Friday, April 02, 2004

 
Immortal

I envy you Spring
with your wild flowers and flourishing smiles
with your elegance and your almond-tree of thoughtlessness
that does not know of the bitterness and pain of my loss.

I look out of the window
I look out of the window
and I wish for some Muguet de Mai
to arrive at my door
and to hear my mother's voice
calling me at the entrance: Beloved daughter
here I am, arrived with the Spring and healing balms.

If this happen,
I promise to embrace
the message of the spring and the Iris
and I will plant a Wild Rose-tree
for the entrance to the house of my heart
so that every one knows of my sensitivity
to the unfading remembrance of her love.

There are times that I am questioned
for my not-crying eyes
so for those who do not know of
my grieving heart, I write
to voice the bitterness and pain of my loss
in the language of every-lost mother-child,
so when the childishness of this heart
is sometimes toxic to the hearts of those
who do not know me and the Marigolds of my love,
even they will bring me
bouquets of Sea-lavenders and love.

Sheema Kalbasi

1Immortal: This refers to the Immortal flowers, which represent unfading remembrance.
2Muguet de Mai (Lily of the valley): means return to happiness. This flower is handed out at special events.
3Healing balm: is the same as the Rosemary flower.
4Wild Rose-tree represents a poetical person.
5Marigolds (zempasuchil): is considered the symbolic flower of death to the Aztecs. This flower is used as a marker. The scent of the pathway aids the returning soul in finding his/her way home.
6Sea-lavender: This flower represents sympathy.


The interview with maniha ...
posted by Zan 2:34 PM

Tuesday, March 30, 2004

 
Dancing Tango

Oh, Orlando!
Remember the night we danced
quietly on the sands where music
was played? Your words were
wonderers, said quietly
in the pockets of my ears.

Oh, Esphahan!
With your turquoise blue mosques
and lovers hiding under the sands
by the Zayandeh-rood and its haunting
blue skies. Still the words did
wonders when they were said quietly
in the pockets of my ears.

Time is eternity, my dignity
resides in yours and your
words are wonders that I count
as precious coins kept quietly
in the pockets of my tears.

Sheema Kalbasi

Esphahan: a City in Iran. It is famous for the beauty.
Zayandehrood: a river in Esphahan


Niloufar Talebi's homepage is up and running better than ever.
Roshanak Bigonah has a new site.
Kushyar Parsi can be read at this link
posted by Zan 6:35 AM

Monday, March 29, 2004

 
A poem by Maryam Hoole:

I can't but I do

I can't but I do
I do but I can't
what a selection of strife is my life!!
what a stupid life is my strength!
at my half ...

walk in my half!
half of my shame ...
half of my love ...
half of my lie ...

I can't but I do
I do but I can't

successfully I repeat my half
exactly I'm all of my many halves ...

come near ... to me
come to one of my parts!
with another part of my lie I love you!
with another part of my love I lie to you!

bring me back to my first part
I don't know myself!
myself is scared of me ...
go back please!
and take my first part
give it to me!
oh ... my mirror!
go back please!



posted by Zan 12:42 PM

Sunday, March 28, 2004

 
Did I mention this before? I was just thinking about this, again. It has preoccupied my mind quite a bit. In "Monsieur Ibrahim", Omar Sharif had a lot of good lines that made you think. The one I keep remembeing is this -- it's not an exact quote: "If you keep it inside, it's lost forever." Think about that. All that you and I hold inside will be lost forever if we don't talk about it, if we don't show it, express it, share it. Think about it. Once you and I leave this world, everything we know is lost forever. There's no greater loss. -- Jahanshah Javid


posted by Zan 4:45 PM

Thursday, March 25, 2004

 
Noam Chomsky has a blog now.
posted by Zan 6:47 PM

Wednesday, March 24, 2004

 
My latest poem The Bells of Love is a very personal work ... and ... I like to share it with you. If you want to send me your feedbacks here is my e-mail: IranianWoman@hotmail.com
posted by Zan 8:32 PM

 
The poem The Blessed One is turning into a dance performance in CA. There will be DVDs of the performance - well that's the news for now.
posted by Zan 3:20 PM

Saturday, March 20, 2004

 
Mama you are not just another picture on the wall of my home.


On top of the black velvet of despair
I lay dreaming of a golden love
and the white satins of a safe shore
and a life where falling stars
are not just some objects that are
far from my short knitted hands
to catch and hold and pair
with the moons and the Sun.


...you're that safe shore.
posted by Zan 7:37 PM

Friday, March 19, 2004

 
Happy Birthday to my little baby girl.

...and happy one year of blogging to Mama Sheema Kalbasi.
posted by Zan 6:56 AM

Saturday, March 13, 2004

 
for my mother

When my palms were still growing

When my palms were still growing
to reach the white berries
on the carved tree of memories
with one heart and two initials...

