MSdreams

Remorse

2009-07-24T11:36:00.001+04:30

It is always like this:

When everything is just smoothe and going well,
you make a stupid mistake, and all the path you
have passed and built just vanish into debris.
You look back and see nothing but regret, close
your eyes, it's shadowy noisy dark, look ahead and
see nothing but a blurry uncharted land constructed
upon mistakes and regrets.

I'm full of remorse, and the path is awaiting me.

Electricity

2007-05-23T00:18:00.000+03:30

Don’t let u breath
Don’t let u choose
Don’t let u Talk,
Fear like a wall
Is all around us.

Wish I could go that way
Wish I could burn my hair
All eyes,
All heavens,
All surround us.
All goods
All dos
All just words.

No placid calm sea to go under
To die under,
No darkness to light a candle
No darkness
To light a candle
All Electricity.

for you

2006-05-20T23:47:00.000+03:30

what is it that I am looking at ?
am I really seeing anything?or it is just another figment of my imagination?
why is it that I can never reach?
why is it distancing?
is it me that is repellent?or is it not wanting that doesnt want to be in want of me?
dont go,stay with me,the need is crumbling me,the need of u,the need of the smell u pervade.
oh i just can imagine your green branches stretched,twisted like a maze that can never be conquered, in love with itself,with the sky.
your thoughts fly,fly high,wish came down,came down to the earth,to me who is looking up at the sky,at you waiting to land.

the lost man

2006-04-10T00:35:00.000+03:30

Another Brick

2006-04-07T18:33:00.000+03:30

The name has nothing to do with the pic. :))

love

2006-04-02T23:53:00.000+03:30

dance in the sky

2006-03-30T00:31:00.000+03:30

Blossom

2006-03-07T02:00:00.000+03:30

Abbas

2006-03-05T23:29:00.000+03:30

The Path

2006-03-04T23:31:00.000+03:30

On his way he went,
Walked with the loneliness.
A child cried,
He went on.
No one waved,
No one shaked,
Just the trees,
Just the wind,
He went on.
How long could he?
Every body just stretched hand,
To get something but not to give.
Just the wind gave
Just the trees
He went on.
But his feet worn out,
His eyes put out,
Disillusioned with everyone,
Every friend,
No word could he trust no more,
Just went on,
On his way to no where.
So the child cried on and on.

Galilei

2006-03-04T22:45:00.000+03:30

two trees

2006-03-03T20:37:00.000+03:30

the bird on the wire

2006-03-02T22:08:00.000+03:30

the mirror shop

2006-03-02T02:08:00.000+03:30

the sky

2006-02-28T22:16:00.000+03:30

the shadow

2006-02-27T23:16:00.000+03:30

the young man-4

2006-02-26T23:37:00.000+03:30

dark rooms

2006-02-26T01:30:00.000+03:30

Tomorrow

2006-01-30T09:25:00.000+03:30

Who am I waiting for? Why am I here looking forward?
As far as my mind goes back, I have been here in this city, a crumb in a bin flooding with rubbish. By this I do not intend to compare my big city with a big bin, out of imagination. The residents of the city are people each having minds abound with memories, information and dear knowledge though in filthy bins, scum, dirt and empty useless packaging which have been cosigned to nothingness can be just shuddered at.
You might expect me to describe this city whose name I have forgotten, and what’s the use of a name? Let’s call it the Forgotten since I have forgotten its name. And moreover, I am incapable of giving any depiction of any part of the Forgotten but the street I am in, for I have never left this small confined panorama of mine. Do not ridicule me, that’s so mean to charge me with short-sightedness, with being narrow-minded for I have endured such torment beyond comprehension, I have endured Waiting. For years or days- it is the same difference while you are waiting; seconds turn into days and days years- or it is more appropriate to say for ages this comfortable chair standing out of my door has been my constant companion. Passing most of the seconds of my life on it, I have set my sights on the not very far distance- the street I am in at one side is dead and at the other bends into the unknown and my eyes have been fixed on that bend.
I am fully aware that waiting in vain for such a long time seems foolish and even I sometimes tell myself, “ You stupid, get up, go away from that chair, take that turning and see how people treat,” here I should point out I have seen how they treat but don’t remember any details. “Or, even not, go and watch that box of magic, those pictures,” I should again point out that at some point of my life I underwent magic and that’s the underlying reason why I am here. However strong the yearning to go, something else inside me, like the heart beat you go through when for the first time you are about to tell a lie or intend to look in the eyes of the girl whom you have always heroically through a slit in the curtain peeked at but you just fail, has always deterred me from venturing out of my long lasting friend and companion.
“My fortune is on the way,” that old white bearded man told me, but again nothing concerning the details is certain. He himself whispered in my right ear that I should keep waiting for my waiting shall blossom and that evergreen fortune of mine would at last wink at me. “I would see my fortune,” had become his mantra and since some people say repetition is the key to success he had promised and devoted himself to saying it wherever and whenever he had spare time which included even his sleeps.
Many a time his wife who slept in another room was startled and woken up by his “I would see my fortune,” then rushing into the room seeing her husband soaked with sweat uttering inaudible words would burst into tears and not able to stand on her feet, almost falling down, would implore, “ Oh that curse, we are cursed, God help, help us, help, forgive him, forgive us, I will spend all the rest of my life praying,..” the rest of her prayer was not usually clear since it coincided with her sobs. Such were her words at nights, but days were quiet and passed without a word heard of her and more importantly of him. Nights were hectic and noisy but days quiet and restrained contrary to the conventional man’s life.

