البوهيمي

boho picc

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وِلد كبقية الأطفال؛
لم تشرق الشمس من مغربها حين وِلد و لا اهتزت الجبال
خرج لهذه الحياة من رِحم صحراء قاحلة
—لا نبات فيها و لا ماء
صحراءً عِشقت السراب و شِربت الموتَ اقداحًا حتى الإغماء
وِلد كبقية الأطفال؛
ورِثَ جسدًا يسجن روحه و ملامح أموات
أخُتير له اسم و هوية و كُبل ببضع أغلال
غلًا التف حول رقبته ليخنقه
و غلًا حول يديه يجتره أينما ذهب

وِلد كبقية الأطفال؛
رتلوا في اذنه اليمنى الأذان
و صبوا فوقه الماء ليتوب
رغم أنه بعدًا لم يذنب
وِلد— كبقية السجناء؛
خُدر وريده و خُيطَ فِمه و صُمت اذنيه
!—قتلهُ الجبناء
و هو بعدًا لم يكن

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The Seventh Room

Mary Magdalene in the Cave

‘The ending is water’
Whispered a crow
As I step slow—Out, out of the asylum
My body, which isn’t mine, dragged all way
Needles falling on the grey floor,
Some I took off—
Others were inserted for too long
Hideous as a monster,
The survivor of the one thousand years bloodshed
Finally managed an escape, with a book and papers’ shreds
At the end of the aisle of patients’ beds,
I know there is a staircase leading to an exit
I ran downward.

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امرأة الكُثبان

Caravaggio-Maria-Maddalena-in-estasi-1606_Fotor

في ارضي، لن ترى إلا الفحم و الكُثبان
لا بداية، لها، و لا نهاية
رملا فوق رمل و آلهة من الحجر و غِربان
في أرضي، ستسمع فقط عن جنات عدن و شقائق النعمان
هنا، حيث اللازمان و اللامكان
هنا، حيث عَبدتٌ الحَجر

وحيدةً تمامًا في الفلك
فلا سماء زرقاء و لا قمر
ارضي، هذه التي اكتسح السواد رملها
و جفت نسائها و لقت حتفها
،ارضي
ارضُ الرماد و الفحم
ارضًا ملئتها الذكور أمُم
..ارضي
،ارضُ الصدأ و الموتى
أموطنًا انتِ أم منفى؟

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حُلم

a dream

حلمت بالأمس بأن الامنية قد ماتت
و بأن الاغنية قد عاشت

حلمت بالامس بأن هذهِ الحياة كانت تسقط من اعلى كالمُذنب

مني تقترب و بكَ تحترق

حلمت بغياب الامس
و بطلوع الشمس

حلمت بالسماء و بسكون المطر
حلمت بك… و كنت انت السفر

كنت انت.. و كنت انا
و خلفنا القمر

من اي انتظار قد جئت؟

خشيت ان استيقظ قبل أن اعرفك
خشيت ان تغيب و ان افقدك
!خشيت الحلم
و بإن إستيقاظي سيهجُرك

 

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A Man on a Cliff

Miranda_-_The_Tempest_JWW

I am a blocked volcanic crater
I burn my own skin
Going dry, going slim
Going all the way to him
I am the waiting siren
At the end of your swim.

I am the stone that kept you
On a cliff
You’d think you’d fall from a breeze,
Or a passing whiff—
But darling, not even a firestorm
Could unleash your tethered feet.

Suffocated in vain—
I prayed for the droplets of your rain
To slowly dissipate my heat
And cover me in mist
And all the feelings I missed.

The man of charcoal and ashes,
Still hanging on a cliff
Blind, deaf, and stiff.

Darling, the lavas are stepping closer
To burning you,
Burning me.

 

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The Passion of Ishtar

passion of Ishtar

Of Ishtar and the transfiguration of Tiamat

Of a land between two rivers, sing I
I—The divine coronated of the eight stars
Etched by the men from Mars,
I—a star Venus
Alone I stood ahead of Cetus.

Carved in clays and stones,
For the sinuous serpent had me lacking bones.
In a chest of seashells
In Gold—
Gold and skin mold,
I stood.
My feet of stones shattered
Of the standoff, what mattered?
I wondered.
I am near collapsing.

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Via Dolorosa

Via DolorosaAngels or demons
Demons, must it be
Had a place in my head
They build it;
Stone by stone
To atone—they said.
Far behind the prayers and the olive trees
Hidden in burdens and tears.
There—
The House of the Madness they called it.

I look upon its hideous wall: a mural for the sick
Not a foothold.
Not a prayer.
Voices I hear, crumbles at the wall
(Silence the mad, only then you will be glad—
Climb the path of sorrows by morrow)

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A Faithful Worshipper

A Faithful Worshipper - Pygmilaon

Among the men in white I walked
Seven and hundreds of times I walked.
First, I crawled;
Then, I marched
And at last, I dead-walked;
A humming corpse driven by the crowds
Around the black house of the men in white.

Cracked feet, skin dry
Bleeding feet, bleeding eyes—
Eyes of the whites studied me
For I must be among the black maids;
I must walk as they walk.
Sing, songs of the dead whites,
As they sing
I must follow.

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Where do all Iranians Go?

persebolies book coverrrFree countries believe they could offer equal society rights as long as the country is one hundred present neutral in matters of religion. But religious countries have to adapt a religious system (whether be Sharia or any that are based on religious laws). Religion quite clearly states of the importance of following God’s written words. In the first countries, man might feel the freedom to be, but he often feels the disconnection of his reality. The materialistic of his society, a contractual society that smells like cigarettes and capitalist junk food. In the latter countries, man feels no differences between himself and those around him, but he suffers from the loss of freedom of choice. People react differently to their countries; Some might ridicule both, some would rather freedom over anything, some think that a theocratical system is what will save us. Only few, however, can understand what it cost to have a civilization and to distinguish their own morals out of what have already been set to them, only few can understand the disparity of being a woman living in any country. Marjane Satrapi is one of these rare people…

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Your Complete Guide to The Absurdist Fiction of Haruki Murakami…

kafka-book-cover22

I admit it, I am finding myself out of words. I have been staring for hours at Murakami’s book covers, trying to read back his quotes. Just another fail attempt to get me inside the world of Haruki Murakami.

In Murakami’s world, there’re no such things as barriers or roofs, Murakami doesn’t write to put himself inside any scientific life law. He doesn’t care to send a moral message, God forbidden, or even to clarify himself in words. He is the master of creating an absurdist world, an absurdist world where dreams and reality are no longer separated and where our consciousness, understanding of life and our being are all a mere metaphor.

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