I remembered her eyes
behind the car window
knocking with two fingers
and a great wide-open smile
with a pearl necklace sitting inside her mouth/ calling my name: -
in a quiet voice, so that no one heard her
-not even the wind... that was touching/ teasing her face-


she is lost
she is lost forever
and forever I have lost
that woman who knocked on the window with two fingers
and a mouth full of white pearls...


In a parking lot
where I sat and remembered
the woman who knocked
on the window with two fingers
and a mouth full of white pearls/who quietly called my name
-so that the little girl would not wake up
in the back of my dreams- is now covered in white roseleaves.




...And in the parking lot
pinching the white off memories
the white berries turn purple from my grief.

Sheema Kalbasi

posted by Zan 7:46 AM

Friday, March 12, 2004

 
Freedom

Freedom
enter into my days
that do not know you
and have only heard
the wave of love
from within the red-poetess-lips

because
I am a woman from the third world

and my poem
is the poem-words of one
whose hands were cut
by the ax of oppression
from her imprisoned body.

Remain
freedom
remain
so that my eastern ways
and the water fall of my hair
feel the sweetness of your hands
beneath the slowly rising sun of hope.

Sheema Kalbasi and Roger Humes

Version based on Kalbasi’s Farsi poem Azadi.
posted by Zan 4:54 PM

Wednesday, March 10, 2004

 
All that is me (Even From This Distance)


1.

Even from this distance
I feel the icicles of sadness
hang deep from your tears
as you walk alone
in the Garden of the Lost Hearts

and I watch from the bower near the entrance
which is covered in roses and dust,
your shawl placed over your head
so that your mourning is lost
to the shadows that cling fingers of loss
across the landscape of your life.

When you will return I do not know
but please do remember
that looking over a certain happy alley
there is a certain window
where sits a single lantern
that cuts through the shadows
to illuminate the place
where we stood
with our fingers entwined.


2.

All that is me
is an atom in a box,
one who is merely a minute unit,
powerless and insignificant in the ways of life,
who has yet to give birth to my Jericho

but first I await my longest of walks
beside the river-road
with baby Jesus in my arms.

I will hand him to you
to hold and love
but first I must find you
in the crowd of pilgrimage
from a distance where
the icicles of sadness
hang deep from my tears

while I walk alone
in this Garden of the Lost Hearts
as I watch from the bower
near the entrance which is covered
in roses and dust,
my shawl placed over my head

where my mourning
sits a single lantern
in the shadows
of loss across the landscape
of a never-returnable journey
for her to find the way.

Sheema Kalbasi and Roger Humes

Jericho: Believed to be the oldest city in the world. Today a thriving market-town near the northwest shore of the Dead Sea with the archaeological remains of a 7th century palace and ancient synagogue.


Read Mr. Sam Ghandchi on hambastegy.


posted by Zan 12:53 PM

Tuesday, March 09, 2004

 
Maman...ever since I opened my eyes into yours...my love for you...has evenly spread in my body...like...when spirits grow into humans and become...mothers and daughters...


posted by Zan 4:53 PM

 
The Heart Melts To Stone In The City Of Glass

In the City of Glass the sky is either
slate-gray cold weeping the tears of God
or washed pale-blue beneath the iron-gold
of the unrelenting sun that sucks the marrow
from the bodies that move upon its streets.

In the City of Glass the faces all blend together
as one, all alike, no difference in thought,
action, or deed, the faces utter the same words,
the faces move with the same step in a land
where one learns that when people have everything
in the end they discover all that they have is nothing.

In the City of Glass the stones, sleek, cool, and full
of malice are thrown at those who dare draw
their curtains, are thrown at those who dare to question
that when everyone slides toward conformity
there is no way they could be any more different.

In the City of Glass the lanterns light the shadows
in long sweeping arcs and burn so deep, so deep within
the soul that unquestioned unhappiness is a foregone
conclusion, and if any attempts to raise his head
above this rut into which they all trod those wrapped
in the cloth of righteousness crucify him
with the unrelenting passion of the damned.

In the City of Glass the heart melts to stone.

Sheema Kalbasi and Roger Humes

I will answer your e-mails. Maybe tonight...maybe...
posted by Zan 4:53 PM

 
Maman:

Waking from mirrors

In the corner of my eye

razors flooding to enter.


... I miss you..

from my poem Golden anything


...de passage a...
posted by Zan 9:30 AM

Friday, March 05, 2004

 
Kaddish

And on the eighth day
God created his bloody sore,
the Middle East


where only the streets
silently
speak of the dead,
where the buttercups
cups, cups are red
from blood,
where bodies are tossed
in oil, oil,
hot hot oil.

Don't burn your finger God
on the ziz,
red, red ziz.


Allah-o-Akbar!

