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Farshid Rezaee Poems
Life Imitates Art (A Humble Tribute to O...
O thou proud Nature Rolling in ashes of long-burnt Fiery love of yourself What are you boasting of?
Rage of Reason
The thought doth knock, On mind’s wooden doors, Haughty reason roars: “This is a deadlock! ”
A man, a woman, a restaurant A look, a smile, a word A sentence, another, a chat A minute, an hour, a moment
------------There------------- -----------I can see------------ -----------An icy figure----------- ----------Short and plump----------
Rays of light ravish the dark, Breaths are held as if in fear, Awaited moment treading near, Eddy devouring the Noah’s Ark.
The haughty eagle soaring, To heaven’s acme of pride, Where Olympians abide, And Zeus’s voice roaring
Standing in the desert Golden volcano‘s fiery lavas Drops of sweat Gasping, shaking, I wait
Took a Walk...
Took a walk On the streets Clouds are bleeding Drops of cruel water
A piece of blank paper Two pens A white A black
Scent of Sin
Scent of an apple Wrath of God Eve’s luring voice
The little bird chanting Herald of spring’s return White gown’s doomed to burn By Earth joyous panting
Rusty rotten dirty domes, Wound the Heaven’s azure heart, Chimneys’ souls rise to part, Black giants’ filthy foams.
Drunk with revenge, the knight pondered, Lit the candles, took the oath Die for honor, foe to loathe. Wounding the henge, the wind wandered.
Blue velvet caged Behind rusty bars. Soul within chars. Fervent flames raged.
Comments about Farshid Rezaee
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
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(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
Life Imitates Art (A Humble Tribute to Oscar Wilde)
O thou proud Nature
Rolling in ashes of long-burnt
Fiery love of yourself
What are you boasting of?
That’s nothing but
Wooden rotten figures
With wrinkled claws
Scratching the Earth’s breast
Fumbling for manure
Destined to be strangled
By the icy hands of snowy demons!
They’re nothing but piles of dust
Proud of piercing the clouds
Forcing a heavy load
On the Earth’s shoulders
Yet, trodden by every foot
Crushed by every step
Whose sole voice