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: : : : ROYA : : March 2000 : : By: Amil : : Today is the first day of spring. I am drowned into my thoughts and longing that I have had for so long to return home and breath the air and the remaining oxygen on the streets of Tehran. I have this feeling every year at the same time, at the first day of spring. If you have not been homesick, then you don't know what it is to be homesick. You don't know what it means to feel that sense of loss, the pain of nostalgia. : : The mere fact that there are so much noise and movements "Jonb-o-joush va Hayaahoo" and so much life...wants me to go back in time. I recall when we were kids and how happy and invigorated we were, without any reasons. We couldn't wait to try out our new garments and go to our grandparents' home. ohh..even thinking about that makes me want to exude tears. : : Our grandparents are long gone, the country I used to know, everyone tells me is not the same. But, a man must have a purpose to live and I have always lived in hope to be back home. Perhaps I am afraid to find out that ... that it isn't what it used to be, perhaps I am afraid to shatter my memories, the memories of my childhood on the streets of Tehran. Perhaps I am afraid to become even more dejected. I guess I am crying out-loud, well that's just fine because that is how I feel now, on the first day of spring. : : How can I be so convivial when my mind is too far from here; when my mind is lost between the tortuous roads in Shemiran and the winding streets in Vanak? You figure! Now that I have a little placidity outside my balcony, I will tell you a little about me without acting dubious. : : In my home, everything was arranged very formally. In my home, like many other places that I have lived, I have always felt alone, but I have always felt that I could relate with so many of my countrymen. May be ... may be that's why we all try to runaway from each other, may be we see our shadows in each others eyes so vividly. I feel that we all have the same pain that just won't go away. But for me, this pain is becoming so malignant. This pain is becoming so undulant like an excrescence. That's why I am telling you about this pain. : : I had a torrid pion for poetry ever since I remember myself. In that young age, so sensitive, so naive, I started reading Forough Farrokhzad's poems. I just could feel her poetry, I could relate with her and I wanted to scream with her and say ... Aay Mardome... Mardome...Mardome. : : Another Birth (Tavalodi Deegar) showed her to be an outstanding poetess. No matter where I started to read from her poetry, I would always end up in "I'm Depressed" (Delam Gerefteh ast): : : "I am depressed, o so depressed. : : I go to the porch and extend my fingers : : over the taut skin of night : : the lamps that link are dark, o so dark. : : No one will introduce me to the sunlight : : or escort me : : to the sparrows' gathering. : : Commit flight to memory, : : for the bird is mortal." : : I will always remember her flight and I will always remember the bird. : : Later in life, I rediscovered myself when I got to know, at the time hard to elucidate, Sohrab's poems. Sohrab Sepehri's poems, took me, no I should say, elevated me to heaven. It created euphoria in my life. If Forough made me want to scream, Sohrab made me want to fly and yell "Aay Shabnam, Shabnam, Shabnam...still reverberates in my mind. : : As I found out later that the true 20th century Iranian prophet who had spoken to his people with so much truthfulness and had brought so much Noor (Light) for his people, now himself is among the power of darkness. " Be soraagh-e man agar mi'aaid Posht-e hichestaanam." The death of Sohrab was another devastation for humanity. The man who said "Midaanam ke agar sabzeh-e ra bekanam khaa'ham mord" is dead. I have always wondered, is it possible that anyone can say anything more meaningful and sincere and magnificent in such way that Sohrab had described? I felt like he had said it all. His mission was accomplished and now he had joined the company of Rumis, Nimas, Sa'dis, Hafezs, Ferdowsis, Khayyams... All those whom I considered prophets of their time now all are connected through their catacombs. Now, they all are immortal until the end of time and beyond. : : "Marg Paa'yaan-e Kaboutar Nist. : : Marg Varooneh-ye yek Zanjeer Nist. : : Marg Baa Khoosheh-ye Angour Mi'aayad be Dahaan : : Marg M'oul-e Ghashangi-e par-e Shaaparak ast : : Va Hameh midaneem ke ree-yehaa-ye Lezat, Por-e Oxijen-e Marg ast" : : Few weeks ago, I was in an oblivion mood. Yes, another prophet of Iran had ped away, Nader Naderpour. How fast and quick he departed us all and left his disciples so confused and lost. Perhaps his immense longing for returning home took his last drop... : : "Ey Marg, Ey Sepideh-dam Door : : Bar in Shab-e Siah Forou Taab : : Tanha dar Entezareh To Hastam : : Beshetab Ey Nayamadeh, Beshetaab" : : And just like that Nader joined the ranks of elite. Now he can be with his inspirational mentor, Ferdowsi for eternal life. His soul will always enflame us all. : : With poetry of course there must be a great love. I don't remember how young I was when I first discovered love. Love that had a name. Roya (dream) it was. Yes, there was a young girl around my neighborhood whom I was totally in love with. I am telling you the truth, a true love that only one would find in stories. A great love. : : A perfect love is an illusion! : : But her love, like an avid wave in the ocean, : : Always revived my stagnant life, : : Always twisting and turning, : : Always aggregating, : : Always gloating, : : Drifting... : : I shall live for my love, You shall be with me forever. I was ingraining these deep thoughts in me, as if I was afraid that someday it might be evaporated from my thoughts. All my life I've been a symbol, a symbol of eternal challenges within myself. Within an abstraction. But I long to be a human, a human who has immense feelings for love. Love is everything to me. As I am writing this I wonder what happened to my dear Roya? The young girl who inspired me and created a sense of being human in me. The young dream who made me stay up late all nights and dig out into love books to a find a definition of true love. May be there was a better way to say I love you. But was there a better way? How do you say I love you when you mean I want to die for you? No books could ever help the way I was feeling. The only remedy at the time seemed to be writing it down on a piece of paper and try

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