; now at the shore...

I have arrived, liberated and free…

No masks remaining, nothing but ME…

 

To you spectators of life, Judge me as you wish…

I am free of you; it is only truth that I now cherish…

Make believe happiness no more; the wall will go no further…

My own sense of self, I no longer will murder!

Treasured Moments, Priceless Charms on the Bracelet of Life

From the point in time in which a fertilized egg splits into two for the very first time, to the very last seconds in which we exhale our last breath, our lives are shaped, touched, felt and lived through a series of defining moments:

The exhilarating moment when we, as children, realized that we were riding the bicycle-for but a split second-unassisted and without the training wheels...

The moment of our first kiss and how strange yet delicious and warm it felt sending millions of tingling shocks of electricity through every cell of our bodies...

The first time we made love, not just with our physical bodies, but with our SOULS...

The moment in which a newborn's tiny little hand wraps around a single finger of her exhausted mother and makes it all worthwhile...

The moment when a parent hears "dada" or "mama" for the first time...

The moment when we know, with every shred of our being that we are in love...

...

Of course life is not that kind and generous to bestow upon us only moments of utter and sheer happiness.

We feel pain...

We feel the unbearable and the deafening silence of loneliness…

We feel sorrow…

We cry...

We become ill...

We experience defeats, disappointments and loss...

And we should!!!

For it is the existence and the experience of sorrow, pain, loneliness, defeat, disappointment, and loss that give us the frame of reference, the perspective and the contrast needed to truly appreciate and treasure, laughter, happiness, triumph, beauty in the most minute of things, and love.

We, live our lives, each in her or his own special and unique way, to covet, to seek, to find, to create, to collect, and even sometimes to steal as many beautiful and meaningful moments as we can!

And, we wear these treasured moments like beautiful and priceless charms on the bracelets of our lives!

At the end, it matters not how long we have lived. What matters is the number of charms hanging off of our bracelets of life!!!!!

I give you my latest piece:

"Treasured Moments, Priceless Charms on the Bracelet of Life"