something so Right, something so Wrong

I feel something so right
By doing the wrong thing
And I feel something so wrong
By doing the right thing...
-- (Counting Stars, OneRepublic)

Alas, the story of our lives.

Fuming howls

My home is on fire, a heart rending fire
It's burning everything, everywhere
The curtains and the carpets
The wraps and the wefts
...

خانه ام آتش گرفته ست، آتشی جانسوز
هر طرف می سوزد این آتش
پرده ها و فرشها را، تارشان با پود

من به هر سو می دوم گریان
در لهیب آتش پر دود
وز میان خنده هایم تلخ و خروش گریه ام ناشاد
از دورن خسته ی سوزان
می کنم فریاد، ای فریاد! ای فریاد

خانه ام آتش گرفته ست، آتشی بی رحم
همچنان می سوزد این آتش
نقشهایی را که من بستم به خون دل
بر سر و چشم در و دیوار
در شب رسوای بی ساحل

وای بر من، سوزد و سوزد
غنچه هایی را که پروردم به دشواری
در دهان گود گلدانها
روزهای سخت بیماری

از فراز بامهاشان، شاد
دشمنانم موذیانه خنده های فتحشان بر لب
بر من آتش به جان ناظر
در پناه این مشبک شب

من به هر سو می دوم گریان
ازین بیداد
می کنم فریاد ای فریاد! ای فریاد

وای بر من، همچنان می سوزد این آتش
آنچه دارم یادگار و دفتر و دیوان
و آنچه دارد منظر و ایوان

من به دستان پر از تاول
این طرف را می کنم خاموش
وز لهیب آن روم از هوش
ز آندگر سو شعله برخیزد ، به گردش دود
تا سحرگاهان، که می داند
که بود من شود نابود

خفته اند این مهربان همسایگانم
شاد در بستر
صبح از من مانده بر جا
مشت خاکستر

وای، آیا هیچ سر بر می کنند از خواب
مهربان همسایگانم از پی امداد
سوزدم این آتش بیدادگر بنیاد
می کنم فریاد، ای فریاد! ای فریاد
(فریاد - مهدی اخوان ثالث)

Cage

چه خوش است حال مرغي كه قفس نديده باشد
چه نكوتر آنكه مرغي ز قفس پريده باشد
پر و بال ما بريدند و در قفس گشودند
چه رها، چه بسته مرغي كه پرش بريده باشد
(منسوب به صادق سرمد)

How happy is a bird who has never been caged.
How happier is a bird who has flown away from a cage.
Our feathers are cut and we are set free,
What difference does it make to a featherless bird, to be caged or uncaged?

Someone, Anyone

...
+ I could have been someone
* Well so could anyone
...
-- The Pogues (Fairytale Of New York)

Swamps of Sadness

Words fleeing,
Images fading,
Sounds stifling,
Visions blurring,
Ambitions departing ...

It's the Nothing, swallowing my Fantasia, swallowing me. Where is my luck dragon?

Second after second and day by day

And you can easily gamble your life away...
Second after second and day by day...

Come away, O human child

...
Where the wave of moonlight glosses
The dim grey sands with light,
Far off by furthest Rosses
We foot it all the night,
Weaving olden dances,
Mingling hands and mingling glances
Till the moon has taken flight;
To and fro we leap
And chase the frothy bubbles,
While the world is full of troubles
And is anxious in its sleep.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters of the wild
With a faery hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.
...
-- William Butler Yeats

Stolen Child is among my most favorite poems. It has such a hallucinative effect on me, perfect for hard and gloomy times, when you really feel you want to take refuge to a place where the wandering water gushes and the drowsy water rats. Oh I wished for little faeries to come and steal me away, to the leafy island, full of berries, and of reddest stolen cherries....

Knock, Knock...

knockin' on heaven's door

Simple, but not Easy! The question is, do you have what it takes...?

Nagito ergo sum!

People lay the foundation of grand theories like Information Theory in their master thesis, and I am going to become the founder of the grand theory of Nagging through my work (primarily nagging to myself) here!

Quo Vadis?

Zurich, an alpine city with fantastic sceneries, classy transportations, strangest German dialect, and fantastic chocolates and cheese!

