8.8.13



نشود فاش کسی آنچه میان من و توست
تا اشارات نظر نامه رسان من و توست


- سایه



ثبت شود در جریده عالم

راز:
کنار جناب بلخی نشسته ام
آهنگی آرام به درون رخنه می کند،
جذب می شود.
همان وقت که تو
با نگاه بی بدیلت،
با غم وجودی که روی شانه های نحیفت سنگین است،
و آن «بغضی که می خواهی خردش کنی» و دست آخر،
که همه «اکسیژن ریه ات را سوزانده
                  و آهی می شود که به آسمان می شود.»*
رمز:
یقین چگونه است؟
مثل آنچه در سنگ کنده باشند.
                  من برای بی شمار بارها «می دانم»
                  که تو هستی و آکنده ام از تو، 
                  و دیگر هیچ نیست.


                                            قونیه - مرداد ۱۳۹۲


* از تو

3.4.13

درباره مذهب

How Jesus and religion are on opposite spectrum
See one's the work of God, but one's a man made invention
See one is the cure, but the others' the infection
See because religion says do, Jesus says done
Religion says slave, Jesus says son
Religion puts you in bondage, while Jesus sets you free
Religion makes you blind, but Jesus makes you see

spoken poetry by Jefferson Bethke

4.2.13

تحت تاثیر




I lied to myself. I toed the line, but it wasn’t my line.
I played it safe, living in the city, but it was only a matter of time before my heart begs to exorcise the lie.

Surely the panic rising in the aftermath of that visit to the war museum.
I remember that day like a dull pain. With mostly—if not only—the combination of the truth that what I wanted, what I needed was the moon and the wind and the shore and the ocean and the mountains and the warm rocks.
The heat and the softness of the sunshine.

The peace and the rawness of the storms and the cold.
The motion and the rhythm and the ebb and the flow of the tides and the wind.

Of this glorious weather all around

This was my line, this was my line, that’s keeps me whole, that keeps me rooted, that gives me faith

This nature frames my world… It’s a leitmotiv, a compass, an anchor, a constant companion, a steady hand.

I cannot deny it must be shared with those I love… through mutual touch, like a common DNA, like blood flowing from the top of the mountain, downstream along the valleys, down the stream, along the valley, into the ocean of each of us.

— Charlotte Davies

6.1.13



I'm not afraid of death, but afraid of life...