Heartleap

I have to practice the art of dgafism

نیاز دارم یک دریا گریه کنم

واقعاً مارگریت دوراس عجب حرفی زد وقتی که فرمود: "Very early in my life it was too late."

"اگر خزان بگذرد و زمستان فرا رسد، آیا بهار می‌تواند خیلی دیر بیاید؟"

قصیده‌ای به باد غرب، ترجمه امراله ابجدیان

Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is: What if my leaves are falling like its own! The tumult of thy mighty harmonies Will take from both a deep, autumnal tone, Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit fierce, My spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one! Drive my dead thoughts over the universe Like wither'd leaves to quicken a new birth! And, by the incantation of this verse, Scatter, as from an unextinguish'd hearth Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind! Be through my lips to unawaken'd earth The trumpet of a prophecy! O Wind, If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?

Ode to the West Wind, Percy Shelley

understanding james baldwin more than ever when he said: "my mind was empty—or it was as though my mind had become one enormous, anaesthetized wound. I thought only, One day I'll weep for this. One of these days I'll start to cry."

there’s beauty in resistance, however, we forget how easily suppression can hide behind the mask of resistance, specially when its initial values are degraded, delayed or deformed.

ای واژه‌ی خجسته‌ی آزادی! با این همه خطا، با این همه شکست که ماراست، آیا به عمر من تو تولد خواهی یافت؟ خواهی شکفت ای گل پنهان، خواهی نشست آیا روزی به شعر من؟ آیا تو پا به پای فرزندانم رشد خواهی داشت؟ ای دانه‌ی نهفته، آیا درخت تو روزی در این کویر به ما چتر می‌زند؟ سیاوش کسرایی