Until being with you

Dec 26, 2008 at 07:07 o\clock

My autumnal sigh

I lose you again in circle of love and take refuge from my God, the only sentry to keep you in this circle. I'm sure I've taken a good sentry. Some times I feel pain in my eyes and can't bear any more tears. What should I do? If the challenging of love lasts years, if it has problems, if it needs power to encounter hardships, I've got to tolerate and stay. Should encounter and have patience and go on the challenge. I use power of love as the protector for my uncontrollable heart and also, I want him to protect you and increase your power for the hardships come to you. If you forget even to open the window of your black bricks room, go to that notes written last summer. Maybe a word of hope was written. I gave my heart's sigh to fall breeze. Each black bricks of your room are incarnation of that sigh, one by one. 

                                              My autumnal sigh, Hadi Safaree, 2001/8/2

 

Dec 13, 2008 at 18:43 o\clock

My new life

In new location of my life, it's taken even a long time, I miss my nature, my house, my mother, my father, my tyrant neighbors, my silent streets, my fields waiting for spring and you. Even though I think about them and you, but I'm not satisfied yet. If I talk to you hundred postures, I won't be that last lover. What should I do?! I get up at six everyday. I tell you out my grievances. Everybody's running away. Oh! I've lost the bus. Thank God! The minibus for Nobonyad has arrived. Oh, there's only five minutes to the time of my appearance at work. I pull the switch of computer case. I lean the circling chair. And another day began. I take a print from my work. Sir! Do my colors have composition?! 

                                     My new life, Hadi Safaree, 2001/7/29

Dec 10, 2008 at 17:58 o\clock

Love believe

I swear by the quiet silence of your paper house, I know your dreams are as beautiful as my fancies believable. You've got the mystic believe of love from my silence. I've got the final point of belief from your silence. Maybe it's not possible to feel that the words we say about the paper world we've made are hearable. But we can start to paint the gray branches of the paper trees green. I know painting, you know painting too. So why don't you start? When I was a child, I didn't have any water color. I used to go to little garden near stream and cut all the color flowers and paint. If we search the paper garden near paper house for a short time, there have to be flowers to paint our believes the red color of love.  

                                                Love believe, Hadi Safaree, 2001/7/27

Dec 10, 2008 at 17:56 o\clock

The little tiny hole of hope

When you look at me, moonlight jumps out of the dark clouds and bright the dusty window of this house. When you look at me, night gets the day and the morning of being together arrives. At this side of this house, somebody always waiting is me and the frames empty of affection on the wall. That side of city, everybody staring the clouds catching the moonlight. It's not true if I say moonlight won't die with its red face when you're not here. But believe it when you're here, the little tiny hole of hope to horizon won't catch the dark disappointment of night.

                                                The little tiny hole of hope, Hadi Safaree, 2001/7/5

Dec 10, 2008 at 17:53 o\clock

To be hopeful

Nowadays I have to remember my all childhood in skeleton of a deserted house, and that so early I arrived to that deserted boundary of nobody, even though a hole of brightness, ended to the brightly morning of being with you, I feel in my heart. Farer than my disappointment, a mother who is dedicated all hope from the bright moonlight of nature, is waiting to get morning of being with herself and I leave the embers of torch of disappointment away and go to moony night to be hopeful.

                                                           To be hopeful, Hadi Safaree, 2001/6/15

Dec 10, 2008 at 17:51 o\clock

Branches of cherries

In morning, your voice is interesting to hear. The pleasure of your voice is able to feel, here, even the street is full of cars and ironic people, you who bear the warm summer and I in this public phone. My head is down and I'm counting all the cross walks. One car blows horn. Two cars blow horn. None of them know that it's just my body passing in front of them. The bowed branches of cherries are out of their buds and have bowed for me and unite my ghost escaped from the body tired of the cross walks. In morning your voice is interesting to hear. Go over the cherries a little. Maybe you would see me there.