Sheema Kalbasi

Kaddish: Jewish Prayer for the dead
Ziz: a flower, a cleft or pass, probably that near En-gedi, which leads up from the Dead Sea in the direction of Tekoa; now TellHasasah.
Allah-o-Akbar: Arabic for God is Great




posted by Zan 7:51 PM

 
...You can find more on

Mahasti Shahrokhi's latest on Shahvand.

posted by Zan 7:30 PM

Tuesday, March 02, 2004

 
Someday I Will Breathe

Someday I will breathe
out but not in again,
and those who knew me will gather
in songs of my praise, talk of what
and who I was, but this will lessen
as time passes, and they shall grow
to learn to live with the acceptance
of the lingering pain of my demise.

Then someday they, too, shall breathe
out but not in again, and they will be
gone as will be their memories
of me, and I shall cease to exist
save for perhaps a genetic gleam
in the eye of some descendent
who cannot leave art alone.

And my poems shall crumble
and blow away to mingle
with the earth and the dust
of a thousand other such dreams,
and they shall settle into the ground
and from them perhaps will spring forth
the growth of another untold poem
to keep eternity in motion...

Sheema Kalbasi and Roger Humes


There are a few good articles on my writer friend Mahasti Shahrokhi... Read them on Shahrvand.
posted by Zan 6:39 PM

Monday, March 01, 2004

 
A toaster morning!
I am exhausted: The little girl has a new found love. She takes off her cloths and I have to run after her...

As we say in Persian: The night is young...
posted by Zan 6:31 PM

Sunday, February 29, 2004

 
Just found one of m old Orfa Haza's CD!

IM NIN'ALU
DAL THAE NA DI VIM
DAL THAE MA ROM
LO NIN'ALU
JA JA JA JA
I'M NIN'ALU LU LU
I'M NIN'ALU LU LU

EL HI
EL HI

I'M NIN'ALU LU LU
I'M NIN'ALU LU LU
EL HI

JA JA JAL JAL
YOU KNOW I LOVE YOU
LIKE NO OTHER
LIKE NO OTHER
IN MY PRAYER

HO YAT SHA HAM RO SE WA SOHVIM
MI YOM BA RI OH NICH LA LU

I'M NIN'ALU LU LU
I'M NIN'ALU LU LU
EL HI
IM NIN'ALU

TAKE ME AWAY I NEED YOUR HELP
SOMEBODY CRIES WITHIN THE HERD
OH...MY GOD I NEED YOUR HELP

UBE SHESH KA NO FA YIM SA VIVIM
OFIM BE ET YIT GALJA LU

I'M NIN'ALU LU LU
I'M NIN'ALU LU LU
EL HI
IM NIN'ALU
DAL THAE NA DI VIM
DAL THAE MA ROM
LO NIN'ALU

posted by Zan 8:26 AM

Friday, February 27, 2004

 
... I know! We already have foreign-born presidents and head of the Iranian government. We are the most advanced country when it comes to such issues!

From today's L.A. Times:


"Job Opening, Some English Required

Yanks are flops in the Oval Office. A green-carder may be just the ticket.
By Bill Maher
Bill Maher is host of HBO's "Real Time with Bill Maher."

February 27, 2004
This week, Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger said he supported a constitutional amendment to allow foreign-born Americans to run for president. At first I was puzzled by his interest in this issue, but then I discovered a little-known fact about the man: He was born in Austria. You'd never know it from hearing him talk, but then he is a highly skilled actor.

And he makes a good point: The Constitution is full of silly, outdated stuff about separating church and state and not putting you in jail without a trial. It's full of lots of 18th century slang like "freedom" and "privacy."

And one of the silliest things of all is the part where it says foreigners can't be president. Arnold's right. The problem with presidents today is that they come off as a little too Š American. We've got that whole cowboy "bring it on" thing goin'. What we need is a presidency injected with a little sensitivity and worldly sophistication. And who better to deliver that than the grab-and-grope action hero from "Jingle All the Way"? Schwarzenegger mentioned the German-born Henry Kissinger as someone who would have made a great president had the Constitution not been in the way - as if that ever stopped Kissinger.

Quite frankly, I think of foreigners as more educated and more socially progressive when it comes to issues such as abortion, euthanasia, birth control, the environment, religion, marriage, materialism, nuclear disarmament, poverty, human rights and life on Earth as we know it. They generally speak at least two languages and have, by definition, traveled outside the United States.
They're also less likely to wear spurs and a 4-foot-tall lime-green Styrofoam cowboy hat to an international conference and call everybody they meet there "Shooter!" Foreigners can't run for president? I believe only foreigners should run for president.

American presidents are like American beer - bland, watered down and advertised to us as if we're morons. They come from boring places like Hope, Ark., Yorba Linda, Calif., and that town in Texas where President Bush was born: New Haven, Conn.

Face it, the presidency is a lousy job. And who does lousy jobs we don't want anymore better than foreigners?

The guy we've got doing it now works only part time. He spends half the day raising money from mining companies and the other half telling schoolchildren that Al Qaeda wants them dead, and he's in bed by 7!

The average Frenchman knows more geography than we do. The average Japanese knows more math. And the average Guatemalan is already here, cleaning your house and taking care of your kids. If we can trust them with our children, why not the White House? They can run it and clean it.