As the day broke like the other days, the dim gleam of sun which overcame the barriers of window and curtain started him as if it was time he had woken up in order not to miss any moment, not to miss any moment of opportunity of seeing his fortune. What was his promised fortune that he had been waiting for? He did not know, yet he knew by heart that someone or perhaps something was destined to come on his way of life and transform his destiny. Yeah, it has played an important role in everyone’s life. Do not say it is contrary in your case for we all have always been waiting. Waiting for different reasons, it gives reason to one’s life. As long as we are waiting we have a goal. Some wait for death, some for their beloved to come, some for nothing and some like the middle aged man of our story for something or someone that an old white bearded man has promised them.
Sprang to his feet and hurriedly left his sleeping place, because he was going to come back and sleep again at night so there was no need to waist his time tidying it. Saying to himself every minute counts had a glimpse of the big clock which adorned the wall, a black clock, a kind that its numbers and hands were visible even in the dark, reminding how much every minute counted to him. It was the first thing that anyone stepping inside the room would see ruling over everything inside which was not many; a black and white TV in one corner on a wooden table which lacked one foot and was balance by the help of some books, a photo of a heaven like scenery which wasn’t neatly cut but was put in a metal frame facing that big moving clock, and a large colorful carpet which covered all the room striving to be the prominent feature of the room in vain for no one pays any respect and attention to what lies beneath their feet and what’s more, its color had long faded under those feet. Everything in the room was scrupulously clean, you couldn’t find even a speck of dust on anything, his wife dusted the room twice a day and didn’t let the dust intrude the room for she believed dust was evil and anything associated with devil was consigned to annihilation.
That morning he had a different feeling as if the promised day was that day, a kind of feeling that just a mother approaching the due day has got, a mixture of tension, happiness, anxiety and any contradictory feeling; “Is my child going to be pretty? Oh, it is not important but I wish so.” “Is my child going to be healthy? How about myself? Even if I wasn’t I wish my child would be. But then, who is going to raise him? Is it a he or she?” “Is he going to love me or leave me soon? He will love me, she won’t hurt me, I suppose.” “Giving birth is so painful like torture, how can I face up to it? Look at me all my charms have deserted me and I am going to shoulder not only this but also that torture, for him. She is worth it, I assume.”
So with his heart beating hard passed his wife who had fallen asleep in the door frame with the beads still in one hand and her black scarf on her face. Then delightedly took to grooming himself. Though he was in a hurry, it took him longer than usual for he was all the time dubious about what to wear and how he looked. At last the ticks of that big clock which he could hear as clear as his pulse compelled him to become satisfied, so had a look at himself in the mirror; a man in grey, with pepper-and-salt hair combed to the sides with a parting dividing his head into two equal parts, a clean shaven face which revealed his vulnerable skin not fresh anymore, rekindled eyes and a forehead which showed how hard, tough and destructive is waiting, Taking on a smile he tried to hide his stress and made his way towards the door. When his trembling hand descended on the handle felt it colder than usual, though I assure you that the weather wasn’t different from the other days and besides it was summer, so the handle sent chills down his spine and his arm hairs( it escaped my mind to confide that his body was full of hair particularly his arms, in a way that his wife perceived them to be the residence of devil,) bristled, even though, with such resolve opened the door which seemed as heavy as the gate to the castle of joy. The light glared, dazzled him but he stepped out, put his chair down beside the door and with thousands of thoughts hovering over him sat down making the gloomiest picture anybody could see; his face facing his long shadow on the ground surrounded by the crimson clay-like light of the early morning. Nothing out of the ordinary, changeless was the scene he was examining now, his long shadow on the ground dominated and was the most significant thing seen in front. It was very long as if it was a stranger always staring at him. On the right buildings which differed in color, size, strength, age, shape, beauty and history lined and receded into the unknown. On the left was the street which mostly lay uselessly since almost nobody had any cars except for a frail decrepit old man who owned a car with opposite particulars to his own, a brand new one whose speed was incomparable and overtook the old man’s imagination leaving him way behind in a mist of dust. As always the car stopped near our hero, “Get lost, let me concentrate on the people,” was his reflection, the window rolled down and the commonplace grin of the old man was revealed saying, “Don’t u wanna let go of that cher?”
“Good morning.”
“Get into my car, I’ll show u all the lights of the city in my car’s fligh....,” the rest he could not hear for the clacks of a disposable glass in the wind, hitting the ground as if resisting to go with it, distracted him. However hard it tried to stop, survive and settle down, the wind outdid and took it again like other things to the unknown. Then he realized that there was no trace of that car nor of the old man, as if they had never existed but he was sure they did.
Wiping off all these trifles from his mind he got down to his main concern, “I would see my fortune today.”
People were leaving homes and going to work so he could see them distancing from him, just their backs were visible and I have no intention to describe their backs. Backs are unimportant, besides they are very frightening for they are always hidden, secrets they must be.
Hours, minutes, seconds blew away and nothing of significance occurred, except for a slack cat which lazily crossed the sidewalk, had a furtive glance at him, dragged itself towards a big tree, put his hands on the trees, leaned against it and stretched its body unaware of the world and our man. But the man was aware of every single move, lost in the flowing time.
Now that his shadow could he step, all under his feet, a girl rushed out of the home and shouted, “Shame, come in, lunch is ready,” slamming the door behind. He gave no answer and had no intention of giving up, leaving his aim. He did not surrender, he considered it a war, a war with an enemy he could not see. Defeat was unbearable and has always been. “Don’t question the validity of my war for I would spare no drop of my blood to triumph over the enemy and see the breeze of my fortune stroke my cheeks,” yet still he had no concrete idea what the reason of his war was and what his fortune was standing for.
Time slipped away, hunger crept in but still he was in fight. Nothing familiar showed up, nothing particular. Nevertheless, he didn’t abandon his hope and watched forward, the sun was now over that turning in front of him. Dark people mostly coming back from work were just visible, some long and some short. As if exhausted they dragged themselves forward in a sort of sleepy sunset, the only thing common among them was the black color, unable was he to distinguish them from one another.
A black figure, a figure in black, actually a woman all black in the distance walked towards him with her hair drifting in the air like the flag of a peace keeper, a person who would help him out, “Is she that fortune?”
As she approached him her dark turned into color and one came to the knowledge how colorful one can be, is it possible for so many colors to be in one place? She stopped beside him. His heart beat got louder, even I could hear that. What was she going to do? Showing him the way? Giving him the fortune? His eyes brimmed with tears.
“Do you know a very old man whose car is very new?” was the question that came out of the color, out of her wide mouth.
“Oh, the bearer of my fortune!!! Or looking for that antique in that... Or neither??” he reflected. Contemplating his fortune, whether she was that savior who was supposed to take him out of this stagnation, “she might have made a mistake, I am sure she is my hope, forune,” he looked up, she was gone, his hope was gone, shattered.
His face was still forward, but could see nothing. People gone, night come, lights on. Shouts, laughter could he hear. A man growled, a woman cried. A child saying he is still there burst into laughter. Summer though it was, snowflakes started to drop, one by one on his face. Now he remembered how hungry and cold he felt. With the snow on his face he looked like an old statue, fighting against something he did not know. Hopeless was the word which described his day. “Nobody delivers fortune at nights, I’d better go inside and get refreshed for tomorrow.”

Enmity

2006-01-27T00:28:00.000+03:30

From the corner of his eyes watching over his dominion, he crouched there.
There in another side of our yard sat another cat watching over his territory.
One black, one white.
When one for any reason moved the other stood, arched his body and gave a scream that scared me out of my wits.
Both were sufficiently fat and strong to end lives.
Patiently, looked forward to recklessness, to a mistake. Satisfied with the other’s mistake.
Their territory was not visible, not a line or something. It might have been an imaginary one, one which lay in their heads, but surely differed for each. Each had his own.
A move, standing, a miaow and again couching for a long time.
It went on until night when I retired.
Now in the morning there is no trace of them in our yard, yet they must be in another yard with their enmity going onnnn.

