Dead Poets Society

زندگی آبتنی در حوضچه‌ی اکنون است<<<<<<<<< memoria praeteritorum bonorum

I think, therefore I suffer

00:04

مرا نمی‌شناسد این دوپایِ در آینه با شانه‌های فتاده پرسَدم: این لبخند ز یاد بُرده کیست؟ و من به چشمانِ مُرده‌اش لبخند می‌زنم. #الف_ب

Empty streets Emptier than my mind Full cigarette ends

We sit on a bench somewhere in a park Where urchins are selling the future Old men playing chess A stray dog making a mess While young men bearing the mark Of illusive power, genitals, a mixture Of wander, lust and pimply faces Stare thirstilly at the tight dresses, Alluring pins, breasts and fiery eyes Of girls who feverishly fantasise Their future men: pure-bred Heavenly handsome, beast in bed And boys whisper, brains in shorts: “Dayum man, nice pieces of meat!” You know, they are terrible at using conceit ‘Tis like this in all, all the ports Of mankind; well, we are not ashamed, you see! ‘Tis the way we were meant to be. - AmirMahdi Bahramzadeh (#الف_ب)

Too many people Too many

میانِ من و شب، میانِ من و شمع...

به قداستِ شعر سوگند دیریست که در خویش تمام شده‌ام.