As a history buff, I've noticed that of all the worst presidents in U.S. history, every single one of them was an American. Doesn't anyone see a pattern here? Nixon, Carter, Hoover - down the line - Thomas E. Dewey, all native-born Americans. Which only goes to show that sometimes ethnic profiling Š well, sometimes it's just a matter of common sense.

Just once I'd like my president, the nation's president, to be like one of those presidents Italy always has, with the expensive suits and the permanent tan and the Versace mistress, and there's photos of them canoodling on a boat but nobody cares because hey, that's amore. Our guy gets impeached. In Italy, the stock market goes up.

It comes down to this: British people just sound better than we do. When they ask Tony Blair about weapons of mass destruction, the stuff he pulls out of his hat always sounds so much better than the stuff Bush pulls out of his hat. We're Americans, don't we deserve the best?

It's too late to undo the injustice that kept foreign-born presidential timber like Madeleine Albright and William Shatner out of the White House. But think of the future!

The job of president is just too important to be left to an American."

...so there is hope for Iranian-born future U.S. presidents.
posted by Zan 8:47 AM

Thursday, February 26, 2004

 
...and something new to learn!!

"Yasser Arafat a Moroccan Jew?
At least that is what a new book published in Syria says. According to the book, written by a top PLO member, Arafat’s father Arrived to Jerusalem from a village in Morocco populated mostly by Jews. The author claims that a cousin of Arafat confirmed that Arafat changed his last name trying to hide his Jewish Moroccan roots."

and than...

"The readers of Ynet had some funny conclusions: If Arafat is a Jew it will explain many things. For example it explains why Arafat refused to accept Barak and Clinton plan to give land to the Palestinians. It would also explain why he leads the Palestinians to chaos. Why he encourages suicide bombings that causes more and more people to loathe the Palestinians. Another thing: If Arafat is a Jew and he lives in the West Bank, does that make him a settler?"

- The Israeli Guy
posted by Zan 2:43 PM

 
A Half-Time-Woman

I don't have time these days

all I have are half-times

a half-time mother
a half-time wife
a half-time daughter
a half-time lover
a half-time poet
a half-time cook

don't ask me if this is a poem

We have time enough
to sit and discuss BS
in the name of critique.

...after all
isn’t poetry an absolute truth?

Sheema Kalbasi
posted by Zan 7:40 AM

Wednesday, February 25, 2004

 
Quand Même

I am here

quand même

I am alive,
but even you
can admit

that it is a hard absence

and a future full of

not hearing and smelling

her accents and scents

is hard to bear

quand même

…when the blue skies fall...

I am in the mood for crying...

Sheema Kalbasi and Roger Humes


Quand Même: Nevertheless



------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I'm very late in discovering this wonderful invention but... I'm just amazed at these pieces of plastic which are used to open jars, no matter how tight. You learn a lot of things when you get married."

Jahanshah Javid
posted by Zan 7:46 AM

Tuesday, February 24, 2004

 
When the blue skies fall...I am in the mood for crying...


The Crystal Heart

Glistening throbbing a prism
of desire lies within this cut
glass where once a year
I take forth the heart

and whisper the secrets,
the hopes, the desires
that have collected in the days
of my life. They are laid
to order, blessed, and then

passed on to the next year,
to those who follow, from voice
to voice, from soul to soul, from
light to dark and back again.

This is all that we are,
this how we continue
through the sunset of our days
where the wine of happiness
is what gives meaning to all

as we stand beneath the night
sky and count the stars
and the grains
of sand that lie within
the ocean of our souls.

Sheema Kalbasi and Roger Humes
posted by Zan 7:18 AM

Monday, February 23, 2004

 





posted by Zan 6:50 AM

Sunday, February 22, 2004

 
My pain drinks too deep
to be touched by mere words…

- Today Is A Foggy Day


posted by Zan 3:28 PM

Saturday, February 21, 2004

 
The Iranian Government:

O Lord,
If tomorrow on Judgment Day
You send me to Hell,
I will tell such a secret
That Hell will race from me
Until it is a thousand years away.
posted by Zan 8:10 AM

Friday, February 20, 2004

 
If you would count the number
(for Sheema)

If you would count the number
of blessings laid by friends in quiet
by your doorstep before they tip-
toe away lest they disturb you
from your deep encumbered thought

they would fill your sea of sorrow
and they would wash the tears
from the river of anguish
that catches your every breath
in this moment of your infinite grief.

For at the end when the clouds part
and the sun radiates its warmth upon
the beauty that we know is your soul

a rainbow will catch your heart
and in the warmth of its colors
laughter and peace shall sing
from your lips in a joy that says
this has ended - it is time for you
to continue now with the living.

Until then we shall wait and occasionally
creep to your doorstep where
we will place our bouquets of blessing
which are known as friendship

and slowly walk quiet away
lest the crows gather to watch
our shadows as we leave.

