Ehsan and Ehsoonha

Sigh: emit a long, deep, audible breath expressing sadness

noreply@blogger.com (Ehsoonha) — Tue, 09 Mar 2010 08:21:00 +0000

In a time when frenzied everyday lives is replaced with a melancholy feeling; when a great hope is crushed only to leave the bitter taste of sorrow and desperation; when state's iron fist tore any lips that speaks a mind; when no media reflected the hears of those marching in the streets in silents; a poem, written hundred years ago, brings a rush of blood to our face. When arrests and brutal beatings have taken the grandeur out of the great Alborz Mountain, the beauty out of the migration of sparrows, the rhythm out of the sound of rain drops on moving umbrellas, a lyric sang by our forefathers in another struggle for freedom can let this devastated mind wonder free and lets this heart hope.
I remember after the first massacre on the streets of Tehran, a group of Iranian-Americans, each with a different political ideals, sat on the ground in a square in Palo Alto, mourning their brothers and sisters. In large letters on a piece of paper in the middle of their warm huddle read "Today Iran Wept, but Tomorrow is another Day"

سفر ايران 1

noreply@blogger.com (Ehsoonha) — Fri, 01 Jan 2010 16:03:00 +0000

حقيقتي تلخ يكي هم اينكه استبداد و وحشي گري هاي سياسي ايران مثالي هم در رفتارهاي روزمره خانواده ها دارد. اگر كه حتي بپذيريم تفكر استبدادي بنياني در ميان ما ندارد، منش استبدادي حاضر است و بسياري احمدي نژادي در درون ميپرورند.

noreply@blogger.com (Ehsoonha) — Mon, 12 Oct 2009 06:47:00 +0000

Life is full of repetitions, patterns and anniversaries. I take comfort in them. It gives me a sense of having a history.

noreply@blogger.com (Ehsoonha) — Mon, 21 Sep 2009 05:26:00 +0000

I am

My contemporary self,
A fragile happy.
Every moment a cell
Kills itself in me.

The lightly lighted backyard,
Where I sing and bow,
I pace back and forth,
Now, then, then, now.

noreply@blogger.com (Ehsoonha) — Tue, 02 Jun 2009 08:33:00 +0000

Mousavi, 1979 revolution's last hurrah.

Iran, Where Freedom is so Consequential

noreply@blogger.com (Ehsoonha) — Tue, 02 Jun 2009 08:33:00 +0000

I love the fact that there's a Mousavi and a Karoubi; a choice, but
without primaries, the cost of that choice can be a Ahmadinezad.

نوبهاری

noreply@blogger.com (Ehsoonha) — Sat, 30 May 2009 13:47:00 +0000

عمری دکر بباید بعد از فراق ما را
کاین عمر صرف کردیم اندر امیدواری

سعدی

noreply@blogger.com (Ehsoonha) — Sun, 10 May 2009 07:13:00 +0000

Do you remember the night with the blue moon were everything was white?

noreply@blogger.com (Ehsoonha) — Sat, 09 May 2009 07:56:00 +0000

Cori and Gigi :)

noreply@blogger.com (Ehsoonha) — Tue, 05 May 2009 17:48:00 +0000

My fishes stayed up the night with me.

noreply@blogger.com (Ehsoonha) — Sat, 02 May 2009 20:21:00 +0000

You make my day; everyday.

noreply@blogger.com (Ehsoonha) — Sun, 26 Apr 2009 01:30:00 +0000

You said when you walked through those halls, seeing so many people
involved and running for a single patient, doctors become a small part
of the whole things.

noreply@blogger.com (Ehsoonha) — Sun, 26 Apr 2009 01:22:00 +0000

You get into another dimension of humanity when you take care of
someone else.

noreply@blogger.com (Ehsoonha) — Sat, 25 Apr 2009 17:36:00 +0000

As we turned the turns of Pacifica, you said you enjoy Earth more than
any other planet. So manythings I don't know about you!

War Music

noreply@blogger.com (Ehsoonha) — Thu, 23 Apr 2009 03:57:00 +0000

After a long hot day, standing on top of a hill, as the approaching darkness of night and the gushing mist made it difficult, but not impossible, to make out the people passing by, I had two choice; either to think about death or a weird play we saw not long ago. To my surprise, I thought of the latter, the War Music, allegedly a modern rendition of the Iliad. It was one of those plays that you either will love it or passionately hate, but I felt neither; well it was too long and they talked too much, making me numb and exhausted to feel anything or to form an opinion. Feeling the mist on my face and my vision impaired however, my opinion was formed: I loved it. It reminded me of the time that I read or wrote pieces that made no sense, but had some elements that barely promised a notion of intelligence, and that promise alone made them beautiful for me.

noreply@blogger.com (Ehsoonha) — Wed, 22 Apr 2009 04:17:00 +0000

To thread the needle from this side or that.

noreply@blogger.com (Ehsoonha) — Wed, 22 Apr 2009 03:26:00 +0000

I felt I was in your skin,
smiled your smile,
made your hand gesture, fingers tilted downward.
Should I have called you then?

noreply@blogger.com (Ehsoonha) — Mon, 06 Apr 2009 04:54:00 +0000

Only a true friend reminds you how lucky you are.

noreply@blogger.com (Ehsoonha) — Mon, 02 Feb 2009 23:16:00 +0000

Most people, when presented with a chance to admit their mistake, will just act rude and hostile, unless you stay in their faces. Sad world we live in.

The First Poem I Understood: Saint Judas

noreply@blogger.com (Ehsoonha) — Thu, 22 Jan 2009 05:50:00 +0000

For the longest time, none of the poems I read in English made sense to me until this one by James Wright:

When I went out to kill myself, I caught
A pack of hoodlums beating up a man.
Running to spare his suffering, I forgot
My name, my number, how my day began,
How soldiers milled around the garden stone
And sang amusing songs; how all that day
Their javelins measured crowds; how I alone
Bargained the proper coins, and slipped away.

Banished from heaven, I found this victim beaten,
Stripped, kneed, and left to cry. Dropping my rope
Aside, I ran, ignored the uniforms:
Then I remembered bread my flesh had eaten,
The kiss that ate my flesh. Flayed without hope,
I held the man for nothing in my arms.

دوست

noreply@blogger.com (Ehsoonha) — Mon, 19 Jan 2009 09:22:00 +0000

دوست خوب کمه، دوست الکی هم خوبه

noreply@blogger.com (Ehsoonha) — Sat, 17 Jan 2009 21:50:00 +0000

We live in a stupid, stupid world.

Come Monday

noreply@blogger.com (Ehsoonha) — Mon, 03 Nov 2008 01:53:00 +0000

'The ultimate weakness of violence is that it is a descending spiral. Returning violence with violence only multiplies violence adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars.'

Dr. King

noreply@blogger.com (Ehsoonha) — Wed, 03 Sep 2008 06:11:00 +0000

I really don't like killing spiders; but I do it anyway.

Perfect Moments

noreply@blogger.com (Ehsoonha) — Mon, 01 Sep 2008 06:24:00 +0000

It's a wonderful thing, a perfect moment.