I am the girl

2005-11-01T00:28:00.000+03:30

I am the girl
Who life has
Twisted my hair,

Once the wind blew hard,
And grabbed me from those stars,
Woke up begging among the cars,

I am the innocent girl,
Whose voice can stroke your ear,
Whose eyes penetrate this city's air,

My hand stretched for a penny,
My feeble feet dragged on the street,
Am I begging for love or money?

I am the poor girl,
Whose mother in bed,
Whose father in hell,

Why am I here?
A girl's body is supposed to be near
Her beloved dear,

I am the beggar girl,
Whose skin is dark and dry,
Who dares to care?

That car glitters
In that, a man smiling,
It can be the star I am expecting,

Moving towards him,
Stretched my hand,
But him didn't even glance at me,

The traffic lights turned green,
Cars screamd,
And I was reminded of my bare feet.

Knock, Knock

2005-09-23T01:40:00.000+03:30

Knock, Knock,
My feet are numb.

Knock, Knock,
My hands are frozen.
My mind is wired,
My eyes blurred.

Knock, Knock,
Why doesn't he open?
Why doesn't she answer?
Why doesn't he talk?
Why doesn't she stay?

Knock, Knock,
Or he might not be home,
Or she be talking to he,
Or he on the lands far away,
Where standing on my head
She never looks down but distance.

Knock, Knock,
My eyelids drooping,
My heart halting,
My mind swolen,
My memory
Oh my memory receding,
Those would-bes are leaving.

Disillusioned, I kept knocking on the door I knew would never open.

The Pen

2005-09-01T00:31:00.000+04:30

Tired of being useless, weary of lying still waiting for her hand to touch me. Loads of paper beside me, each clean like her heart need me to scratch them. Am I not abound with ink? Yes, I am. So, why is she deferring writing? I have a lot to give, a lot to say, just long for fingers, for her tiny bony fingers to keep me in between, to repose on her graceful skin and revel.
The other day, she wrote Hi by using me and some days later Bye was the word that came out of my mouth and then came her long absence. I have been going through a long silence since then. No change, I have been lying there with the word Bye beneath me, not able to call her, not able to think on my own just have to wait.
I wish I could think; then I would stand up, protest against the blank sheet and express the silence, the agony and how dust has covered me and most importantly, how much I miss the girl. I wish I could think; then I would ask her to hold me in her hands and give me some warmth. But, but if I could think , why would I need Her thought? I would write all on my own. I wouldn't need an author for I would be the author, write the greates stories about a pen and a pencil who fell in a love which lasted short when a naughty boy with dirty hands kept sharpening the pencil, abusing it, and the hero of our story, the Pen, tormented kept losing the water of his blood seeing the pencil getting shorter and shorter, approaching to being Nothing. Oh yes, and this is how their love skidded to a halt; Both, beside each other ended up in a bin over some sqeezed sheets of paper which were testimony to the love they had made on them, to the memory they had written on them.
"I wish I could think,
"But oh, you can't imagine how I miss her touch,
"But then with thought I could be independent,
"I wish...
"But...
...

The Hero of our story lay there, no girl turned up, days went on, dust buried him, yet again there was no change until one day a man of old age with rough hands covered with partched skin showed up, picked our hero up and tried to write something but couldn't, except for a very uneven seperate " !_ " for the Pen was almost dry. And no need to say that, then he dumped our hero in an empty bin under the desk.

I am You

2005-08-22T09:51:00.000+04:30

As he was sitting on his bed, breathed deeply and fast. His eyelids trembling were overwhelmed with tear. His hands he couldn't move, his chest drenched with sweat and his lips were shaking like the leaves in winter. A whisper you could hear coming out of the well of his body if you neared your ear to his mouth,"Re - Re - Re a llli ty." He was staring at a picture on the wall, in which a boy and a little girl hand in hand with a grin on their lips were pointing at our hero on the bed.
The shaky hero stuggling dragged his hand up, lifted it towards his face - the children might be laughing at him - but no,contrary to our expectation he touched his face (like a blind man who looks for its stick) and all of his features were there on the right place.
Relieved, as if now with the aid of stick he could run and see, glanced at the things around him, with quick movements touched them and all of a sudden burst into tears, "No, I dont believe this," was his yell. He was void of trust. "Yesterday they werent pointing at me," he whispered when a knock on the door of his room startled him, "Who's that?" he asked and in the answer the wind said "It's me, dont worry."
"So, where are you? I cant see you!!!"
Our hero sprang to the door and locked it, then suspiciously scanned the room to check whether or not anybody had intruded inside, when suddenly his own reflection in the mirror prickled him and then, after recognizing himself broke into a long laughter. He was getting calm as someone again pounded on the door. Relapsing into that desperation, he muttered, "Who's that?" And a childish familiar voiced replied, "Open the door, I am You, the wind.?
And then there was a big shout.

Enghelab(The Revolution)

2005-08-06T02:29:00.000+04:30

As I was standing in Enghelab,looking at the sideways, fishing for a familiar face, I was waiting for a friend.("Mahdi, kidding??"was the thought that came up when I wrote the word friend.) The sun was up, watching over me and the people. People in different colours, some passing you raise their noses and stifle them and some walk like kings expecting you to pull aside for them, some just peek at you but some others of the same kind eye you warily, and some are afraid of glancing not only at you but also at any thing. I was peeking at this spectacle carefully when suddenly someone tapped me on my shoulder, "At last the friend has come," was my flying thought, that a man asked me to direct him to Enghelab and I told him he is already there, so the man relieved looked around as if in search for someone, after some time waved at someone in the crowd and smilingly strode inside the crowd and vanished."Where did he go?
Where are all these poeple going?"
Home is the simple answer or perhaps work.
"What or who am I waiting for?"
Friend is the simple answer.
"Are these people around me waiting?"
I felt cramp in my feet, so started walking to and fro peering into the distance for a figure who can figure out this cramp, but all the while there was a suspicious man who upset my view and and kept staring or sometimes peeping at me with bad intentions or perhaps he had thought of me suspicious, all in all, there was no trace of that aim of mine coming.
Sun was almost shining diagonally on the city now, people were silhouette and differentiation was hard for they were now all in black, and I was leaning against the fence that separates cars from the pavement and longing for a touch, for the taste of victory to quench my thirst.
"Why are you standing here?" was not my thought this time but the voice an officer who wanted to arrest me due to standing there for such a long time. When I told him my reason, laughed and said "Oh, if it is the case, stay as long as you want."
"Thanks officer," I said.
Nothing was constant in Enghelab, but me, the street and the roundabout.
I still go there and see no one familiar but the roundabout and the street.

*We have got a roundabout and a street called Enghelab.

....