Roger Humes


Once again ... another heart ... touches mine and I will ... forever remember the path ... that crossed mine.

Elham A, Sepideh B, Mandana (EfA) Z, Maryam A, Hooman V: I love you all so very deeply. Thank you for being in my life...
posted by Zan 1:23 PM

Thursday, February 19, 2004

 
I will call it: free like a bird...
posted by Zan 6:15 PM

Wednesday, February 18, 2004

 
Trying to find a cause

... I want the sun to bade while facing the blue sky of my childhood... but ... mother, I am falling faced down on the dark and dirty blanket of snow? can I lay next to your grave and count the frozen flowers, mother?


... And my breasts are like the rotten grapes
And my breath is like the not-kept secrets
And my hands are the spiders that chuckle on the walls of grief
And the fear from the reappearing
death of yet another beloved,
grows and tortures me...

There is not a thing as such: Hundred Years
There is nothing as such: Chamber of Life

We all end up in a lonesome place called: Death.

-sheema

note: sun bade is not the same as sunbathe.

Read Leila Farjami and Mana Aghaie's message.
posted by Zan 10:04 AM

Saturday, February 14, 2004

 
The little girl and I are leaving for the U.S. I will visit Maman´s grave before leaving...
posted by Zan 8:12 AM

Friday, February 13, 2004

 
As of today... I have my very own Persian blog. Thank you my dear Hale for giving me this great gift and thank you Marcie for giving me the idea.


posted by Zan 3:02 AM

Wednesday, February 11, 2004

 
Shahrzad Sepanlou is blogging in English.


posted by Zan 8:24 AM

 
Happy Birthday Dad.
posted by Zan 5:54 AM

Tuesday, February 10, 2004

 
Souls who knew me,
Are now wandering at night
Hovering over the blue mosques
Brushing away the sound of Azaan
From the navy sky of a suffocated town.

Shirin Razavian

you can listen to her poem.
posted by Zan 3:06 PM

 
Soheila Ghodstinat is a young Iranian writer who has followed her dream. Her book is called A journey to Starland.
posted by Zan 2:53 AM

 
"This (Iranian) government can come out tomorrow heavily against fishing and the next day there'll be line-ups for people trying to get on boats to go fishing."

Pedram Moallemian


posted by Zan 2:31 AM

Monday, February 09, 2004

 
I am not depressed. I am SAD and Sad yes I am... but depress... I am not. One can't escape the loss of a beloved... and... and... I am dealing with it one day at a time, mother.
posted by Zan 1:57 PM

 
Perfect Winter Sunset

P: Did you read my e-mail?
Sheema: No.
P: OK! I have to leave for work now. Go check your e-mail.

Sheema reads

Sent : Monday, February 9, 2004 12:05 AM
To : sheema58 hotmail com
Subject : Sheema ye azizam


Sheema ye azizam: (My dear Sheema)

You were so funny on yahoo chat. I really enjoyed it. Doostet daram (I love you). Don't chat with anyone but me!

Booseh, (kiss)
P

...my sweetest man...
posted by Zan 6:12 AM

Saturday, February 07, 2004

 
Will You Take Me There? To the land of Makebelief?

Today my little girl made (sang) her first ever poem: Come ee Yami Yami...
posted by Zan 7:01 AM

Friday, February 06, 2004

 
Shadi Sadr is back... and check this out. Shadi Sadr has won the Ida B. Wells Award for Bravery in Journalism. My congragulations to Shadi.


posted by Zan 2:54 PM

Monday, February 02, 2004

 
The paradise needed a gypsy girl... and I came along.

Unfortunately for the Europeans... their governments dehumanize the immigrants to cover up for their economical losses... and last week while defending a friend, I was emotionally and psychologically raped by a Dane. I don't blame the guy for being so deeply moved by my shinny black hair and dark brown eyes. I guess we Jews, Muslims, Blacks have that strong effect on some people.

....and one last thing I just have to comment on is... about the three great qualities of the Iranian Government. They are 1) stubborn, 2) stupid and 3) scared!
posted by Zan 6:47 AM

Friday, January 23, 2004

 
Earlier today:

Sheema: I don't know how to go on living. I am lost.... she is gone... 43 days is past ...and I will never hear her voice...
P: I don't know how to help you cope with this loss but I know... I am lost without you... and I love you and want to take you in my arms and never let you go.
posted by Zan 12:16 PM

 
The Heart Is Left Lonely

The heart is left lonely

When you hid your presence from me,
I embraced the mountain of patience.
When you did not know what caused my anguish,
I suffered from the grief and the sorrow.

Ashamed of the dignity of eternity,
I discover now the purpose of my being only
when I am powerless and lifeless.

From these tears of grief
I will not fill the alleyway of my eyes,
for I am like a harmless ant
who wants to escape from losing you to death.

When I was asleep, you crossed
my dream and asked for forgiveness,
but it was at the breeze of dawn
when I realized it was my beloved
who had passed me by.

