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Uncertainty Farid is in Dallas and Iman lives in London Canada. This weblog is a place to share our idea with our friends. We would like to talk about many interesting subjects like philosophy, Anthropology, Human Rights, Religion, Ethics, Medicine (especially surgery), Science and Music..
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Saturday, June 28, 2003
Mehdi Akhavan Sales (M. Omid)(1928 - 1990) is my favourite poet. You may find sadness in his poem. One of the most thoughtful poem that I have read is Inscription. I think it is a good description for our society and revolution.
Inscription By Mehdi Akhavan-Sales translated by Ahmad Karimi-Hakkak The stone lay there like a mountain and we sat here a weary bunch women, men, young, old all linked together at the ankles, by a chain. You could crawl to whomever your heart desired as far as you could drag your chain. We did not know, nor did we ask was it a voice in our nightmare and weariness or else, a herald from an unknown corner, it spoke: "The stone lying there holds a secret inscribed on it by wise men of old." Thus spoke the voice over and again and, as a wave recoiling on itself retreated in the dark and we said nothing and for some time we said nothing. Afterwards, only in our looks many doubts and queries spoke out then nothing but the ambush of weariness, oblivion and silence, even in our looks and the stone lying there. One night, moonlight pouring damnation on us and our swollen feet itching one of us, whose chain was the heaviest damned his ears and groaned: "I must go" and we said, fatigued: "Damn our ears damn our eyes, we must go." and we crawled up to where the stone lay one of us, whose chain was looser climbed up and read: "He shall know my secret who turns me over!" With a singular joy we repeated this dusty secret under our breath as if it were a prayer and the night was a glorious stream filled with moonlight. One...two...three...heave-ho! One...two...three...once more! sweating sad, cursing, at times even crying again...one...two...three...thus many times hard was our task, sweet our victory tired but happy, we felt a familiar joy soaring with delight and ecstasy. One of us, whose chain was lighter saluted all, then climbed the stone wiped the dirt-caked inscription and mouthed the words (we were impatient) wetted his lips (and we did the same) and remained silent cast a glance at us and remained silent read again, his eyes fixed, his tongue dead his gaze drifting over a far away unknown we yelled to him" "Read!" he was speechless "Read it to us!" he stared at us in silence after a time he climbed down, his chain clanking we held him up, lifeless as he was we sat him down he cursed our hands and his "What did you read? huh?" He swallowed and said faintly: "The same was written: "He shall know my secret who turns me over!" We sat and stared at the moon and the bright night and the night was a sickly stream. (posted by Iman) Posted:Saturday, June 28, 2003 |
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