I will vote

من رای میدهم

 چون وقتی چشمم توی چشم پدر دکترزهرا بنی یعقوب افتاد میدانم که من هر جایی که مهم بود برای گرفتن حق دخترش فریاد زدم

 من رای میدهم

 چون وقتی دوباره خودم را گشت گرفت اگر خواستم “تصادفا” بمیرم میدانم که تقصیر خودم نبوده

من رای میدهم

 چون نمیتوانم جواب همه آ دمهایی که احمدی نژاد زندیگشان را با حماقتش و دوروییش خراب میکند بدهم

من رای میدهم

چون به پیامدهای هیچ انقلابی باور ندارم

 و چون نمیتوانم ویرانه وطنم را ببینم

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Luci-mey va dingoi keh peydA nakard

Where am I? who am I? Who will I be? I am lost somewhere in the gap between two generations. One who sacrificed everything at the feet of principles, a generation who thought commitment and ideas were the only reasons deserving to live and die for. A generation which despised love, which was said to put love aside by the trash can and forget. And another generation which treats love, like a blouse you wear until the excitement of being “new” and “Fun” wears out. You go through many colors throughout your young life and when you settle down it is not because you have found your one true love, but that you are tired. Tired of looking, and looking to settle down, to take your child to a football game, to have family meetings, to become a grandparent. The old generation was mute when it got to expressing her feelings, the new, consults google for writing his love letters. The old’ emblem forgo this life for the next, the new one flashes in neon lamp “Eat your dessert”.

 

I am digging, fast. Sweating and digging, I’ve got to get out. I will get myself out. Out of this darkness, of coldو of helplessnessو of bitter thoughts.

 

Let us celebrate at the day break. My tired hand will catch on your energy.

 

شاید تمام این تلاشها به جایی نرسد. شاید آخر هم با زبان مادریمان هم نتوانیم حرف هم را بفهمیم وآخرش هم باید به انگلیسی ژاپنی فرانسوی آلمانی ایتالیایی از خاطرات دورمان با کسانی حرف بزنیم که یکبارهم تو خیابان ولی عصر راه نرفته اند و یکبار هم  ته دلشان برای بچه های دستفروش نقش جهان نسوخته است و یک بار هم مثل من و تو فکر نکرده اند که اصغر هم حق دارد جایی زندگی کند که همه به هم احترام میگذارند راننده ها بین خط حرکت میکنند  دکترها و فروشنده ها لبخند میزنند وبلاگ نوشتن جرم نیست و زن ها هم حق دارند مثل همه بشر

ولی اگر نشد آن وقت با همه چشمهایی که پشت سرمان مانده چه کنیم با چه رویی نگاهشان کنیم؟

فکر میکنی میشود؟

Act -n+2

Please be brave. When you grow up, you will learn that most people are afraid. Most people won’t reach for their dreams because they are afraid of losing what they have, now, even though they hate what they have. Most people will say it and few actually dare doing it. Be brave, my love.

Act -n+1: il y a longtemps que je t’aime

If I look through my diaries I can find traces of you way back when. I wondered about your looks, your favorite colors, your favorite books. I wasn’t however ready for how I fell head over heals in love with you when you finally found me. Utterly, inexplicabaly in love. For the first time in my life, I understood what it meant to love someone from the bottom of my heart. For the first time in my life, I felt complete, content. I feel no more longing for anything else, no dreams of a challenging academic job, no dreams of traveling which I used to adore so much, no dreams of rock climbing, sking, running, reading as many books as I could fit in my days. Nothing. These days I am only amused by what is connected to you. I stopped reading the news of the world which gets more grim by day because I don’t want anything to upset you. I found myself, after many years to be hopeful about the future of this world and I need you to hope my love. Because you will be here and if after so many years of trying and failing you can emerge at the point when mommy had given up, there is going to be hope in everything.

I love you, not out of feeling empty, not out of boredom, not because I seek to fill my days with something, not because I need to forget myself. I love you because you are lovable and I have never had anything so sweet and innocent, so wholesome. There is nothing I won’t do for you.

I want you to be able to hike in the middle of forests and listen to the birds. I want polar bears to be here for you to see and that you can experience how nice the air smells after the rain. Thank you for being here, in me, my other heartbeat.

Love,

Mommy.

-n

It’s been weeks since I heard but I haven’t written. Because if I write it means that I have believed and if I believed I should prepare to shoulder its responsibility.  I am afraid that I may be squashed under its burden.

so  I was left to write for strangers ….