In the tumult, where the heart
is left lonely, I am alone,
and to become purified and cleansed,
I recite this tale
of sadness and sorrow.

Batoul Nayer


Translation and editing by Sheema Kalbasi and Roger Humes (Additional editing by Dr. Hassan Rejali.)


My writer friend Mahasti Shahrokhi's latest is part of the collection of stories in "Another Sea, Another Shore: Persian Stories of Migration"... enjoy the read.
posted by Zan 12:42 AM

Thursday, January 22, 2004

 
I will be with you in the grave
on the night you leave behind
your shop and your family.
When you hear my soft voice
echoing in your tomb,
you will realize
that you were never hidden from my eyes.
I am the pure awareness within your heart,
with you during joy and celebration,
suffering and despair.

-Rumi

Please sign and save the lives of two women (Via leilaye-leili, one of my regularly read weblogs).

Thinking Coma:
I want to get a leave of absence from being anyone and anything. That much I have the right to or don't I? With her (my mother,) my 12:00 P.M. sun is gone forever.

...losing your beloved is not a soft parade.

Just a few:

Last Saturday when birds had not left their nests -yes... that early in the morning- Mandana and I picked her sister-in-law and headed for a flower market. The sister-in-law, Marcie (an Iranian Studies expert, a computer programmer and a blogger) has started her own flower shop- I don't know the name of her blog or I have had linked to it. We drove and talked about Maman and Khorshid Khanoom (no connections). Marcie promised me... my very own Persian blog (she offerd to make a Persian blog for me).

Yesterday: Radio Ghasedak has informed me of two links to my works.
Last night when everyone (even Denmark's Minister of Defense) was sleep... I cried and cried and cried for not having her (Maman) in my life and than came to one conclusion: Sleep!
For a few months now: One of Roger Humes and my poems is selected by a Dance Academy in CA.
...and one of my English poems is selected for an anthology by Ms. Jennifer Langer.

posted by Zan 10:14 AM

Tuesday, January 20, 2004

 
Happy Birthday to my dear Mandana Z.


posted by Zan 10:04 AM

Saturday, January 17, 2004

 
Hear! Hear! The Danish Government is crying for Argentina!!!

According to Gooya on Jan. 24th.2004 there is a Conference in the Danish Parliament. It is the first time in the history of the European countries that a Parliament is going to discuss the future of Iran and its different ethnic groups.

I (a Danish Citizen) want to know why on earth they don't discuss the importance and the future of ethnic groups in Denmark? Believe it or not it would benefit the Danish society much more than the resent...Laws. Stop raping your own citizens because their parents or great grandparents were Jewish, Muslim, Black, Turk or Pakistani!
posted by Zan 2:32 AM

Thursday, January 15, 2004

 
Yesterday... when I left a message on Hasti's blog... I released... I am not going to stay in Denmark. I am going to take the little girl and Dad and fly back to the U.S. Why should I stay here now that Maman isn't. I am going to take a leave of absence from my studies and fly back in 3-4 weeks. I have to start dealing with my loss. I have to...now that she doesn't live... I have to... I will be back to Denmark for the Summer to put the stone on her grave and than go biking with Dad and the little girl. I am thinking about biking through Denmark and Sweden. For three summers Dad has biked through the Scandinavia... all by himself... maybe it's about time... for me to join him. Maybe we'll do some fishing too. Maman and dad used to go fishing for hours and hours... and rain or snow didn't matter to them! I have to start living without her.


Unwritten words...

...and this is for you Maman (one of the songs she loved to sing).
posted by Zan 2:03 PM

Wednesday, January 14, 2004

 
You Are All Invited To The Poppet Show.

Hosted by: The Iranian Government (A government that kills its citizens faster than the blink of an eye).
The gusts of Honor: The Western Media and the World.
Price: You can watch it free of charge (The tickets are already paid by the Iranian citizens).


Welcome to the poppet show. We are the great actors but the blood on the stage is not from a red paint. The blood is of the executed Iranian Citizens.


Life is a game of Model UN is what Michael Totten has written on War and Iraq. Well I disagree with all his reasons be it Life isn’t a game of Model UN or the real reasons that can be explained in two ways. Read them yourself. I just want to say this:

Have you asked who are the U.N. members and which countries are they representing?
They cut hands, stone and execute their citizens faster and easier than the blink of an eye!
Life is indeed a game of Model UN!


...and as for the War in Iraq or on Iraq or whatever/however anyone wants to call it... this is what I posted on April 10 2003:

The world of the 21st century won’t be one in which tyrants and fanatics are supported/appeased by democracies. It will be a world built on alliance of democracies, which together deal the final blow to fundamentalism and terrorism. I see Iraq’s liberation as the first step towards that end. The US has come to realize the importance of security in the region and the inseparable relationship between security and democracy in that region. I truly hope that this leads to democratization of the region and peace for everyone just as US intervention in Europe brought prosperity to the continent.

... Time will tell!