I was going back to my dorm a few nights ago, it was exactly midnight and for the first time since I had arrived in Zurich, I looked up at the night's sky. The W, or Cassiopeia, was right above my head. I remembered the first time I looked at Stockholm's night sky, and how shocked I was for noticing that most everything was not at the place it always used to be; there Ursa Minor was almost above my head and I could see constellations that were not supposed to be seen in the sky at the same time (not supposed to be seen at my hometown's night sky that is).

When you move around, many things change in your environment, the look and feel of the place, the buildings, the signs, the plants, the way people dress and most obvious of all, the language. But for me, none of all those has ever had an effect as powerful as noticing the changes in the sky. It is like the final verdict, that proves that I have moved, and I am in a new place now!

It is just the contrary of a saying we have in Persian, "Where ever you go, the color of sky would be the same!". It is definitely not so, in the outside at least. But perhaps in the inside, skies stay the same. My internal sky has stayed the same for a long time now, it is gray, with a touch of pink!

= = =

Vienna, good old Vienna. It was a weird feeling, walking by the consuming silence of Donna (Danube) again, remembering the meditating nights I had, gazing at the dancing lights of the bridges over the calm flow of the water. The water looked so calm, but it surely carried the huge burden of what it had seen on its way since it had left the springs, the falls it had passed, the floods it had caused..., but it still had a long way to go; and so did I, and so did I.

= = =

Tehran, the hot city of dry eyes and lost cries.... The capital of my country, whose state and affairs hurt me, just like most other things I love do.

The stay in Tehran this time was just a simple one day transit stay, perhaps not that simple though. Our flight from Mashhad to Tehran was scheduled to be at 7:45pm, and we got home in Tehran at 5am next day. Mashhad's airport was just like a war zone that night, I have traveled quite a lot with plane, but I had never experienced such a havoc. The result of it for me was three broken nails (finger and thumb) and a twisted wrist!

= = =

Mashhad, home. It is already three weeks since I left it again, but it looks like a year. I don't know how on earth I survived the last days, I just have a vague recollection of trying to stay sane, keep my face straight, and handle what I had to handle. And also of reciting these verses from a poem by Saadi (here is the song):

ای ساربان آهسته رو کآرام جانم می​رود
وان دل که با خود داشتم با دلستانم می​رود

من مانده​ام مهجور از او بیچاره و رنجور از او
گویی که نیشی دور از او در استخوانم می​رود
...
او می​رود دامن کشان من زهر تنهایی چشان
دیگر مپرس از من نشان کز دل نشانم می​رود
...
در رفتن جان از بدن گویند هر نوعی سخن
من خود به چشم خویشتن دیدم که جانم می​رود

Vocabulary

Taciturn, reluctant, reticent...
Somber, dreary, gloomy, ...
Scared, frighted, panicked...
Confused, addled,...
Lonely, desolate...

Respiration, breathing!

Twice

"When you don't show up, it hurts twice. Not only for I realize you don't care to come, but also for I loose the chance to see you!"

Minuscule fantasy

My dearest Niki had his big day. I talked to him before and after it, he was nervous. I was nervous too, everybody was nervous. But happy at the same time. Amidst all the turmoil, the thought of his big day was something that gave me the feeling that fireworks are in order. Still, it was/is bittersweet.

And I did have the fireworks, and the tears too! Although very short and minuscule, there is a sanction on dreams and fantasies for the time being. I don't remember much about it, I just know I did have it.

And I can't tell them. Or shall I? I didn't ask to grow this fast, or did I? And now the responsibility is upon me, or is it? But certainly the guilt. Or is this the natural order of life? People come to life and people leave it to make way for the new?

The new loves the old, but has a certain way of restraining it. The old but loves him in the extremest public way. And they both love me (I think), but I haven't learned to give them back. Anger, fear and desperation sucks it all before it reaches my skin.

My aunt said I'm an incapable person, a waste. I thought I had got used to her offenses and insults, but this frank into my face, with her eyes testifying that she was just telling the truth from the bottom of her heart, it cracked and it took just too much an effort to hold together. Luckily there was chips and sandwiches to get reinforced and busy with. I feel like liking her more though, at least she is frank. The bliss of ignorance is long gone. Most everything is gone, or has been exiled.

