She dies once everyday
in the middle of day and night,
hardly lives a full single breath.
what sign of life do you expect from her?
I dare.
If you find your judgement fair,
then why do you stand there
pointing at me?
convince me.
help me see through.
happy grey suit
she never talks about it
she masks her pain with a sort of machinery portrait
maybe thats why
she is never still
even her laughing out loud is so self conscious.
full moon
we hugged
talked
empathized
and had a cup of tea.
moments full of “hmm your hair smells good”
a drop of drama
and often a half hidden pinch of salty tear.
over nothing.
sweet
feminine
presence
there is a difference
It is supposed to make others
feel with you,
surf your wave.
It is not to feed your narcissism
It is about that liberation of manifesting who you really are
not to portrait you,
the way you wished to be seen
Karaokee
The one who writes
is a writer
already at the moment she fills the papers.
The one who tries to dance,
is a dancer
right after he moves to his rhythm
and exhales
we become all these, before they turn to job titles.
even if the sound of an untrained voice
does not please us,
we cant take away the joy of singing out loud,
from that person.
we leave that room,
and what happens?
she remains a singer anyway.
سنگين سري
ترس
تمام خيابان ها را گرفته است
حتي ايوان خانه ها را زنداني كرده
دست و پاي آدم هارا گره خورده
دهان ها را پر
و گوش ها را بسته به حلق
در يك مدار
با يك سيم كهنه ي باريك
ترس انگار عجين شده با وجود من و تو
كلماتمان را بشنو
فكرهايمان را بگرد
خيره شو به كنش ها و واكنش هايمان
مثل ديوانه ها به هم پيچيده ايم و سر هم فرياد مي كشيم
اما با رعايت فاصله و با رعايت سكوت
صداي جيغ و فريادمان آنقدر بلند است كه ديگر شنيده هم نمي شود
ترس چشمهايمان را خسته كرده
برق مردمك هايمان را گرفته
مات شده ايم
به هم نگاه نمي كنيم مبادا آتش خشممان شعله ور شود
شبيه يك كمد پر از پيراهن هاي توصي
از هم تشخيصمان سخت است
ترس
قلب هايمان را سنگين كرده نگاه هايمان را سبك
همه ي كنش ها و واكنش هايمان لرزان لرزان
دنيا را به شك انداخته
Saarbrucken
He has been raised here
shaped here
under the same sky
he has been sad
he has been happy
he has been dreaming
he has walked in these streets
hand in hand with his father
among all German gentlemen
all French ladies
looking like a half Spanish baby
he is a dreamer
it is true
and sometimes he hits the reality
when his planet crashes the earth
but then he gets back
to his orbit
like David Bowie
and he lives the dream again
Insta-blind
photographs are like daily notes
they only get you when time has passed over them
however much “instant” they are becoming,
photos barely mean much instantly,
not before events have turned to stories.
they only reflect those places and those people
when they are no longer exactly there, anymore.
Social Media
as a description of ourselves
we write about our positions in life
about how we make a living
what we are good at
our status,
-the founder
-the producer
-the freelancer
-the professional photographer
-the activist
-the feminist
-the blogger
-the actor
-the dancer
-the brutally honest
-the simply happy person
-the
where are the rest then?
if we are all here and all these,
where is the ignorant?
where are all the thieves? the liars?
where are all the sad people gone?
where is the one who does nothing?
the one who is just there, watching?
the one who hates her mom and just had a huge fight with whole family?
all of us with no job, no love, no interest?
where are all those people throwing tampons in the ocean?
the war lovers?
the ones with no friends and no birthday parties, not so grateful for having all in their life bla bla?
where is the rest of us hiding?
without a description?
Me Water and Wind 