Futile Nows…

I’ll be lost somewhere no one would find me,
Between the forgotten rotten yellow leaves of an autumn;
In a vacuum between the past and present,
Which are both nothing,
Like the future.
All the gone moments have been each a future of chances and choices,
Not taken and made.
I’m stuck into this soil’s muddy hands.
How easily
I shiver,
I fall,
Though rooted…

Oversimplification

The oversimplified “I”
Keeps longing for nothingness
Among this excited, ever happy crowd,
Whose collars are wetted by the gray autumnal rain,
But don’t feel cold.

A Letter to Humanity

Dear humanity;

I don’t feel good at this very moment. I don’t feel good at all to write this letter to you, but I have the courage to. I’m brave enough to call you names and humiliate you. But I’m not going to do this. I don’t hate you but I don’t have any devotion towards you either. This is only a moment of revelation.

What are you really thinking? How dare you write every nonsense you want on me? I hope this would not end in a misunderstanding. For what I’m complaining about is not the essence of writing, but it is all the contradictions that I see in and within your empty world. A lover takes a piece of paper and writes his beloved a letter and describes whatever he feels and then when he sees her to give her the letter he squeezes me at the bottom of his pocket and doesn’t mention at all that he has written a letter on me. What should I do then? A philosopher who pretends to hate life and so doesn’t really live a life, takes a marker and fills all my sensitive skin with any kind of bull he wants; then he shuts the door behind himself and causes all my cells to shake for seconds. What does he really want from the poor wretched life? Some other time a girl who was laughing until a couple of hours ago with her friends, takes a red lipstick and writes on me that “Nobody is responsible for my death!”. And then she looks deeply into my eyes and brushes her hair and chops up her veins and dies. And the day after they print on me that a girls commits suicide for unknown reasons.

What is wrong with you humans? See what kind of hell you have made for yourselves and what a deep grave you have dug.
You have always polluted me with your own hands and have let go of me. You have always left me for some passerby to read, to ask for their attention though they don’t even give me a quick scan.

Although I’m so sick of the heaviness of your hands on me I have to tolerate and bear the life that you planned for me; exactly like you! The only difference is that I know myself but you don’t know yourselves. Eat your heart out humanity!


Never looking forward to hearing form you,

Yours never,
Blank Page

Relaxant

A butterfly burns.
Someone calls me I guess.
They are burnt on the fire of human's skull,
No air needed, despite the vacuum.Can someone tell how this fire is set?

A Fearful Confession

I can’t exactly remember since when, as an angel, I started crying. One thing I know for sure and that is the fact that it hasn’t been haphazard. I discovered that I could cry too by a special event that I don’t remember.

The world I live in has only three colors: black, white and gray. I don’t know what color I am but it is different from these three and it’s different from those of yours. Can you describe your colors?

I cry many times. I cry when I fly and that is when someone suddenly feels a cold drop on his cheek but when he looks upward at the sky he finds out that it’s not raining. I cry when I dream that there is a bifurcation of a path. Because I don’t know what I should do and which path I should take; for I don’t know how to choose. But I’ve seen that many of you easily can. Can anyone teach me how to choose? I cry a lot when I see a girl push her face into the pillow and cry for she misses love—maybe in vain and maybe not. I don’t know what I should do for her, because I don’t know how to help. No one has taught me to. I cry for I cannot walk on earth. My heels are always so above the earth.

I cry; for I cannot be you and it is exactly when you suddenly feel very cold at dawn…

Introduction

I guess I need to include a bio note in my blog for those who probabely don't know me. I was born in July 3, 1984 in Isfahan, Iran. My major at the university was English language and literature. Since 2004 I started writing poetry, short stories and essays in English. I have a number of publications in Ascent Aspirations Magazine and Barnwood Poetry Magazine in 2007 and 2008.

At the time being I'm working on a novel which I don't know where it would take me and how long it would take to be written. Its main abstract theme deals with my philosophical revelations within the frame of my experiences, without giving any exact concrete details.

On the whole, like all of you I'm a repeater of life in its true futile way. My words are a true reflection of me and my life. I'm not into any special "ism" . I try to create my own Golshanism! But my main interest is dark modern literature.

I try to make a selection of my works here including short stories, poetry and some short essays. Please feel free to express your opinions and comments. Your ideas mean a lot to me and are the best feedback.

All the works are copyrighted.