                         Branches of cherries, Hadi Safaree, 2001/6/7 

Dec 10, 2008 at 17:48 o\clock

Your voice

In inner solitude where my all thoughts were for some lines of souvenir, your voice was heard. You know well how to come in my mind and you can dedicate your voice to me well. Today you've penetrated my inner solitude and I've become surprised of this heart fallen in love. I'm surprised of this heart myself. When it was not thinking about love for a moment and now seeking for it. I use power of God as the protector for my uncontrollable heart and your voice as his present. Cover your head with that scarf full of flowers and go across the windows, talk to my sad heart. I'm not satiated of the refreshing wine of your appearance mirage a long time. If the red flowers of your scarf are thirsty, I come and rain and you look at me and tell me you love me. 

                                        Your voice, Hadi Safaree, 2001/6/4

Dec 10, 2008 at 17:44 o\clock

Your perfume

Even though my tiredness is of decay of iron walls of here, and the streets where nights have no any shades along the bright moonlight. I can consider, find two white wings as bright as night time moonlight ordered from you with its pieces of hope. You walk along red roses and give hope all sad dews, when sky is sad. You grow corn poppy as high as sky and your perfume is felt here that I am tired of its decay of iron walls and make me hopeful, when sky is sad.

                                       Your perfume, Hadi Safaree, 2001/5/20

Dec 10, 2008 at 17:41 o\clock

All God

When I watch through the skies, the blue foggy clouds of paper look like the darling's cold sigh, spreading the washed clothes in kindness stream on the repetitive clothes line of life. Her sigh is not of life. It's from continual roaring of the repeating which filed away power from the bent bones in impedance of wind. Skies are witness themselves; swear that my darling has bowed down all the nature. I hold her powerful hands and go watch the crumpled clothes along the wind. Kissing these hands is bowing down the mysticism of all God.

                                                    All God, Hadi Safaree, 2001/5/17

Dec 10, 2008 at 17:39 o\clock

Shining of you

Shining of sun stopped when you offered all beating of your kind heart. All the nature is for you. All the green branches of freshness is yours and where am I from at this nature when I don't appreciate a piece of your kindness. Now that I know how much you rained for the nature and me, I go to the end of mirage and bear the sun thirstiness to search for the real wine of worship as a gift for your being of sun. 

                                              Shining of you, Hadi Safaree, 2001/5/11

Dec 10, 2008 at 17:36 o\clock

Dreams

  When suddenly wandering of my dreams, grew long walls towards brightly raising of moonlight. I borrowed butterfly's wing and flied to the end of brightly rising of moonlight even though I passed the blind lines. I don't know how come some pieces of grey clouds accepted the invitation of sky and went to meet dieing of sun. I went to center of sea on a skiff not to be thirsty of not seeing moonlight, Even though I passed the blind lines, even though woody skiff across the river had some pieces of paddles to pass horizon. When suddenly wandering of moonlight have dead as long as long walls and haven't remained any longer.

                                                                     Dreams, Hadi Safaree, 2001/5/9

Dec 10, 2008 at 17:33 o\clock

Your absence

I see the city empty of you. The bright lights of my childhood nights are off and I see a few dead end allies and I see the city empty of you. I remember all secretly thinking, corner of house and suddenly you, arriving, unexpectedly and the lights of alley all turned on. Nights when you were tired, dead end line was on. Now grown up a little, I see the city empty of you. There's nobody to tell me the reason of being without you. And you really far from here count the moments of darkness of allies until my unexpectedly arriving.It's not possible to play corner of house secretly.

                                                               Your absence. Hadi Safaree. 2001/4/26

Dec 10, 2008 at 17:28 o\clock

Another birth

 I opened my diary notebook with the hope of finding at least a moment of that last time full of color of spring. I could feel the raising of sun in every sentence.And colored shining of the looks which were free and mood.I wasn't wrong. My tired some was the gray color of the fire invisible for a long time and the only one rest, the nights you're not available and I'm cold and of winter. Life is passing of the moments of a butterfly that it's cloudy sky rains some times and is sunny some other. If I look at the red beginning of the morning, I'll find out that butterflies are first slaves of morning that pray sun and pray the creator.I'll be a butterfly cloudy sky of his eyes will be sunny, if my praying of morning is done.                                                                     Another birth, Hadi Safaree 2001/3/30