2005-07-25T01:49:00.000+04:30

http://msdreams.blogspot.com/2005/06/blog-post_09.html

The light on my desk

2005-07-19T00:47:00.000+04:30

Due to some pathetic events I hadn't been able to carve my thoughts on paper for so long until about hour ago that I made myself open the notebook, grab a pen and lurk around for any thought that happened to be passing.
Now it is past midnight and I just want to concede defeat and admit that those events had disarmed me and robbed me of my muse.
To add insult to injury, the light on my desk, which is the only light in the room, has gone off for several times since then: I switched it on and as I got to concentrate on writing it suddenly went off and interrupted my mind. It has kept doing do for so many times and I have kept turning it on but not a word has descended on the paper.
The light has driven me mad, it has helped everyone but me. "Go to sleep, don't expect any help from me," perhaps were its words. When you need it most it just turns its back on you, and sometimes it says that "Sorry, I have to go, because if I stayed on I would burn," and then tries to take on a very sympathetic tone of voice, "Please write, don't stop writing in my absence." But, how could you see when it is night and the presence of light is lacking?
The paper is still blank (it is maddening), but I should keep calm. Not long ago (a minute or two), again the light left this room, I flew into a rage, grabbed it, and wanted to smash it when suddenly a thought struck me, the thought of writing about friendship. So, at length, it came and I calmly put the light back on the desk.
With this light, on and off, I haven't been able to write anything about it yet, but write about light.

What is there in the room opposite my room?

2005-07-17T12:13:00.000+04:30

It was complete darkness. Everywhere, every house and apartment was dark but for a window which was a door to a room. It had no curtain to hide inside and you could see everthing. It was a kind that tempted you into having a peek at the inside of the room. For some time I resisted, dreaded approaching it. Something inside me was trying to prevent me from seeing, but at last curiosity overpowered it and then I inched forward, my heartbeat got faster; the vacant empty yellow light had bewitched me. Again, as if someone had gripped my feet I was nailed to the ground and couldn't move.
It was at this moment when a shadow crossed the wall in the room, so quickly did it go that I couldn't understand to whom did the shadow belong to. "The shadow??" I thought to myself. The evocative shadow was familiar to me, evoked the memory of something that my mind was unable to picture.
A cold breeze sallying towards me woke me up to the fact that I was still stuck with the craving to see through that window.
The breeze turned into a wind but still I couldn't move. I heaved myself to move in vain, and besides, this wind not only didn't facilitate my move but also intended to shove me backwards when suddenly it slammed the window open and frees some words which belonged to a voice.
Mostly, voices bear words, but now it was the contrary. The words bore a voice which is different in any mind. The voice you don't hear but imagine.
"Words,words!!?" I wish I could remember them and so racked my brain when all of a sudden that same wind slam the door close itself and I was left with the frosty breeze and the desire to know what was happening inside that room but still I couldn't move.
As the seconds passed without moving, again I tried to pull myself forward and this time a clank startled me. It dawned on me that I was chained and becams aware that any kind of effort to go forward or backward will definitely prove futile.
What could I do?
And what should I do now? Now that it is still night, I am still chained and haven't been able to know what is there in that room. I'd better think...umm I'd better sit....again the wind is strong...it is opening the window, I should stand up,perhaps I will be able to understand...oh words are drifting again...YES it is nearing the window...OH!!! It is a Shadow, not on the wall but at the window, waving its hand to me.

Ice cream

2005-07-09T10:58:00.000+04:30

The little girl was licking her ice cream and wishing her ice cream was bigger than her father's head as the people looking at her smudgy mouth and dishevelled hair burst into laughter. They were all laughing at her when she thought to herself"Look at them!!How many heads!!! I wish they were ice creams, then I would eat them all.What is the use of not being an ice cream?!!!"As she licked the last bit of that,the people were receding into invisibility and thought to herself, "I wish they weren't running away."She was cold when suddenly a hot prickle flew into her mouth as it dawned on her that her ice cream had finished and for a while she had been eating the stick.Then again she heard that laughter intruding her ears, raised her head and saw no one but still heard that disguting noise, surrounding her.It was that loud that she was unable to stand it so tried to stifle it by putting her fingers into her ears but it was of no avail.After some time this disturbing noise brought tears to her eye,it was beyond her tolerance, so closed her eyes and ran, as fast as she could and yelled,"Ice cream, another please."

more,More,...

2005-07-03T23:28:00.000+04:30

He kept repeating some words to himself, his lips moved all the while.His large round eyes were set on the distance,resolved to do something with his fists tight.
I offered my hand to shake but there wasn't a slightest reaction from him,in a manner as if you haven't seen anything.
"I can get it,"was his whisper and then I asked,"What?" but again there came no answer.
"More,"he mumbled.Looking at him I was baffled,"What precious thing he desired that had made him as hard and tough as stone?"I thought.He was in a state that saw nothing and heard nothing.
I approached him and in order to relieve him put my hand on his, but,just felt cold in his blood.
However hard I tried to communicate with him,but there was no move or answer from him but "I WILL."
I touched his forehead and again felt cold.The cold had seized all his body, and his mind was no exception, so I brought a blanket, wrapped around his still body and said, "Have a rest, it is worthless," and turned off the light. There remained no trace of light in the room and I could see nothing, but a voice again kept upsetting my ears,"I will get,more,More,..."

Mayhem

2005-07-02T09:54:00.000+04:30

Having driven for hours in the desert,my father at the wheel, at length said,"Smile, cheer up!"giving a furtive glance at me and then after another hour asked:"You believe me,don't you?"with a smile on his face.
My mom flew into a rage and howled,"Don't shout,"and hung up the phone as my sister was no where to be seen.
And I was in my corner expecting a doorbell.
In front of the mirror, my sister was whispering inaudible words, so my father in a state of drowsiness said....

I vanished into nothing when saw my sister go and my mom looked at the blue sky while a cat in the distance was staring at me, then there came lightening but without a thunder.
In front of the computer did I sit, when she said,"You must..change."
He fell out of the car, with no help around.
Where am I?