11: 35 A.M. I check my e-mails. I have one from P. We talk on the phone twice everyday so e-mailing isn't on the list!

but ...

Sent : Wednesday, January 14, 2004 6:16 AM
To : Sheema Kalbasi

he writes:

I miss you so much... I miss you so much... I miss you so much...
posted by Zan 2:30 AM

Tuesday, January 13, 2004

 
I open her closet to smell her clothes… but the smell is fading away as she did 33 days ago...

A few years ago P and I were invited to a privet party (at one of our friends) in the Bay Area, CA. Ziba Shirazi, a good friend of the hosts was invited to sing for us.

The next morning
P: Who’s that singer last night? Her voice was awful. It is ...STILL... echoing in my head.

Later the same day
P: Whose CD is this? The words are great.


Today

In Maman’s closet... I found one of the three CDs Ziba gave us... I had given one to Maman... as a birthday gift.


posted by Zan 3:46 AM

Monday, January 12, 2004

 
My mother (Batoul Nayer) wrote poetry in Persian but never published her works. Here is one of her many poems:

In the nights of departures the heart is blood-eyed*

The heart is inflamed from this pain and sorrow.
My eyes smile though they are full of blood,
and I am tied to the wind that blows
from the flower garden of your being.

I do not even slightly forget.
I am not even one moment removed
from the secrets of His Truth
because He is the only one who knows
how long this life will last.

The longest night of the year for me with my short life
is full of pain and secrets
because I did not find light anywhere
that is lit from a place of wishfulness.

My heart is aching,
my heart is aching,
and this is the tale of the glass and the stone.
Not tonight, not every night,
but every day is as long as this pain
that dances with the spirit of my dreams.

The breath of the wise man is a token for me
for only he knows this all is just a search and finding.

Translation and editing by Sheema Kalbasi and Roger Humes (Version based on Batoul Nayer's Persian poem. Additional editing by Dr. Hassan Rejali.)
posted by Zan 11:28 AM

Saturday, January 10, 2004

 
Send me a map Mother. I can't find my way and I need to know the next turn. It is still snowing on your grave and the frozen flowers ...and in my heart a reflective glare betrays my eyes.
posted by Zan 4:15 AM

Friday, January 09, 2004

 
I want to hear your voice
and forget for this instant
that my soul has shattered
and lies in fragments upon the floor
where my tears collect in the shards,
pooled forever reflected in the image of you.



My thanks to dear Imshin for the lotus flower she has posted in memory of my mother and to Ms. Leila Farjami and Ms. Behbahani for their kind e-mails.
posted by Zan 5:57 AM

Thursday, January 01, 2004

 
Thinking of you...
posted by Zan 4:02 PM

 
Life is not the same. To numb the pain of her loss, eating has become my only escape… and writing… well… writing is not the easy habit I used to have… my heart is heavy… I don’t watch the news of the earthquake in Bam. I don’t watch the news and I stay home day in and day out. I am constantly anxious. The only dim of light in these cold, dark days is my husband… but earlier today he had to return to the U.S.

Yesterday P and the little girl were invited to our friends’ (a Danish couple) home. I used the opportunity to visit Maman (’s grave.) Dad and I biked to the cemetery. The cemeteries in the West are unlike the ones in Iran. In Iran the dead are buried someplace far from the cities and graveyards are the saddest places you can imagine. In Denmark the cemeteries are like a park where people jug, sunbathe and walk with their kids. The cemetery where Maman is buried is a beautiful and peaceful place. From reading this you would think my visit was a peaceful journey specially since it’s only ten minutes from my dad’s apartment… well the biking wasn’t peaceful at all. The bike was not the mountain bike I used to have as a teenager. It was one of those put together bikes that the biker has the constant fear of causing an accident. There were also two other problems. One was my twenty kilo heavier body and the other was… I keep that one to myself.

a) The motivation to post today’s blog is my blogger friend Pedram Moallemian of the Eyeranian. He has threatened… major clean up of the inactive blogs from his site.
b) My thanks to the editor of the MAG Mr. August Highland and the bloggers Mr. Babak Ghaffari, Ms. Ghasemi for their kind e-mails.
posted by Zan 10:37 AM

Sunday, December 21, 2003

 
P, Happy Birthday my love.


posted by Zan 1:07 PM

Saturday, December 20, 2003

 
Partings On The Sea Of Sorrow


Come, my child,
allow me to cradle you
upon the Sea of Sorrow
where we shall forget
about today until it is tomorrow.
Come, my child,
and we shall watch one last time
the flight of the eagles and the ravens
before my ship sets sail
to find the Safe Haven:

Wake up mother from this bad winter dream...

Will you not hold me?
Will you not?
Will you die in your sleep tonight?
Will I not see you again?
Will you not cry or laugh?
Will you not sing or dance?
Will you not write or read?
Will you not mother feel me again?
Will you not love me again?
Will you not touch me again?
Will you not hold me again?
Will you not get mad at me?
Will you not sign your name again?
Will you not write poetry?
Will you not kiss me goodbye?

