Where am I going?
To where the journey has begun?
Where am I going?
To that rainy room with no sun?
Where am I going?
To that prison, locked by fake dreams?
…
doubtful, for that if your eyes are glazing for me,
ambitious, for that I ignored the bars to feel free,
thirsty, for the taste of leisure they forbid,
unlimited, as my border lines are not defined,
…
truth, is that, which is called real,
real, is that, which I can physically feel,
and the endless future, once seemed so near,
the beautiful desert of life, once talked about it with fear,
that prison of life, that kid living among the silent beholders,
this room of mine, the man breathing among walls of concrete,
Oh! How sweet it is!
To not to care for that leaf dying outside,
Not to think about those memories kept inside,
Not to dream of that rose, absent in my garden,
To love the life as it is, to be modern.
SINA MESDAGHIDEC. 3, 2003
1 comment:
cheghadr tak take jomle ha ghashango ta'amol barangizan... oonghadr ke delam mikhad too lahze haye khasi az zendegi be khatereshoon biaram:)
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