Sunday, April 24, 2016

The dead

A good morning, sky was so bright and blue sun retrieved her strength from the wild winter passed. I was taking my regular walk to work. Never paid careful attention to the playground on the way. That day I noticed an old lady with her dog. Both so gloomy and down. No joy and enthusiasm for the good weather that jingled the bell of life. This new setting of life is fantastic. But to her and the dog was only a key to open the door and come of the winter-made cage. Apparently for them the only different thing was that the orchestration of life had taken different colors. The painter has a new twist of hand of in brushing the canvas.
The dead will be dead forever.

Wednesday, August 19, 2015


Poke the bubble,
Eternity, fragility of the glass wall!
In the wall you see the dance of colors.

Tuesday, August 11, 2015

The fish

Swims up and down
The river, narrow and deep
The flow, troubled or in sleep
The big fish ponders
Where the river flows.

Midnight in Montreal

Thursday, July 23, 2015

The hill

Trees on the hill murmur the sad hymn
To white death
By nighttime they scream it in fear
as their leaves shake and shiver
Far far away,
The white death is on his way,

Sunday, July 12, 2015

I hate it! I hate where i am standing now, physically and mentally even spiritually! I immigrated to a country that is winter not long ago. Before that, everybody's comment on my decision was "just do it! brace yourself! you have to decide!". But they neglected a very essential fact that this poor guy doesn't know how to think and contemplate! He only has a heart with no thread connecting it to his head! Now I see the sun at the end of the road just amid the dust of the road! I am too frightened by what I have done, the decisions I have made! the life i have chosen but the flower in my room has just bloomed today and tells me "I will wither soon, look at me and enjoy my naked beauty. Love it by your hard 'cause tomorrow is not coming, like your shadow it runs away from you." - Montreal

Sunday, May 31, 2009

The Garden, me and moon!

A dark night. Moon overhead cast its sorrowful and wretched rays on the garden field. My garden field where all trees and the plants shared the same memories with me and my left-beloved. Where was she truly? I remember every single breath we took, laid on the grass and watching the rays of sun in the mid-day. These are my last breaths and I hear the sound of an unknown essence. I hear its long, heavy strides approaching. Will I have enough time to recall and reminisce everything from that time. The sounds are lamented. The music we played was essentially mournful and we deceived our self. The holy deception we created is now far away. Nothing has left but memories. Is she thinking the same as me right now? Where is my beloved? I want to show her how strong we were when we played the sad songs in the grass field and fumbled in farm and we could just hear the sound of sparrows, dancing grass and our steps and mirthful cheerfulness. Those were the days. I hear the steps approaching. Where can I found that great and famous door. Will the unknown essence take me to that door? Is it the same with everybody? Or I will have mine? I wish I see the grass land once again with her waiting for me. Was that love or dizziness? Anything it was, most welcomed! Was it truly a virtue that we lost? Am I virtuous now? The moon is high and is caressing me coldly. I have to lay back and wait for the door. I am here all alone. Last night I left everything inside my old cottage and I emptied myself of names of others and just kept the first love with me. I have moved in the endless dimension of time. I am immortal? or I will just transform into a nothingness? No matter what it is, let me go and make a visit. I see the moon again, I gaze at it. It is not blinding like the sun. I have always been afraid of looking at the sun. The massive warm hole in the sky. Sun is God because it's not approachable and genial. It's just generous and benevolent. Moon freezes everything sun gives us when we are sleep and this is the essence of oblivion and forgetfulness.
With how sad steps, O Moon, thou climb'st the skies !
How silently, and with how wan a face !
What, may it be that even in heavenly place
That busy archer his sharp arrows tries?
Sure, if that long with love-acquainted eyes
Can judge of love, thou feel'st a lover's case;
I read it in thy looks; thy languisht grace
To me that feel the like, thy state descries.
Then, even of fellowship, O Moon, tell me,
Is constant love deemed there but want of wit?
Are beauties there as proud as here they be?
Do they above love to be loved, and yet
Those lovers scorn whom that love doth possess?
Do they call virtue there, ungratefulness?
(Poem by : Sir Philip Sidney - 1554 - 1586)

Wednesday, February 18, 2009

I wanna talk to night pt.II

Devotion has been my occupation all these years. Once Eros came to me accompanied by Cupid. Cupid, playing with his arrow and bow, smiled at me and told me that I had been his best target all these years. He smiled and so did Eros. Eros put his hand on my shoulder and told me softly and mildly " Keep on loving son. Love is the only answer and will be the answer to everything!!" Cupid burst into laughter "Love is the only answer. Of course it is and will be? How better mankind could be entertained than this. Manipulation of an unearthly heaven for mankind, never giving him a chance to get into it. That's is fantastic." Eros kept looking into my eyes and lowered his head and told "Cupid you have been the one entertained mostly with such a genius manipulation. Isn't it true my friend?" My heart was heavy. I thought of her and I did not have any idea where she was. She was my sweet devotion. She was the only reason I lived all those years. She was my sweet suffering and pain. She appeared unexpectedly wearing a white gown and a wreath of white bud decorated it. She was not well as I reminded her. She has tears in eyes. She stunned Cupid and Eros as she appeared. Eros called the scene an absolute purity and innocence. I grinned. Cupid sat on a stone near him and dropped his instruments on the ground. She turned around for a while. She was not in her mind. Something might have happened to her. Her hand, covered by the sleeves of the white gown, suddenly appeared and she smiled venomously. She had a heart, bleeding heart in her hand. Who was it for? Cupid stood up. Eros looked at me and touched my chest. I felt pain inside. She threw it away and looked at me innocently. She began hopping and bouncing as she turned back to us. There was fog at the end of the dusty road. She hopped toward it. A horse could be heard approaching. A black horse appeared and the black rider on it screamed as she tried to ran away from him. She cried for help. We were all stunned. She begged for forgiveness. From whom? The black rider grasped her and all faded in the dark while screeching and screaming. Cupid flew away and Eros lowered his head disgracefully and indecently and walked away. I felt light behind me. A shining figure like a saint appeared cheerfully springing to and fro and suddenly stood beside me as if she had never understood my presence there around. She greeted me and looked at the empty black bleeding hole on my chest and laughed. She searched around and picked a stone, brought it to me and looked at it and the hole on my chest for a while and put it suddenly into the hole. It was so painful, biting and burning that made me to kneel down. She picked me up and hooked her fragile and frail hands around my neck and murmured in my ear:
"Come live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove,
That valleys, groves, hills, and fields,
Woods, or steepy mountain yields."