Dec 9, 2008 at 14:27 o\clock

One day in winter

 One day in winter, my cell started to ring. It was time to pray. I woke up hardly from the warm place under blanket and turned it off. I got ready to pray when suddenly I felt the unusual light in out. I watched out and surprised of all that huge snow. My God! How much snow! My feeling was different with the time about 20 years ago. I remember when my mum used to call me with her calm voice and tell me the good news. I was happy and went out without warm cloth and joy. But now the first thing I think is how to get office! I rested a little until the time to live. Maybe snow lessens but it was more and more. My God! What should I do? Our office is the only center we should get our self there if all the ground goes under water! I wore warm cloth and left. The road was covered with snow and water. Each ten minutes just one car full of depressed passengers. I waited about one hour and there was not any empty bus. Our automobile was in parking lot beyond the huge snow and not able to move. I go back and called office. The assistant replied: sir! That man got there from that far distance by walking! You're not that far! So I went to snowy road and stayed on the melt snow place. The vehicles were more apparently. One old bus with a sociable driver arrived. I supposed that the Coach of Cinderella! I was really happy. Like that time of childhood. I sat on cold corner and watched the cars covered with snow and the lines full of silence. It took time about one hour but it is just 15 ordinary. All the people had boot. Even that high class woman with the last mode! I watched my foot. I put on shoes! In center of city Mirza statue was covered with snow. I took my camera out and took a picture familiar for him these moments. He used to stay in fatal cold jungles and never submitted. If Mirza had assistant, he was the first one in office!

Dec 9, 2008 at 14:24 o\clock

Return

 Nature is my house, even if my house's windows be of iron, where has a distance, made my heart of iron and the line's children don’t know a kind named Moonlight anymore. And I even the woman of neighborhood doesn’t know me, nature is my house and I clean being of iron form the front of stairs and pour too many being of moonlight. Hey the woman of neighborhood! The women around my house of nature have red flowers of spring on their long cloth. If you don’t have that, you can't make up your cheeks of the artificial flowers of iron!

         Return. Hadi Safaree.2001/3/9

Dec 9, 2008 at 14:18 o\clock

Sign of Spring

by: sababoy   Keywords: spring, love, ambition, without, you

I'll write towards the butterfly's freedom that the moonlight clear and the alone pine of my wishes, putrefied bud and again, you come.I know you come and I know you're more verdant than each supplied ambitions of mine. The alone putrefied pine took root all around this house, not able to become dry. Even if you don’t come, I'm sure and even you be verdant and will learn how to fly.That's not hard, if my ambitions experience being without you.

                                                                                Sign of spring, Hadi Safaree 2001/3/6

Dec 9, 2008 at 14:09 o\clock

Ghale Roodkhan

Ghale Rudkhan castle above Fuman in Iran

One day the new Boss talked about his variant programs to play when all the staff were gathered together. He said about trip to fascinating places of our green province.For exercise and to get rid of all the week tiredly.By the words from the staff, we decided to go to historic area of Fuman named Ghale Rudkhan. We called the staff in Fuman and they agreed to join us.At 7:00 in morning, the road was solitude and the positive waves were coming out from us!Happiness and freshness and thanks of boss that think of us! Fuman staff were waiting for us in corner of the way to supposed place. We felt freshness and life more and more when we closed to there.We parked the cars and started to walk. All the minds were drowned in pure colors and green leaves as though that we felt we're going to be closed to God.The stairs were as much as the clouds in Ghale Rudkhan sky. And all we saw was life and life. Breathing the fresh air that it was hard to explain why we were late to visit this area of God paradise.

What a place Men of Gilan made and managed a government in this part of jungles to experience life. There were all health and peace. We, the boss and the staff talked about life same as the time about one thousand years passed and how to guard custom and culture and color, green of life.

Dec 9, 2008 at 13:11 o\clock

Your voice

You don’t hear my voice any more. You're all the dream,  going to be ambition.Your appearance is all the times when I remember I'm alone.And your beauty is the slept darkness of the Moon which is going to be cloudy.Let's suppose to be the window; its cold winter will be opened to Moon one night.And you don’t hear my voice anymore. The windows of the town are all irony, not able to call.                                                                                           My voice, Hadi Safaree 2001/3/18