Monday, February 11, 2008

The Orphan

The little girl wept bitterly
In cemetery
On her father’s tombstone loudly
And the white, delicate, small hands wildly
Attacked her lovely face
And her trembling blue eyes
Wandered the dark cemetery
And the dusty outlook of the grave yard
Trembled behind the glassy screen of
Her innocent blue eyes
Her painful larynx cried fearlessly
“My parents left me alone
In this wild world
I wish
Death had robbed me
From the cruel hands of this world
This tragedy doesn’t make me
Cry and be unhappy
For death saved his poor, pure soul
From the sharp paws of poverty
But grief attacks me
When I remember that
He died of men’s cruelty
He could not find doctor and drug for his remedy
In the town where there are a lot of doctor
Who are honor to their faith and piety
I damned the world
When I begged the pious doctor!
To visit my poor father free
But they threw me away as a beggar
My heart was broken
When pleaded the neighbour
To help us not to starving
But he pretended to be more poor than us!
Damn to this kind of pious men!
Who saw closed their pure eyes!
To my father’s misery.

Inappropriate Reproach

One day the garlic blamed the onion:
“Poor man
“How smelly you are!”

The Onion retorted
“You are selfish
And ignorant of your own fault
For you find fault with others
While you are full of fault
You imagine yourself a flower
Which grow in the land of
The tulips and cypresses
Do not be egotistical vainly
You are nothing
More than the other inhabitant
How better it is to
See your inside well
And find your own fault
Not other’s
We are poor and humble
Why dot you not consider yourself
As a modest?

Wednesday, July 25, 2007

The Lord of the world

How can I find a word

Among my mish- mash mind

To describe your existence?

Or where can I find a pen

To draw your magnitude?

Or what color can I find

to fill your unseen body?

Even if I find all of them

I cannot do any thing for

There is no paper to

Have the capacity of you

Thursday, July 19, 2007

The sky is cloudy and the horrible figures have been marching on the

gray and blank pages of it. The ominous music of the deadly bells has

been echoed in the country of my mind. I do not know who the bell ringer

is but I hate of him or may be her. You know, the psychologists accuse

me cruelty to the guilty of being crazy but I deny and call it a big

accusation. I know more than the others do but none of they know this.

The superstitious fun do not arise my spirit, do you think it is a sin. I
like not to be a bird but the spirit of it, why? Because the bird cannot

pass the clouds and reach to the sun but I wish to transcend the borders

of the damn life and reach, the bright sun which is the symbol of

uniqueness for me. I know that I will be burnt in this case but I enjoy of

burning in the flames of the only sun of my life. I hate of walking among

the earthy and green gardens and being with the creatures that only

know themselves human beings but don’t know the simple alphabet of it.

I feel disgusted of reading the scenarios of the men who pretend to be the
most devoted servants of God but hurt the others as easy as a b c. I do

not want to be the baits of the fishermen. I want to be a blind man not to

see the cruelty and unjust men. I want to be deaf not to hear the lie. I

want to be crazy not to understand the world of tricks.

One hundred Years of Solitude

The man was passing the streets of vanity. The gloomy houses and quiet streets and alleys plunged their monstrous , sharp nails in his painful heart .As he was passing , he felt alienation to this land and it`s creations .This sense had chained the door of his heart and did not let the light of hope come out . He looked at the green and vast sky but did not see any thing but the grayish shades of the dark clouds .What ever he looked he could not catch the brilliant sun or its light. He found the other men as the hard stones that nothing could melt their cruel heart .when he was growing this negative thought, he felt that nostalgia was strangling him. It was for a long time that nostalgia had nested his heart and made the deep hole of sorrow and dread in his weak body. He never found any synonym for the word of life but pain and solitude .He had stepped up the ladder of modern life like all of his civilized fellow citizens but it seemed to him the foolish action on the earth. One hundred years of solitude had made him a noble and crazy philosopher and a matured stone. No song could pierce in his solid soul but the song of vanity .Although he had experienced power, wealth and health; he felt that he had not touched the real and truth of life. He had not been able to find a security house and a god among all of the chaotic of the luxurious world .He wanted to find something for worshiping but whatever he had worshiped before, seemed to be mirage. How well the God has said that the man is ignorant until the dooms day. Don’t you believe this?

Saturday, May 19, 2007

Mothrs` Day: The Day of Angels

History of Mother's Day

You may have tangible wealth untold:

Caskets of jewels and coffers of gold.

