دلم نمیخواد دیگه اینجا زیاد بنویسم . تو قفس خودم زندونی شدم . خودم ساختم. این بلاگو . زندگیه هر روزمو . شعرامو . مهیارمو . هنوز هم برای تعهد واژه جایگزینی پیدا نکردم . دلم نمیخواد دیگه اینجا زیاد بنویسم نه برای اینکه تو ناراحت میشی از بعضی نوشته هام . نه برای اینکه ... . فقط کمی کمتر . کمتر خنده کمتر گریه . کمتر هیاهو کمتر نوشتن و شاید بیشتر خوابیدن اگر بشود . زندگی را اگر بشود تنها برای روزهایی چنین رام کرد
دلم شکست از این مردمان دنیایی
گرفت رنگ عذاب این شبان تنهایی
خموش خانه قلبم نوای دلتنگی
هوای گریه و بغضی و باز رسوایی
دوباره حسرت و اندوه باز بیزاری
ز پست مردم پر مکر و آز هرجایی
به هر کجا که روی آسمان همین رنگ است
زمین پر است از این سفلگان سودایی
:هنوز در پی عشقم ولی به این امید
که نیست روی زمین هیچ عشق و شیدایی
بگفت مه ز چه مایوس گشته ای؟... آخر
دلم شکست از این مردمان دنیایی
من را پشت کوهستانهای ندیده پیدا کنید وقتی از شوق وجودم به ناکجایی هرگز ندیده میشتابد. فقط برای یک لحظه آرام زیستن
3 comments:
I am not a computer specialist and couldn't figure out how to switch to Farsi keyboard. Anyhow, it's even better, because I can type English faster than Farsi.
Mahyra Jan
New Generation is absolutely living in a different world. This web log is a good example. During our youth time, the early years of the revolution, we did experience a different environment. We enjoyed Hafez and Molana, but philosophy and history as well, and of course politics. We were busy to discover the world and understand it better, much better and broader than our fathers and elder brothers. We didn't stop at "Erfan" or "Hoboot". We were surfing all available websites! at that time: i.e. books and newspapers. We were eagerly pursuing anything attractive to know and this is why we never internalized the "Gham". We repeatedly read this: "MAN HASEL OMR E KHOD NADARAM JOZ GHAM ...", but never felt it under our skin. So we can never understand properly and completely the feelings and thoughts of your generation, particularly while being away from homeland. However, I can specifically figure out one thing: the depth and richness of the thoughts, passions, and talents. I am proud of you. Keep it up.
I want to just add here part of Kipling's poem. Take it as a thought or comment or advice from your Daee:
...
If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
...
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And--which is more--you'll be a Man
[Man here means human, not masculinity]
And here is the entire of this wonderful poem, for your reference. Please read it carefully:
"If"
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
But make allowance for their doubting too,
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream--and not make dreams your master,
If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son!
By Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936).
All I can say is that I need you and I miss you
Miss you too.
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