Just-talking-out-loud

*I could not find a better translation for this. 

I recieved this poem in my inbox and I just loved it. The English translation is not as good as the orginal Farsi but still good to share. در جواب ِ دخترم که پرسيد: چرا مرا به دنيا آوردي؟ زيرا سال‌هاي جنگ بود و من نيازمند ِ عشق بودم براي  چشيدن ِطعم  آرامش . زيرا بالاي سي سال داشتم و مي ترسيدم از پژمردن پيش از شکفتن و غنچه دادن . زيرا طلاق واژه اي ست تنها براي مرد و زن نه براي مادر و فرزند . زيرا تو هرگز نمي‌تواني بگويي : مادر ِ سابق ِ من حتي وقتي جنازه‌ام را تشييع مي کني . و هيج چيز، هيچ چيز در اين دنيا نمي تواند ميان ِ مادر و فرزند جدايي افکند نفرت يا مرگ حتي . و تو بيزاري از من زيرا تو را به دنيا آورد ه ام تنها به خاطر ِ ترسم از تنها ماندن و هرگز مرا نخواهي بخشيد تا  زماني که خود فرزندي به دنيا آوري ناتوان از تاب آوردن ِ خاکستر ِ سوزان ِ روياهاو آرزوهاي دور و درازت فریده حسن‌زاده In Answer to My Daughter :  Why Did You Bring Me Into Existence? Because it was wartime and I needed lovemaking to ta...

I'm going through the posts I left as draft and never published. This is on of the. It is beautiful poem by Rumi. I'm not sure where first I read it. Both light and shadow are the dance of Love. Love has no cause; it is the astrolabe of God’s secrets. Lover and Loving are inseparable and timeless. Although I may try to describe Love when I experience it I am speechless. Although I may try to write about Love I am rendered helpless; my pen breaks and the paper slips away at the ineffable place where Lover, Loving and Loved are one. Every moment is made glorious by the light of Love. from Rumi Love Poems

هر كجا هستم ، باشم‌، آسمان مال من است‌. پنجره‌، فكر ، هوا ، عشق ، زمين مال من است‌. چه اهميت دارد گاه اگر مي رويند قارچهاي غربت؟ Wherever I am, let me be! The Sky is mine. The windows, the mind, the air, love, earth, are all mine. What does it matter if mushrooms of nostalgia grow from time to time? (Sepehri 58)"

"He who becomes the slave of habit, who follows the same routes every day, who never changes pace, who does not risk and change the color of his clothes, who does not speak and does not experience, dies slowly. He or she who shuns passion, who prefers black on white, dotting ones "is" rather than a bundle of emotions, the kind that make your eyes glimmer, that turn a yawn into a smile, that make the heart pound in the face of mistakes and feelings, dies slowly. He or she who does not turn things topsy-turvy, who is unhappy at work, who does not risk certainty for uncertainty, to thus follow a dream, those who do not forego sound advice at least once in their lives, die slowly. He who does not travel, who does not read, who does not listen to music, who does not find grace in himself, dies slowly. He who slowly destroys his own self-esteem, who does not allow himself to be helped, who spends days on end complaining about his own bad luck, about t...

There are different wells within your heart. Some fill with each good rain, Others are far too deep for that. In one well You have just a few precious cups of water, That “love” is literally something of yourself, It can grow as slow as a diamond If it is lost. Your love Should never be offered to the mouth of a stranger, Only to someone Who has the valor and daring To cut pieces of their soul off with a knife Then weave them into a blanket to protect you. From :  Paulo Coelho's Blog Does anyone know the Farsi version of this poem?

Even from the bright rising sun The moon that has playfully spun We learn love, joy, and even fun Before our time’s sand has run.                           Omar Khayam

Crazy world, full of crazy contradictions like a child; First you drive me wild and then you win my heart with your wicked art; One minute tender, gentle, Then temperamental as a summer storm. Just when I believe your heart's getting warmer You're cold and you're cruel and I like a fool try to cope, Try to hang on to hope. Crazy world, every day the same old roller coaster ride; But I've got my pride I won't give in Even though I know I'll never win; Oh, how I love this crazy world.

Short version of Ulysses from Frasier. "It may be that the gulfs will wash us down; It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles, And though we are not now that strength which in old days Moved earth and heaven, that which we are... Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will; To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield."

Who loved each other like us? Let us search for the ancient ashes of the burnt heart and let our kisses fall there one by one until the uninhabited flower resurrects. Let us love the love that consumed its fruit and descended to earth with a face and power: you and I are the continuing light, its unshakable delicate thorn. To that love buried by so much cold weather, by snow and spring, by oblivion and autumn, let us bring close the light of a new apple. The freshness opened by a new wound, like the ancient love that walks in silence through an eternity of buried months.

Merry Christmas by Hawksley Workman If god takes you he leaves each footprint of love and kindness behind which is where you once stood   and I know you're afraid to get on the plane after what happened that day and selfishly i want you here in my way but animals come and animals go but love is just a laundry line we hang on onto we're dried out by the sun and when you think your turn is done you end up getting dirty and its all again begun now words i think are just a noisy dirty wind makes the trouble we get in so why do we speak now we made another war that's what men are good for men with stupid insecurities not a lot more and satisfied they try its written about a gun but who the hell reads history? apparently not men cause nothings guarenteed except the politics of need did the romans see the ship go down were they asleep? I shouldnt expect to live and I shouldnt expect to die but I wouldnt mind being beside...

Tonight I can write.. Tonight I can write the saddest lines. Write, for example, 'The night is starry and the stars are blue and shiver in the distance.' The night wind revolves in the sky and sings. Tonight I can write the saddest lines. I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too. Through nights like this one I held her in my arms. I kissed her again and again under the endless sky. She loved me, sometimes I loved her too. How could one not have loved her great still eyes. Tonight I can write the saddest lines. To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her. To hear the immense night, still more immense without her. And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture. What does it matter that my love could not keep her. The night is starry and she is not with me. This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance. My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her. My sight tries to find her as though to bring her close...

Wherever I am, let me be! The sky is mine. The windows, the mind, the air, love, earth, are all mine. What does it matter if mushrooms of nostalgia (the leaves of solitude) grow from time to time? * The sound of water by Sohrab Sepehri May he rest in peace because his poetry brings peace to my mind and soul. Please share with me anything interesting that you know about him or his poetry. I try to learn more about him.

I do love this song.

It will be my sister's birthday very soon and I feel poetic. I really want to write a poem on her birthday card but I can't think of anything. This time my beloved friend, Google , wasn't that helpful either. After 1hr search, I gave up. My knowledge of poetry has been always insufficient (that being said I always enjoy reading poems). I thought to myself there are some people out there who can help me by providing good suggestions. It will be somehow cheating but I'm sure my sister wouldn't mind. I prefer writing something in Farsi. Many thanks in advance p.s. this is the 100th post of this blog (including my unpublished posts). I wanted to be a special post and now I'm glad it turned out to be about my sister and poetry.

I just finished reading a very interesting article on Turkish cuisine. It was called “ Sufi Gourmet ”. I should say it was more about Mowlana ( Mevlana) though. I really enjoyed it because as the author of the article, Marcello Di Cintio , says "food-writing has to be about culture ". I learned new things about Mowlana today as well as tasty Turkish food. I recommend reading this article. Be aware of the content of this article if you fast these days. You might want to put it off until after eftar (sunset).