Richer than I you can never be

I had a Mother who read to me.- - - - Strickland Gillilan

Mother's Day in the United States was first proclaimed in 1870 in Boston by Julia Ward Howe Howe's "Mother's Day" was a call for Pacifism and disarmament by women A common early activity was the meeting of groups of mothers whose sons had fought or died on opposite sides of the American Civil War. In 1907 Mother's Day was first celebrated in a small private way by Anna Jarvis in Grafton, West Virginia, to commemorate the anniversary of her mother's death The younger Jarvis launched a quest to get wider recognition of Mother's Day. The following campaign to recognize Mother's Day was financed by clothing merchant John Wanamaker. As the custom of Mother's Day spread, the emphasis shifted from the pacificism and reform movements to a general appreciation of mothers. The first official recognition of the holiday was by West Virginia in 1910. A tradition calls for the wearing of carnations on Mother's Day—a red one if one's mother is alive, and white if she has died

Mom - isms --- things your mom always said

The heart of a mother is a deep abyss at the bottom of which you will always find forgiveness. - - - - Honore' de Balzac

All I do is follow you around, picking up after you like some maid.

Am I talking to a brick wall?Are you deaf or something?

As long as you live under my roof, you'll do as I say.

Beds are NOT made for jumping on.

Close the door! You don't live in a barn

Did you brush your teeth?

Did you comb your hair?

Do as I say, not as I do.

Do you think I'm made of money?

Do you think your socks are going to pick themselves up?

Don't talk with your mouth full!

Don't walk away when I'm talking to you!

If God had wanted you to have holes in your ears (eyebrows, tongue, etc.) He would have put them there!

If you stick your tongue out again it will fall off.

If you're too sick to go to school, you're too sick to play outside.

Say that again and I'll wash your mouth out with soap.

Who taught you THAT? You didn't learn that in this house!

You can't find it? Well, where did you leave it last?

You can't start the day on an empty stomach.

You have an answer for everything, don't you?

You'd forget your head if it wasn't attached to your shoulders!

You had better wipe that smile off your face before I do it for you.
Running away? I'll help you pack.

No, I don't know where your socks are, its not my day to watch them!

Never try on anyone else's glasses or you'll go blind.

Do you think this is a hotel? You can't just come here only to sleep.

Things I learned from my mother!

My mother taught me to APPRECIATE A JOB WELL DONE."If you're going to kill each other, do it outside. I just finished cleaning."

My mother taught me about LOGIC.

"Because I said so, that's why."

My mother taught me about WEATHER.

"This room of yours looks like a tornado went through it.”

My mother taught me about the CIRCLE OF LIFE.

"I brought you into this world, and I can take you out."

My mother taught me about BEHAVIOR MODIFICATION.

"Stop acting like your father!"

My mother taught me about ENVY.

"There are millions of children in this world who don't have wonderful parents like you do."

My mother taught me about ANTICIPATION.

"Just wait until we get home."

My mother taught me about MEDICAL SCIENCE.

"If you don't stop crossing your eyes, they are going to freeze that way .

My mother taught me HOW TO BECOME AN ADULT.

"If you don't eat your vegetables, you'll never grow up."

My mother taught me about GENETICS.

"You're just like your father."

My mother taught me about FEAR.

"One day you'll have a child who'll do the same things to you." - Brain Candy

Wednesday, May 16, 2007

A crazy man’s autobiography

When I came to this world closed –eyed

(Not sure of joy or sadness) I cried

Cried, cried and cried while

The other laughed, laughed and laughed

When I opened my eyes, I

Cried (sure of happiness)

What could be better for a baby

Of the warm bosom of mother

Or chilling hug of father?

When I became a child

The earth, my kingdom

The house, my heaven

My parents, my angels

And above all, God, my friend

When I became teen

I floated in the sea of charming beauty

What word was better than luxury?

What mental occupation could be but matching of superficial beauty?

Fashion was the only thing away of vanity

When I became youth

I lost my only friend

I lost my identity card

(Of course not sure of having it first)

Puberty ruined my ship of wish
Among the wave’s leap

Can I pair my cracked ship?

Can I find my identity card?

Can I reconcile with my old friend again?

Can I save myself of the roaring waves in the adulthood?

What wise man can respond to my philosophical question?

“Ashes to ashes, Dust to dust”