I learned the Prim at last! I've made up my mind, enough of the humiliation and degradation. I just don't fit in, that is all. But Graphs are nice, so perhaps they have some room for me, they are polite and elegant, and sometimes handsome too! There are still things to hang on to!

Just nicely put...

داری می‌روی؟
داری من را با همه‌ی تراژدی‌ها، همه‌ی مترسک‌ها، همه‌ی ‏خوک‌ها، همه‌ی کرگدن‌ها، همه‌ی ماهی‌ها، همه‌ی رودخانه‌ها، ‏همه‌ی ماهی‌گیرها، همه‌ی گورکن‌ها، همه‌ی همه‌شان، تنها ‏می‌گذاری؟
من با همه‌ی تراژدی‌ها، مترسک‌ها، خوک‌ها، کرگدن‌ها، ماهی‌ما، ‏رودخانه‌ها، ماهی‌گیرها، گورکن‌ها، همه‌شان می‌رقصم؛
می‌خندم؛
آتش‌بازی می‌کنم؛
می‌خوابم؛
‏...‏
حتماً باید امشب بروی؟ می‌خواهی همه‌شان را بفرستم مرخصی؟ ‏خیلی‌ وقت‌ست نرفته‌اند. راستش این‌طرف‌ها هم خیلی شلوغ ‏شده. می‌خواهی تمیزش کنیم؟
داری می‌روی؟

می‌ترسم تمیزش کنم و برنگردی.‏
حیف نیستند؛ اما رقص، آتش، خواب، ...‏

می‌ترسم تمیزش کنم و برگردی.‏


‎□‎‏ ‏‎□‎‏ ‏‎□‎

وقتی اسکیمو‌ئه با اون لباس همیشگی و کلفت‌ـش وارد بار شد، با ‏طعنه ازش پرسیدیم گرم‌ـت نمی‌شه؟
با همون نگاه بی‌روح و خشک‌ش گفت «من از یه جای خیلی سرد ‏می‌یام»...‏
همه ساکت شدیم. ‏
اون هم نفهمید که ما حرفی واسه گفتن داشته‌یم یا نه...‏

‎□‎

سال‌ها بعد، وقتی تو قطب دیدم‌ش که تنها با یه چوب ماهیگیری ‏بالای یکی از این چاله‌های کوچک روی زمین نشسته بود ازش ‏پرسیدم «تو این همه مدت سردت نمی‌شه؟»‏
با لحن طعنه‌دار و حاضرآماده‌ای بلند خندید.‏
پرسیدم «واقعاً تو این همه مدت تنهایی سردت نمی‌شه؟»‏
ساکت شد. ‏
و من هیچ‌وقت نفهمیدم حرفی واسه گفتن داشت یا نه...‏

‎□‎‏ ‏‎□‎‏ ‏‎□‎

-- Source: Horm

Four funerals and no weddings!

I arrived in Mashhad late at Wednesday night. Watching the small light dots on the way, I was thinking "Let it crash, let it crash...". Well, it didn't crash but in the past 5 days, I've been to 4 funerals (4 different people). It seems the wish or the curse has fallen on other people and tonight at the 4th one, I was thinking of one of Parvin's poems:

سالها نرد خدایی باختی
این گره را زان گره نشناختی

But I hope things are going to be better. I've recently figured that I kind of subconsciously enjoy playing the role of a victim. I seriously need to work on it, find the courage to face my fears and accept the realities of life, learn to embrace more of it and also learn to talk.

Dry eyes, lost cries

The weather in Tehran is so hot. So hot that incites the flame within and too dry for eyes to cry. It is noisy, so noisy for the cries to be heard, and so poluted, for the eyes to meet. It is also busy, too busy for people to forward a hand or spare a time.

I might have been born wealthy, but my life is definitely not painless. Or perhaps I'm just ungrateful, selfish, arrogant and too self-centered to feel and see.

Tormenting dear...

One of the worst tortures in life is to be tormented by a dear one who only has your best interest at heart...

It sometimes hurts, being a girl...

Can't walk!

Why run, until you can't walk?