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By Roya Monajem (originally published by Tavoos Art Magazine)

From time immemorial, Nowrouz has been regarded as the birthday of our Blue Planet Earth on this land
Which together with the blooming white and pink blossoms, green grass and red poppies
Once again passes over another year of human history on its bosom
In the hope of a true rebirth

Gustav Klimt, Cherry Garden

Accompanying the renewal of the Earth and Time in this coming Spring,
Let us first read Forough Farokhzad’s poem, Rebirth like a soliloquy
In the memory of all those innocents lives driven out of their homes or killed on her bosom as the result of human Inhumanities in the Middle East and elsewhere on her seven continents
With the light of hope in our own rebirth with love:

Gustav Klimt, Tree of Life

My life is a dark holy verse
In which, on every dawn of eternal blooming and burgeoning
I called you over and over with a sigh
In this holy verse I tied you
To Trees, Water and Fire

Life is perhaps
A long street where everyday
A woman with a basket in her hand passes
Life is perhaps
A rope with which a man hangs himself from a tree
Life is perhaps
A schoolchild coming back home from school
Life is perhaps
Lighting a cigarette
Between two languor []
Or the passage of a dazed pedestrian
Who raises his hat
Smiling for no reason
Bidding another passerby:
“Good Morning!”

Life is perhaps that obstructed moment when
My glance ruins itself in the pupil of your eyes
And there is a sensation in that which
I will blend with the conception of Moon and perception of Darkness

In a room, which is as big as Loneliness
My heart, which is as big as Love
Looks at its simple excuses for happiness
At the beautiful withering of flowers in the vase
At the seedling which you planted in our garden, and
At the song of canaries
Which sing as high as a window

This is my share of lot
This is my share of lot
My share is the sky that hanging a curtain
Will deprive me of
My share is going down an abandoned stairway
And to something amid the decay, homesickness and the principle of searching
My share is a sorrowful strolling in the Garden of Memories
And dying in the grief of a voice telling me
“I love your Hands”


Gustav Klimt, A Path in the Garden

I plant my hands in the Garden
They will germinate, I know, I know, I know
And sparrows will lay eggs in the furrow of my inky fingers

I hang a pair of earrings
Of twin cherries from my ears
And stick Dahlia’s petals on my nails
There is an alleyway where
The boys who were in-love with me
Are still wondering with the same entangled hairs, thin necks, skinny legs
About the innocent smiles of a girl whom
The wind took away one night

There is an alleyway which my heart
Has stolen from my childhood’s quarter

A three dimensional trip on the Line of Time
Impregnating three dimensionally the sterile Line of Time
A three dimensional view of a conscious reflection
Returning from a mirror’s party

And that’s how
Somebody dies and somebody remains
No hunter will catch a pearl
From a pitiable brook which falls into a hole

I know a little sad nymph
Who lives in an ocean
And plays her heart in a shepherd’s pipe
Piece by piece
A little sad nymph
Who dies at night with a kiss
And is reborn at dawn with a kiss


Mermaids, Gustav Klimt

Let us take this little sad nymph as our Mother-Earth, Spendarmaz, Gaia
And instead of breaking her heart with our unkindness to each other
Revive it with a kiss of Hope in the coming New Year
And play her shepherd’s pipe together singing
My whole life is a holy verse of Light
In which on every dawn of eternal blooming and burgeoning
I joyously embrace you over and over
To remember my humanity
And Feel Responsible

Spendarmaz, Gaia, Earth

Rises the morning wind and the scent of Nowrouz
For the happiness of friends and good fortune
Felicitous be your New Year and all your coming years
Propitious be your today and all your coming days
-- Saadi Shirazi (1210-1291)


... Payvand News - 03/18/16 ... --

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