Soodaroo in Love
Saturday, January 21, 2006
Sleep, when it is calm, it is all one need; when it is nightmarish, it is worst than imagination. I am in the middle of my final exams, in middle of my final year of studying, just one semester to past to gain my BA in English Literature and then . . . it depends on several things, but I try my best to continue my education. These days all I need is a calm sleep, and I had it today and last night and it was best than imagination.
Sleep is good, when is combining with dreams of all sorts – not nightmares – and bring happiness and good sense of living to your soul. I love my dreams; I wrote them down sometimes. I hate my nightmares, I write them down too, they are useful to my purpose of writings, sometimes is good to be a Surrealist and use dreams.
You know something, I need to write, without it I am a soul lonely boy in midst of a big, ignorant city. Read my lines and help me to write more, and more, and more.
You know; the aim is to sing.
Soodaroo
2006-01-20
8:23 PM
Sleep is good, when is combining with dreams of all sorts – not nightmares – and bring happiness and good sense of living to your soul. I love my dreams; I wrote them down sometimes. I hate my nightmares, I write them down too, they are useful to my purpose of writings, sometimes is good to be a Surrealist and use dreams.
You know something, I need to write, without it I am a soul lonely boy in midst of a big, ignorant city. Read my lines and help me to write more, and more, and more.
You know; the aim is to sing.
Soodaroo
2006-01-20
8:23 PM
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
Yes I remember, it was night, all good memory of mine happened in nights, a few in day; it was night and we were coming back from a movie and it was such a good weather you can imagine, not cold not warm, it was pleasant, we walked in a park near my house, we laughing, we . . .
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
This month is gifted, gifted with you, you for me, and I can say just Happy your birthday, although it is passed and it is not today, the fact is that I did not know that, I am sorry, but I always remember you from that night, when I kiss you for the first time.
I always can remember, and your face, your calm beautiful face when your eyes were closed, when all things stop, because I were looking to your face.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o’er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling place.
I love you.
Soodaroo
Lines taken from She Walks in Beauty by our dear Lord Byron
2006-01-16
9:14 PM
Friday, January 13, 2006
Edge
What is life? What is love? What is reason?
Walt Whitman wrote something like this line in his great book, Leaves of the Grass, I do not know what American thinks of Whitman today – probably some classic poet or something – but I love him too much, his words made me calm, I read his poems and my imagination become awake and I start to work, I am a student of English Letter in one of the universities of Mashed. A big, crowd, Smokey city in North East, with people like other cities, materialistic and usual, lairing to each other, thinks of money and sex, pray God in dreamy ways and thinks of themselves as Religious things.
But how thinks what is life? What is reason? What is love?
I am not sure but I think some one thinks, I am pessimistic these days, why not? My country standing in the edge of WAR and I hate war, as I hate radical religious activities as I hate politicians.
I hope of NO WAR ON IRAN.
But it is not useful, my politics man of capital wants war, and world is ready for another massacre, who can save us? Who?
I just can think of God, but I think God said something that people are free to choose, even choose war and death. Yes, God said something like that and I am afraid, I must be ready for anything, anything which is going to happen for my life, for my country, for my love.
Soodaroo
2006-01-13
1: 01 PM
Walt Whitman wrote something like this line in his great book, Leaves of the Grass, I do not know what American thinks of Whitman today – probably some classic poet or something – but I love him too much, his words made me calm, I read his poems and my imagination become awake and I start to work, I am a student of English Letter in one of the universities of Mashed. A big, crowd, Smokey city in North East, with people like other cities, materialistic and usual, lairing to each other, thinks of money and sex, pray God in dreamy ways and thinks of themselves as Religious things.
But how thinks what is life? What is reason? What is love?
I am not sure but I think some one thinks, I am pessimistic these days, why not? My country standing in the edge of WAR and I hate war, as I hate radical religious activities as I hate politicians.
I hope of NO WAR ON IRAN.
But it is not useful, my politics man of capital wants war, and world is ready for another massacre, who can save us? Who?
I just can think of God, but I think God said something that people are free to choose, even choose war and death. Yes, God said something like that and I am afraid, I must be ready for anything, anything which is going to happen for my life, for my country, for my love.
