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Thursday, March 10, 2011

The old woman who does not like me

She Says: What brought you here?. I say: my destiny. She Says: But I do not believe in fate. I believe in planning and work only. I say: That's your problem, but I believe in that - or call it what you want - is one that threw me in your way. She Says:Say what you like,as long you pay the rent, that will not hurt me even if you call me the devil. I say, laughing: Yes it fits you to call you Satan, but dementia one. she then answered me with a laugh...

Wednesday, March 2, 2011

How do summer and winter meet at the same time!?

Is When two conflicts feelings meet at the same time When you have a lot to speak, But you can not speak When you think you have the freedom to dream But discover that you have no right to dream When Believing that the imagination is a means to achieve the aspirations, but you are convinced that there are limits to your imagination When you wishes of happiness, then Find evidence that happiness to others and not to you I am loving in i...

a CafeShop on the Crossroads...

There is a Cafe-shop on the Crossroads... There are a stove and a fire... My love and I wold smear it with secrets... I came back and found inside.. two young lovers... Sitting on out chair.. robbing us the Path... O'Yellow(Autumn) leaves.. we are growing old, we are growing old... Roads!, Houses! are growing old... The world would come to and end, and only you, O' My Homeland...You are forever a young child... Like an arrow coming back after travelling through times... I cross the streets.. not even one human smiles to me!!... All...

My Hometown

My Hometown is a lovely forest of sweet hills. Its love is a long melody; its land is beauty. Our house there, and flowers' fields, and tranquillity's calmness. Arak grows leaves, and birds sing in its safe hieghts. Its clouds are a spring, flirtatiously alluring. Its wood are invincible on mountains's tops. Whenever I wander between those hills and familiar gardens. Flights of field birds toss in the green and well-grown meadows. Those lowlands are imagination's birthplace; heart's nativ-land are those shadows. I am loving in i...