The Black Bag

2005-06-30T12:29:00.000+04:30

The man saw a woman stretching her hand towards him to help, so he raised his hand, took hers and bracing himself against her, stood up.He had lost his stamina,power so she dragged him from the end of the alley to the beginning, to the street. Turning his head saw that he had left his bag there at the end of that alley but she was heaving him, so told her to halt but she turned a deaf ear to it, had a glare at him and kept dragging as if wanted to force him to go out and had diliberately not taken that bag.
If you are curious to know what that bag was like I should say that it was an ordinary one, black, stuffed with some unknown stuff. It was as if all his life was residing in that moderate sized bag.
Now he was at the beginng of that congested street, fallen down. However hard he tried, he couldn't find that woman around himself as if there had been no such a person; "so how had he managed to come here?"He was not able to get over that situation and stand up.People moving to and fro didn't even see him, and even sometimes stepped on his hand (the hand that had touched that woman) and didn't even apologize. Again he looked back and saw the bag still remained there, then decided to go back and fetch that with himself so he pulled his body on the ground like a worm with no energy left to him,in vain.He managed to get himself to the alley but not to the end, not to the end, and there in the middle of the alley he lay with his eyes open waiting for the woman.
It was getting dark when the snowflakes started descending on his face, and a boy running into his house, seeing that bag, picked it up and pulled it to his house,secretly.

to my family and my country

2005-06-29T00:09:00.000+04:30

They say something and do another thing.You can never trust them.
It is like driving when the car in front indicates right but turns left, so you will have an accident.
They deliberately lie just to please you and then covertly turn left.
Damn drivers, you can never trust them.By kind behaviour they just want to steer you to the lands they intend.
They are just after advantage and never listen to your destination.
They are just vultures lurking around for you with their lies.If you care, you are not immune to them, because they don't care.
They take advantage of your nap( as you are exhausted after all those walks), stop the car and steal the most valuable asset of yours;your mind.They deceive you.
"Sir, wake up, we have reached."
"Where are we?"
"In the cemetry."
"But I asked you to go to Azadi!!!"

IF

2005-06-28T03:05:00.000+04:30

"Ok, ok, I will do it. I will, yeah that's a deal....

"No... I will, I am sure I can, I promise....

"But, oh forget it....
"But... what if he just gets annoyed,..
"What if I just by saying that shatter him...
"What if...
"Ah... but...
"But...I...don't...want....oh I am just baffled...
"What will happen to.... my promise?????....

"It is better if....

"If.... If....If..."
Sweats trickling down his cheeks (or perhaps tears), he sat there half ready.

The Grass

2005-06-28T03:04:00.000+04:30

"Delicious."
"Is it?."
They kept chewing and chomping the grass.
"What a generous breeder we have!"
"I don't think so."
"Don't be so pessimestic, eat and enjoy, this is life."
"Don't you see how he treats us as if we were his slaves."
"Just once I couldn't move fast and he bundled and whipped me, it was My fault, and past is past."
"Don't you want to go trotting in the meddows as the wind of flows in your long mane(hair)."
"Look, how happily and contentedly he is looking at us, he is admiring us."
They kept chewing and chomping the grass.
"Remember that day , that he just thrashed and beat you just to win that fucking race, after that you lay in bed(the stable)for days to get over it."
"But in the end we won."
They kept chewing and chomping the grass as their breeder lying beneath a tree was reading a newspaper.

A Layer of Dust

2005-06-28T03:03:00.000+04:30

She was there lying on the bed sleeping, drifting far away, seeing herself years earlier; the time in which she and her beloved used to sit at the table.
At those times the table was of utmost importance to her, the table and the food. They were contented to have that food to eat. They used to sit opposite each other, stare at one another and pass the most luscious smiles and stick to their chairs for hours and hours as her beloved would chomp his food all through dinner at the table. She reveled in hearing the noise that came from his mouth, not worrying about tomorrow, not even contemplating their relationship and the possibilities looming over the horizon.
She turned her eyes from that lovely scene to the left, beyond the boundaries of that house to the street outside, and saw a father dragging his son as the son kept weeping and shouting for freedom as if he was imprisoned in a jail and wanted to be free; away from the boundaries and limitations, but the father surely overpowered his resistance.She admired his resistance but regreted not being like others with two feet and hands and not being able to set him free.
In vain, she turned back her sight towards that couple but didn't see them at that table. The table was there but was dilapidated with a layer of dust covering its surface.

A Conversation With A Belief

2005-06-26T03:25:00.000+04:30

"Hey, remember those days?"
"Which?"
"The days I came to you."
"You never came to me!"
"Oh, I talked with you."
"Not really, I have got just blurred pictures in my mind."
"Oh, but I have heard you are perfect, aren't you?"
"Yes, oh Now I remember, those days are past but now is just life, what about now?Do you still believe that?"
"I talked with you, but you just left me alone, with all the words drifting in the air wanting to get me."
"So you don't believe in that anymore?"
"You turned away!"
"I turned away because I was perfect, do you still believe that?"
"They say it is give and take but with you they say it is different."
"I am perfect so I decide it is a give or take."
"Oh,I wish it had been mutual."
"But since I am perfect I want to tell you it is not."
"Now I know, but prefer not to believe that. It is stinginess."
"How dare you? Watch your tongue little man, just think about who you are talking to."
"I needed you most but you just eluded me, at that time you just made me forget you, never trust you again, never come to you again."
"Slow down man, I am in a higher position than you, it is me who tells you what to do and what to choose.So you can't decide, coming or not coming to me again makes no difference to me."
"Oh, now I see your glittering eyes, signifying the selfishness, the toughness at the top. I don't want you in the vacinity of my mind."
"Ha Ha, I don't exist but reside in everybody's mind and in yours as well, you can't avoid me, I will be with you in your mind till the time you are being buried in the grave but Me will outlive you, you mortal."
"You are cruel, just leave me now."
'See, by not wanting me, you are still thinking about me."
"Go. I don't want anyone, you are like them, they attract you but avoid you, evade you. I want to be on my own, and go to that grave on my own, talk with myself and not have you in my mind."
"I will not talk anymore but I am unavoidable, you can run away from them but not Me."
He ran as fast as he could towards the darkness, it was night. He heard nothing anymore, but the horn of the oncoming car and saw its lights which dazzled him.

Do you fancy fruit?

2005-06-23T17:37:00.000+04:30

What a pleasure to see you and what a grief to see you leave.
Relationship is the tricky one for me because of me.

Everyone eats the fruit but I don't dare. It is most enjoyable but I am deprived of that just becasue I just can't bite, can't dare to open my mouth:
Finding a worm inside that fruit is imminent, and as you know if the worm made its way through you, it would suck you dry off yourself.
Or it can be bitter, it can make you throw up, make you go to the loo and smell the stink and hate yourself.
Mm,Oh!!!! What if it was ripe and nice and just tempting and delicious but YOU couldn't open your mouth?My mouth is stuck, can't open and enjoy the taste of that fruit, enjoy the strength, and the hope it can offer.
Oh!!!Wait a second!...
Now I looked at myself in the mirror and couldn't find my my lips, my mouth!!!Where are they?They have deserted me??Now I realize why I can't taste that.

Relationship, friendship is far away, receding into distance, vanishing from my eyes, and now they are just vague memories which are waving their hands to me.