Soodaroo
2006-01-13
1: 01 PM
Monday, January 09, 2006
Love
Sonnet no 28
William Shakespeare
How can I then return in happy plight
That am debarred the benefit of rest,
When day’s oppression is not eased by night,
But day by night and night by day oppressed,
And each, though enemies to either’s reign,
Do in consent shake hands to torture me,
The one by toil, the other to complain
How far I toil, still farther off from thee?
I tell the day, to please him, thou are bright
And dost him grace when clouds do blot the heaven;
So flatter I the swart-complexioned night,
When sparkling stars twire not, thou glid’st the even.
But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer,
And night doth nightly make grief’s length seem stronger.
I fond this in Shakespeare Sonnet which I am reading these days, I always read some lines of poetry between my programs, and tonight, before studying I open my book and read this poem and that was a great influence on me, I can say that I did not know Shakespeare before reading these lines, I type this sonnet for you, hoping that you understand some emotion of my heart.
Soodaroo
2006-01-07
11:16 PM
William Shakespeare
How can I then return in happy plight
That am debarred the benefit of rest,
When day’s oppression is not eased by night,
But day by night and night by day oppressed,
And each, though enemies to either’s reign,
Do in consent shake hands to torture me,
The one by toil, the other to complain
How far I toil, still farther off from thee?
I tell the day, to please him, thou are bright
And dost him grace when clouds do blot the heaven;
So flatter I the swart-complexioned night,
When sparkling stars twire not, thou glid’st the even.
But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer,
And night doth nightly make grief’s length seem stronger.
I fond this in Shakespeare Sonnet which I am reading these days, I always read some lines of poetry between my programs, and tonight, before studying I open my book and read this poem and that was a great influence on me, I can say that I did not know Shakespeare before reading these lines, I type this sonnet for you, hoping that you understand some emotion of my heart.
Soodaroo
2006-01-07
11:16 PM
Friday, January 06, 2006
Anything to Begin
Anything that has a beginning has an end.
Matrix: reloaded
Yes it is true, sometimes you want and most of times you are force, it is not important what you wish, you must begin, begin what? Who cares about what things question, who cares about meaning, people are like machine these days, like goddamn machine things, they come, they go, and they are nothing, I am nothing more than they, I am a man standing in this world, or whatever you call it, and I must begin. I am that I am, once God said in bible, and today I am, here, without any intention of writing any especial things, just having passion of writing in my heart, and I am, here, in this page, it is not the question of why you came and why you gone and why you come back, it is not worth of thinking, I am that I am.
You know, the only thing worth is that in the beginning God created the heaven and the earth, and it was the first day of creation, in the seventh day God rest, today is last day of week in my country, and I am tired of a full day study, this is time of listening to music and sit in mere dark and think and write. In nights I write my posts of blogs, Persian blog and today, for my English too. O, my name is Mostafa, my pen name is Soodaroo, I live in Mashed, north east of Iran, and probably you heard Iran, something about Atomic Bomb or Radical Islamic movement. Yes, I am an Iranian, yes, I am a Muslim, but I am no radical or anything like that. I am a man like every one else, breathing, laughing, crying, having sex, or . . . anything you like to think.
I am here because I am that I am.
Hello, and hello and again hello . . .
Soodaroo
2006-01-05
8: 23 PM
Anything that has a beginning has an end.
Matrix: reloaded
Yes it is true, sometimes you want and most of times you are force, it is not important what you wish, you must begin, begin what? Who cares about what things question, who cares about meaning, people are like machine these days, like goddamn machine things, they come, they go, and they are nothing, I am nothing more than they, I am a man standing in this world, or whatever you call it, and I must begin. I am that I am, once God said in bible, and today I am, here, without any intention of writing any especial things, just having passion of writing in my heart, and I am, here, in this page, it is not the question of why you came and why you gone and why you come back, it is not worth of thinking, I am that I am.
You know, the only thing worth is that in the beginning God created the heaven and the earth, and it was the first day of creation, in the seventh day God rest, today is last day of week in my country, and I am tired of a full day study, this is time of listening to music and sit in mere dark and think and write. In nights I write my posts of blogs, Persian blog and today, for my English too. O, my name is Mostafa, my pen name is Soodaroo, I live in Mashed, north east of Iran, and probably you heard Iran, something about Atomic Bomb or Radical Islamic movement. Yes, I am an Iranian, yes, I am a Muslim, but I am no radical or anything like that. I am a man like every one else, breathing, laughing, crying, having sex, or . . . anything you like to think.
