Ghazal Ebrahimzade

A
Rose is in dust
a rose is nice
Petals are healthy
...

Fill in the blanks with those vocabularies never ever found in usual discussion, daily comes and goes, never existed even on imaginary world of movies or books.
Fill in the blanks with noise.
Tumult of hallucination whizzing the sound of ambiguity through the sound of the gait of a man galloping smoothly in the long yellow brick route surrounds with fences never expose the way of redemption.
Fill in the blanks with choice.
...

Shall we stay for a while in the midnight on the bridge river which beneath is dried
Without you disturbing me further, annoying, or injuring my heart.
Shall we?
Shall I ask you don't say even a word about being cruel or galling of love? Neither do I expect the romantic situation with burning stars, or smooth blowing breeze to pamper cheeks inwards…nothing … I expect for nothing. What I wait for is only staying for a while. Be patient and calm enough to look at my eyes, someone whose crime is only loving you and ask yourself …why?
...

Never say yes...never say no
never stay in dark gloom glued us to the motionless shadows
never go up or even fall down
down
...

Being devoured by black holes, the last star, used to be gleaming upright. Dancing and dancing in harmony of oval ladder of milky wayward.
Brilliant
Smart
Honorable, alight
...

Master builder of hanging audio of the hearts,
Tapping and mapping
a
kind of music through the vocabulary of arts,
...

.
She was mother and I was child…
In the land of crimson yard
Whan we play with paper kite…
...

All birds of my heart were high in sudden curved of the azure sky where enthusiasm and happiness flourishing directly
In the magnificent immigration through
dance of wind and wine.
Swirling
...

I want to wait, come and join me here
until it becomes so
LATE!
like a last moon of light in cloudy weather never burning bright
...

The whole hills of high mountain is covered with pure whiteness, very shining gazing the eyes…
It is BARF.
Pearl like, dandelions, I mean, cunning coming, cunning coming …dance and sing with the wave of whizzing band.
It is BARF.
...

We wanted to work in a magazine
different people from different culture, age, attire, training and mood having nothing unique except for the destiny composed us to be in a group, to be recognized as one person: only one, alone.
FORCE
1.intention or an aim 2.force temptation or an aim 3. force imagination or an aim which was a founder of an imaginary magazine in the brain?
...

Harpy…harpy… harpy...nice
singing dancing swirling
wise
shameful, cunning burning eyes, kind and naughty, titan types
...

من از آن تو ام مادر
به خود نامده ام آخر
خداوند و سفیرانش از آن فردوس
والا قدر دمیدندم در جانت
...

It is your butterfly….
flying among your eternal lines, never die
sitting on your smooth petal sipping from the last droplet
in the windiest day of the year, cloudiest and dark
...

Deep in the midnight deep
Singing the song of still never being
Deep deep in the ceremony of wind
Swirling and swirling more than a typhoon without any wing
...

On Remembrance of days we were not acknowledged enough to health and may not very happy but a routine life we had. Never think to enjoy spring, to enjoy times we are in an assembly, and to enjoy our talking through avoiding extra complaining on trivials.

Corona Days...
...

When we were not taking so serious
dig the land to make a great hole to trap the people in serious
pit so deep and those fallen never awaken very serious
...

When we dead people awaken it is so late
late
that cannot call it even delayed
Asking who those out of grave wandering...
...

I am Sylvia Plath and decide to commit a suicide
Before night, before midnight, before any incident spoils my intention that goes totally upward, or any single communication proves it is life: generallymoves on haphazard, neither do I want be introduced as a horrible criminal never been merciful to grandiose thought in keeping self magnified or words very elegance. Away… don't look at me in this way since reality is so horrified, since I'm a goddess with only one eyelying beside the lake and playing with water flowing on the line of the green jungle what we call it life to shot the fingers on heavenly drops and sing the song of eternityto confess: I'm not as honest as other gods attached to the mirror of the wall with four eyes to reflect therealities ofpeople of come and go, creating flickering and shaking atmosphere over my sights that makes me semi- blind whenthree other eyes remaining behind the mirror andone eye -goddess is not trustworthy enough in exposing themurmuringsofthe woman reposing on river side in pledge of tuning the song of solitude with silent outcry:
LaLaLa *** La La La*** LaLa La ***
...