I have a craving for water

2005-06-20T03:08:00.000+04:30

The boy swinging, looked at houses, all the trees and the sky as he moved to and fro, everything was shaking. There was no one to push him but he remembered the time when someone used to, some of the times wind used to blow and push him to go forward and some of the times two hands. Now he had to put his feet on the ground,bend them and then with a strong push fly backward in the sky. He wished life was like that, in which by gioing backward you could go forward.
He was deep in his thoughts when he felt thirst("I have a craving for water") he came round,awoke from his thoughts and saw that there were many people around him laughing at him, pointing at him,saying "look at his feet,they are too long,oh his face,he has got stubble," he heard them all as he blushed. He stopped pushing so the swing gradually ground to a halt,as he kept looking at the ground in front of his feet and didn't look up and tried not to hear anything, stood up and ran out of the park and felt thirst more than ever.He didn't want to hear anything and look up for he knew everyone would be laughing at him, so kept moving and running like that as if there were people surrounding him and forgot his thirst since he didn't dare to look up and search for it.

Star

2005-06-14T22:33:00.000+04:30

Night time,
You were up there,
Looking at me down here.

Your light is the hope of tomorrow
though very little,
Perhaps because I am full of sorrow.

Far away from me,
I wonder how you see me;
A trifle with moving body?

But to me you are the one
Who paints the sky,
Gives the darkness hope of light.

The thoooughTs

2005-06-12T20:28:00.000+04:30

As it was napping under the baking sunshine, at the last seconds of awakeness when she was about to sleep, it dawned on her: " Were arrrr my thoughts?Were have they gAne?"These thoughts were just like a slap across your face which makes you cry, upset and blows the sleep away.
She panned her face to see if she could find them."Perhaaaaaps I have left Them at that old house in which I made LAV today,"she thought to herself, got on her legs and ran after those thoughts she had lost,climbed the walls, jumped from a roof to another, had a look at a man who couldn't balance himself although a man he was and not a baby,"This is a straaaange world, a human like Dis, Dis big can't stand on his Legs,can't keep his eyes Opn for the reasn I Don't kno.I am a Cat but hav Lost my thoughts,what about hiiiiiiiiiiim?"she thought as she reached the Old house.This house was very old,shabby and full of shadows of thoughts,full of history."Miaow,"it meant where Are UUU to her.She moved around the yard and found her love-bed which ofcourse was the ground and not a bed and remembered the day before,that black cat with his masculine moustache and iron body, oh still she was proud of spending that day with him although he was a black black cat.A creak of the door arose her to search for her dear company,because they were always with her, specially in her loneliness when she spent her time deep in thought.A footstep stirred her but didn't pay attention and the next moment she felt a pricke in her right front leg,I think you know what had happened: a decrepit old man with a pale face-the same colour as tissues which you use for cleaning your nose-using a shotgun had shot her leg.Limping, she pulled herself up the wall and took to her heels,conceding defeat.She had a choice to go after her thought to those dark corridors and sacrifice her life or wounded and hadicaped flee with her tail between her legs.And without a doubt, she chose to run and suffer, suffer for her loss and the fact that her thought was a slave of that old man, imprisoned in the dungeons of that ramshackle history.
Well this story is over but just a thought struck that I prefer to share with you:I don't think cats have thoughts???!!!!

My Child

2005-06-10T15:18:00.000+04:30

Why is it that everything has forsaken me? Exhausted and Barren I am.
I wish I could give birth to my child. The golden child of mine who can pierce your mind, climb down to your very depth and redecorate it all. The child who would climb the trees, throw stones at people and peep at the neighbor walking voluptuously and humming an unfamiliar and odd song.
My naughty child whom you can never confide in would be moody. Such a moody child that you can never know whether or not he likes you. Unpredictable would be the mere word which can describe the indescribable. The kind of child that beginning, middle and ending are inconceivable in his life. Armed with a sword and gun, he would send a cold prickle to minds, remind me that "I am sitting, doing nothing."Why have you forsaken me? You, whom I just can feel but not see. Come and give me your helpful hand for I want a child.

...

2005-06-09T14:03:00.000+04:30

You was so hot.
Everything could melt in your magical heat.
Like the sun in the sky,impatient you was.
I liked that moment never end though I knew it would last short,shorter than the life.
Even that giant,everlasting sun goes and brings "solitude".
Now I wasn't alone,because you was in,between my hands.
You was so small and quiet,your voice was never heard but felt in your breath.
You said, "the air of this city is cold".
I said, "your warmth gives me life".
Your breath gracefully came out of you and made a mist above you,the mist of time.
I had to do something,I was afraid to miss your life.
So raised you,you said "go on",I felt it.
As my lip touched you,it burnt.So hesitated.Embarrassment overcame me.
I was wary,as I have always been.
Made up my mind,closed my eyes and drank you in one go.
I felt your heat in my body,
but....

(To the cup of tea I drank yesterday)

?

2005-06-02T21:07:00.000+04:30

WHAT IS THE USE?

A Piece of Flesh

2005-06-02T21:05:00.000+04:30

Again she shows up, like the other days. Her moans could send a shiver to your every hair on your hand; they bristled as she restlessly moved from one side of the yard to another, groaning, searching.
It has been for two days that she had turned up at exactly the same time; after dusk and lunchtime.
She has lost something invaluable in our yard, something irreplaceable though valueless to me and you, even some may call that a source of diseases. But to her it is dear and worth tormenting herself; even if I say that thing was lifeless and unable to walk properly as if it was a piece of flesh.
You daren’t look into her eyes and approach her. To and fro, she tries her most and calls the one she has lost.
“Now it must be somewhere getting rotten or being eaten by some animal,” I thought furtively glancing at her.
Anyway, she is here and again miaowing.
And I am ashamed as a human, so put the headphones on and Blush.

As the Night Approached

2005-05-25T01:08:00.000+04:30

The heat was blistering; the sun was opposite his face and seemed as if it was a stone’s throw away. He needed a drop, though surely it could do no good to his parched skin and insatiable thirst.
He could still hear the blasts and rattles in the distance, apparently in the distance.
Devoid of other senses he was. Once he had made some vain efforts to move his body but it was as if a curse had stuck him to the dust beneath him.
Just a peak of a mountain was discernable since he couldn’t even turn his face. The mountain and the sky had turned into darkness for the intense dazzling light of the sun which was constantly making him break into cold sweat.
Once his endeavor to utter a yell was stifled by the scream of a missile, which crossed his sight towards that mountain.
Despite the heat that had bothered him, now the cold was overpowering him. He was soaked with sweat and everything was getting darker.
Remembering the reason why that stray bullet had made its way through his life, night overcame him.

the Old house

2005-05-22T02:41:00.000+04:30

Long ago, there, in those narrow alleys a child used to play with dust.
On a step, in simple tracksuit he used to sit alone and swim in the intense heat of the sun to the unknown to me and you.
He did join the heat, an ant did he become, a famous footballer he became, won every match, every one, every life, eternity.
As the sun would take his heat away, rob him of its light but release the cold, the anxious shout of a mother who used to stir him and remind him that she is worried, and it might be the time to leave the lonely alley in which some were playing and each was engrossed in how to avert the oncoming bull-like runner who wanted to get a plastic ball.
As a farewell, they used roll the ball towards him and he reluctantly leaving would shoot the ball as hard as he could and used to stand there and see the ball go out his sight, then turn towards the shout of mother and shuffle into that old house in which she resided.