I am here because I am that I am.
Hello, and hello and again hello . . .
Soodaroo
2006-01-05
8: 23 PM
Sunday, January 01, 2006
Renaissance
Time of Dance
To Sedrick
You lovely aunty Winter sings your sad melody of misery,
Ears full of agony, hearing
Earth in his dullness, waiting
World is glad of another new year, coming
Life is like a mad dream, passing;
You saw all that and
Made the melody of forgotness, lifeless, emptiness;
In songs of which you are glad
In this yard of whiteness that everything else is
Dying.
All objects of reality freezing.
That man you know
Perhaps by chance of passing a street today
In this time of lifelessness, walking
For a belle of a night, whistling
and passing in past age of a light,
For days everything shine in a summer’s fun
Filled with colors, life and space all that days which dies,
He whistles.
Strolling in the ways no one passed
Within a forest of a night no one knows
All others sleep in their tiresome hours of ignorance,
Strolling and his face is sad,
Like your melody, aunty Winter;
Full of Mad cries which does not flies
But sties in heart of these miserable lights,
And dies.
And hands, in pockets, freezing.
You lovely aunty Winter sings your sad melody of a requiem,
Full with tears of men all dead, forgot,
With a picture probably left in a cave,
Among whom was a man named Homeless you know,
Passing a street today and thinks of death.
A man with smoke in his hands
Cigarette after cigarette
After cigarette,
After cigarette,
After . . .
A man whose shoulders were light
To a life which was accursed
By people who cries in streets of night:
O BEUTIFULL GRACE OF LOVE
GIVE US OUR LIGHT OF LIFE
AND HAPPINEES, AND SHINE
. . .
In all dreamy prays they song
Within your white melody of death,
Of a new year perhaps to come
They wish the same they lost today
They dream that he walked, in ways they order to walk,
With no whistle, no songs,
Just listening that you lovely aunty Winter songs
Which life is dead like your snows of night?
The man stands, and prays, in his own way,
And you lovely aunty Winter still sings your sad melody of life
Which dose not exist, but dies,
In your white hands of cries,
That still, still he walks
In empty streets of night
With wish of a death, to come.
Soodaroo
2005-12-27
Typed and revised in 2005-12-28 – 5:14 PM
Time of Dance
To Sedrick
You lovely aunty Winter sings your sad melody of misery,
Ears full of agony, hearing
Earth in his dullness, waiting
World is glad of another new year, coming
Life is like a mad dream, passing;
You saw all that and
Made the melody of forgotness, lifeless, emptiness;
In songs of which you are glad
In this yard of whiteness that everything else is
Dying.
All objects of reality freezing.
That man you know
Perhaps by chance of passing a street today
In this time of lifelessness, walking
For a belle of a night, whistling
and passing in past age of a light,
For days everything shine in a summer’s fun
Filled with colors, life and space all that days which dies,
He whistles.
Strolling in the ways no one passed
Within a forest of a night no one knows
All others sleep in their tiresome hours of ignorance,
Strolling and his face is sad,
Like your melody, aunty Winter;
Full of Mad cries which does not flies
But sties in heart of these miserable lights,
And dies.
And hands, in pockets, freezing.
You lovely aunty Winter sings your sad melody of a requiem,
Full with tears of men all dead, forgot,
With a picture probably left in a cave,
Among whom was a man named Homeless you know,
Passing a street today and thinks of death.
A man with smoke in his hands
Cigarette after cigarette
After cigarette,
After cigarette,
After . . .
A man whose shoulders were light
To a life which was accursed
By people who cries in streets of night:
O BEUTIFULL GRACE OF LOVE
GIVE US OUR LIGHT OF LIFE
AND HAPPINEES, AND SHINE
. . .
In all dreamy prays they song
Within your white melody of death,
Of a new year perhaps to come
They wish the same they lost today
They dream that he walked, in ways they order to walk,
With no whistle, no songs,
Just listening that you lovely aunty Winter songs
Which life is dead like your snows of night?
The man stands, and prays, in his own way,
And you lovely aunty Winter still sings your sad melody of life
Which dose not exist, but dies,
In your white hands of cries,
That still, still he walks
In empty streets of night
With wish of a death, to come.
Soodaroo
2005-12-27
Typed and revised in 2005-12-28 – 5:14 PM