Letter Two

2005-05-19T19:51:00.000+04:30

Dear Friend, 19 May 2005
It is funny, ironic, and sarcastic.
Logical? Is it logical? Where is the rationale?
Once someone said to me that one shouldn’t look for that in every single thing!
The irony is that those who claim are the most logical at some points they themselves very overtly contradict it. And they do it when they mustn’t, when the sky is dark, when drops of rain alight on my sister’s face and wet her cheeks. And when you are locked up inside your room and can’t dry her cheeks.
Rain? What is the rationale behind that? To do you good or bad? To cultivate or drown?
What is this rain that people drop? With hands throwing at you? What is Behind that? The intentions? What does she mean? Why does she act so illogically?
Yours,
A Friend

Letter One

2005-05-19T19:50:00.000+04:30

Dear Friend, 17 May 2005

I feel heavy, so does my head. So heavy that it is droopy, I am left and unable to raise it.
I have long been choked on words as if someone strangling me, not letting the words come out of my mouth and yet shouts at me “Speak”.
Again contradiction. And it is nothing out of ordinary in our lives. We sit at a table with it and pass the finest smiles to each other unaware of the fact that it is subverting you from within. And it is all around you in every single thing which has surrounded you and me.
Everyone and everything seems to be something though actually it is something else. Something and Somebody that you can never know.

Yours,

A Friend

SOMEBODY

2005-05-17T23:36:00.000+04:30

SOMEBODY! Are you?
I dread to think of and I really don’t like the word itself.
But the worst and the unbearable part is that others call and think of you so.
When they deny you your choice and voice, and as you bravely speak out you just feel to be inside a vacuum. You waste your anger while nothing can be heard.
“You are somebody, aren’t you?” She required. They have a boundary to classify you as insider or an alien. By this question, she intends to make sure you are an alien, a weird creature whom they can overtly renounce. She is not alone in this fishing; for instance, there is a he whom you have long trusted, but comes inside the room with a face adorned with a smirk and wants to buy personality at your expense. “I can’t see you,” he bursts into laughter, which merely means you are nobody.
They both consider themselves as somebody and are proud of that, but what makes somebody?
All in all, let’s whisper: I am nobody, and I beg of you not to tell them because they’d banish me, banish me to my room, to my notebook.
Being somebody is as useless and commonplace as a name. They are proud of their names; however, they could have had other names with no different consequences. And it is just an agreeable façade and fallacy. Deep inside if exists such a thing everything Is Different.

Friendship

2005-05-17T23:33:00.000+04:30

Friendship is based upon a thread. You must be a clown if you long to stay over it.
And since a thread can’t withstand a lot of weight, so one to survive has no choice but to get rid of the other.
Having pushed the other person down, there remains nothing of that friend but you, which has got no meaning now. It is just a vacant word.

My Cap

2005-05-08T15:00:00.000+04:30

Once there was a cap,
I trusted her like a pal,
A shelter was for me,
Everytime that I did need,

ln the heat my cooler,
In the sadness my soother,
In the long walks my company,
In the lonliness she was always just listening.

Then one day I sallied towards the blistering partched streets,
As the sun was dictating to everyone to give in,
"Me Will see your sweats on your foreheads"said the sun quaking with laughter,
"Absurd,''I said,"I've got a cap as my shelter."

His laughter awoke the wind,
The howling wind like a fiend,
Stormed forth,
And grabbed her,
Took her away from my thought.

The sun laughing coming back:
"Now, raise your head,
I want to see your sweat."
Drops of sweat trickling down my face,
Didn't listen, but looking forward went ahead.

Her mother was gay

2005-05-07T01:57:00.000+04:30

When her hand touched his,
Nerves started throbbing, emotion growing,
Did it mean anything?
Eyes met eyes, minds were to fly.
No, hesitated she; air changed to wall.

No will to choose,
Then wall seperates two.
Blossoms are hard to pick,
When you fear the height.

She put her hand on her forehead,
Stood up looking at him, saying to herself;
Just evade his eyes, everything will be fine.
Looking at the cars felt his hand go cold,
He pulled his hand away,
I certainly was not gay.

Our Unstable Boat

2005-05-07T01:54:00.000+04:30

Treacherous is this sea like a falling tower,
Our unstable boat not a bed anymore,
Now a prison under attack of its own jailers.

Strong, nervous, deceitful waves coming,
The mere feeble boat remembering the beach, now thrashing,
No one at the helm;the family silently losing it.

One at the bow looking at the sky,
One on the deck blithely laughing at the oncoming wave,
And one covering his eyes crying. ...

Here the boat still is,
Everyone still doing the same things.

Lie

2005-05-01T01:14:00.000+04:30

Lie upon lie. Piles of lies that have shaped lives.
"I am fine" was a lie told to make a person perhaps happy.
The fundamental of them is to make other people happy and contented, to show that you are what they think or want. Most of the time they slip out of our mouths just because of people's curiosity and expectation while we are what we are and independent and have basically no responsibility towards them. They could be avoided if we tried to remain we, if we didn't want to endear ourselves to everybody we find adorable.
It is really wearing me out longing to have a decent image in your eyes. Why is this?
Why is there all lies?
As I walked down the twilight street all I saw was lie, on the right a shop called lie, on the left people, an old ragged man looking into his sack, a little further behind him a transparent looking young girl pointing at either sky or the skyscraper-it was indistinguishable-,behind me was just wind shaking the trees making them drop their leaves and some boys unable to play in this wind,a brick blowing over from an old wall by the force of the wind and the dust that made it hard for us to see.
In the front, silhouette opposite the sunshine, a figure with long hair hanging sideways, breasts unusually big stretched a hand(tiny little delicate one) towards me and with a masculine voice said "I want to give you a hand, stand up, wake up it is spring."

Tehran

2005-04-22T14:34:00.000+04:30

Tehran is scum. All this congestion in a sweltering afternoon while a drop of sweat trickles down my forehead towards my mouth, that ragged man nearly falling into the gutter, or the other digging into that ground for trash to precipitate death, all those stinks of packed people in a train and the touch of them robbing you of your soul, all those people talking with the same language to you while can't understand eachother, all these frauds surrounding me, all these robbers of ideas, the disturbing sound of Azan which reminds me of the time of lie, all this nonesense, the cynisism, the suspicion and the pessimism of mine, the feeling of looking at hungery people and the feeling of touching old bricks thinking that they will one day take my life away gives me the feeling of nausea.
And I love nausea.

A Slave

2005-04-21T00:15:00.000+04:30

The kitten asked his father “Is it true that some fathers eat their children if they are hungry?”
Father scratching his back against a tree answered “No, fathers are here just to be an example and help, not to destroy,”
God was observing their every move and word, “Can’t you see my body? BOW.”
So they bowed.
The kitten boldly and childishly asked the same question but this time from God.
“It is a matter of boredom. Today you create and tomorrow when you are bored with it you crush it, annihilate it. And you get bored so quickly. Look at your father he is now in the rubbish and flirting with another would-be mother, and doesn’t care that I am watching after him. What a loose slave?”
After some miaows, the father ran after the mother of ten possible kittens, she had the ability, and both vanished in the dark of the city which was as dark as everybody’s house when people are asleep and no light is on.
Morning arrived, so the kitten felt hungry, so went to the heap of rubbish beside the street and so saw his father lying in the middle of the street with his head crushed. A car had run over it.

Words of a Dead Man

2005-04-14T12:09:00.000+04:30

I am dead, six feet under.
Well now that I cannot move, feel, talk and think, I suppose I am being heard because I am of no use. In other words, because I am there or nowhere, I am getting attention.
I think this is the first time in my whole life that someone is listening to me, listening to some words that have no voice, no power. Well, I am really happy and grateful to you for giving time to me, happy?How could I have a feeling now?
Heart Beat: when there is none, when the heart has ceased to move like a stone, how you can you expect emotion to come out of it?
So what could I say to you that are reading and listening to me? ?wow, found the answer. To appreciate you, I would enclose with my will some money to give each of you then you could feel that I am thankful. You could touch the money and then you would be pleased instead of me and that's ok. Touch is a vitality, but touching a paper or human skin or human hair?Which?Which?I think now it makes no difference.
I wish I could touch a face, your face(bearing in mind the islamic principles??Oh yeah.), the green leavs in spring.
"Everyone becomes famous and popular for some moments in life,"they say and perhaps this is the moment of my popularity, the moment of vague pictures.The moment in which those pictures are being depicted in your minds.
Most people seek immortality, it might be because when they walk they leave firm traces but mine are just in a snowy day which will melt soon as the sun arise. Well as the sun arise after a long sleep next morning I wish my blurred images in your mind would become paler and paler till it fades into a colour which is unfamiliar to anyone. A colour which is not a colour and reminiscent of nothing.

Our Red Fish

2005-04-12T23:09:00.000+04:30

Blithely and clumsily, one followed the other, its fin touched the body of the other and unaware of what future holds, ran away. They would do that every day, everyday they would float in their free dominion. I said free but don't know how it came out of my mind. It might have been because of their free movement that I said they are free but it isn't a good reason.They move fast and they are flexible but I have read that freedom is directly related to fear. I mean it said, if we overcame our fear we would be free.They move fast but I sometimes put their fast swimming down to fear,so they are not free?My fish always move fast because I am in the vicinity and they are afraid of me and I respect their fear because I know what kind of creature human is.So they are not free but look free and carefree and as I said they look.
They were a couple of red fish, I say red because their colour was prominent in comparison with their filthy water in which they lived.In this filthy water they did anything,made love, played,feed themselves and lived.And I insist in the filth they lived. Do you think fish is comparable with me and you?Ofcourse not, what a foolish question?Just look at our body,we are huge comparing with them.And I don't want to mention our power with which we can sqeeze those fish in a split second.And now lets get to the feature I like most, can you guess what I intend to mention?Just strain it a bit and you can find out that that is brain.Do they have any?Ha Ha, I don't think so because,because, I don't remember why!!!..?...b e c ause their brain is as big as a pea.
Once those fish were taken out and seperated for we wanted to change the water and clean their environment. One of them went into one house and the other into another to be part of the celebration of our new year.They are a symbol of life.As I said they were carefree and clumsy???One day passed,...
and one of them died in that clean new water and the other kept moving... and hasn't ceased moving since then.It would be embarassing if this restless fish could just speak out.

I am a Whore

2005-04-11T23:27:00.000+04:30

I have a good job , very satisfactory . I really enjoy my profession , so do my clients . After leaving me they are soothed , the same feeling when you learn something useful . They give me money and I give them service , the same business all the people do with the difference that unlike many people I enjoy it as much as men , do .
I am getting ready now as all the people do when they want to attend to a business . A doctor always cleans and tidies themselves to look smart so when they want to touch the patient , the patient can trust them and it is the same for the teacher . If they are not attractive , the students won’t listen . If you are an actor , your producers look at your beauty . And even if you are a refuse collector , first you have to wear your uniform . So like every job I have to perform some ritual . I took a shower and now I am putting on my make-up as I am naked . What a beautiful , young body I have , everything on its place and with its proper look , very bewitching . A kind of body even women can fall in love with . And I don’t want to mention my face and especially my cat-like eyes with which I can hypnotize every man , nor my legs between which they can indulge themselves in . Nor my arms in which they can feel temporarily safe . Let’s not talk about my breasts by which they can go back in time and be a child again , which is everybody’s dream . Yes I am a whore . And now I am getting dressed to go out and do some business . Business . ….. .
I am back home again and worn out , run out of stamina . Tonight streets were very quiet and had difficulty finding a customer . So walked and walked . People gave me different looks , and I don’t mind them . But I detest one most ; the way women look down on me . They consider me the scum of the earth , but to my mind they are no better than me . They are intolerable , they make the men and themselves tired . They are forced to have sex with their husbands because of jealousy and in order to say " See I am the one who loves you , " .
And sometimes I laugh at them because their beloved husbands come and pay me for sex but they pay the wife for being a good maid or perhaps a slave . Both want each other as slaves , contrary to my nature . So they secretly do anything they aspire . Tonight was an experience ; I was with a half religious man who at the end said " Now I understand you need Skill ( as you know every profession needs specialty ) , perhaps more than Tony Blare . " You know he had betrayed his wife like the scores of clients whom so far I , myself have had . But I can remember none of the names , faces and their bodies . Not only me but most of the people can’t remember . A teacher or a Person during his career sees many people and gives many things such as a short time of happiness , a piece of information or perhaps a product and of course for money but the only thing that remains is forgetfulness of the faces , forgetfulness of the love you have given them , forgetfulness of the identities .
Oh by the way , I forgot to tell you my name ; I am … Whore . Every body calls me by that so what’s the use of another thing . Isn’t a name just for calling someone ? Or is it hereditary ?
I have inherited it from my mother , not my father because she didn’t know my father . So I am happy with that name , but I don’t know my child is going to be happy with it or not . But what if my child becomes a boy ? Oh in that case he can have sex with me as I wash him in the bath or whenever he wants and then he will never be starving like those in the streets .
It is past 3 , so I should go to bed and gather power for another day which god knows is going to be hard . My mother always used to tell me " ‘ Whore ’ money doesn’t grow on trees . You should get fucked up to get what you want . "