One last kiss…

Come, my child,
the time now is for me to sleep
but remember my smile
when your pain grows so deep.
Come, my child,
and we shall watch one last time
the flight of the eagles and the ravens
before my ship sets sail
to find the Safe Haven…

One last kiss
before the night becomes
the forever long sleep …

Sheema Kalbasi and Roger Humes

My thanks to Mahasti Shahrokhi for her telephone call, Maryam Hoole, Jahanshah Javid, Matilda Marki and Daniel Gold for their kind e-mails. Pedram Moallemian for announcing my mother’s passing away and Haleh for her heartfelt writings and Khorshid Khanom, Dr. Mojtaba Akhtari and a few other bloggers. I also thank the 200 something people who sent me e-mails. Last but not least special thanks to my friend Roger Humes. There are not enough words to describe my appreciation. God bless you all.


Sheema: I can’t feel your presence any more.
Sheema: I miss you.
Sheema: It is peaceful...when I think of you...I feel peaceful.
Sheema: I want to cut my heart in to pieces when I think of... not ever ever feeling your kind hands on my face.
Sheema: I am confused. Dazed. Not sure of anything.
Sheema: I feel free of all the earthly worries.
Sheema: I don’t believe in any organized religion. Right now ...right now... I believe in all the religions of the world.
Sheema: The house is empty from you. Wake up. Come back. Enough of this madness Maman.
Sheema: Life is beautiful.
Sheema: Right now death is peaceful.
Sheema: I want to live ... but I am not scared of the unknown, mother.
Sheema: I want to shave my head. I want to lose my sanity. I want to mourn for ever. I want to break free of my body.
Sheema: I miss you woman. Where are you?
Sheema: You are not here. You are not here and I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.
Sheema: I want to hear your voice.
Sheema: The candles are lit but the flowers are dieing. The house is empty from you and my heart is heavier than the crying sky.




posted by Zan 1:35 PM

Wednesday, December 17, 2003

 
Last Hand Clapping

And so down comes the curtain
upon another year and I sit
here in the dark and the cold
listening to the sound echo
hollow in my soul.

The tears have burnt in fire
across the sky of imagination
and the images have been reduced
to silence as I watch from the shore
along Sea of Despair where the tribes
wander through the years of exile.

I am no closer to salvation than I was
the first day our verses twined as one
and I am no further from damnation
than when I read her letter and remembered
the path I had chosen oh so long ago.

If there is a sound in my heart,
if there is one last song for me to sing
before I shut the flame from the lantern of desire
and walk the lonely paths of acceptance

it is a sound so far distant
from my pursed lips,
from the lonely sea,
of the last hand clapping

before the night returns
to encase all hope
in the bliss of forgetfulness.


I was invited to speak about Maman. I read three of her poems for the Radio Paivand. I am thinking about having one of the poems loaded on my blog or the Iranian.com so that you can hear my voice reading her poem.

We have her picture... painted by my dad... on a table next to the white lilies and roses... two candles are lit... and we can feel her... walking peacefully through the house.


I eat to numb my feelings…
I eat to numb my feelings… nothing changes the fact that... she is not here.
posted by Zan 4:40 PM

Monday, December 15, 2003

 
My youngest of the two brothers (both medical students) and I arrived around the same time. My sister-in-law (a doctor) had already arrived the day before. We drove to the hospital to see Maman. My youngest brother didn’t know Maman had passed away.

Later:

The hospital personal made the room ready... for us... to see Maman. She was covered in a blanket. The room was painted orange. The white candles were lit...her face was peaceful...had a smile on it.

In the car:

We played loud music and mourned!

My younger brother didn’t eat for three days... didn’t talk... walked like a gost.

People come. People call.

Today with three other women...I washed Maman... Two Iranians. One an engineer and the other a medical student. Both are students in Sufism. There was an Iraqi woman (a biologist and a Muslim). We washed Maman. I washed her hair with the...shampoo she loved... the coconut shampoo. I brushed her hair. We dried her body. We dressed her in her Sufi clothing. We covered her in the white material. She was calm and quiet. She was not beautiful. Her hand was red and infected. Her feet were swollen. I kissed her feet. I kissed her face. I kissed her hands. I know her body so well. I washed her like she used to wash me as a kid. I washed her like the time she washed me after my C-section.

I brought some of your hair for the little brother and myself, Maman. I didn’t cut it. It fell off your head. It would be disrespectful if I had cut it...your fellow Sufi friends told me...What do I know Maman!


I drove back with the Iraqi lady. I got dressed in a light blue shirt and black pants that I wanted you to see me in... I put on my make up (I never use make up.) I changed my shirt into a black one (went with the tradition) ... I put on lipstick. I put on mascara. You were always in make up. You were always clean and well dressed Maman. You were so sophisticated.

Dad looks old. Dad cries a lot. The little brother is in pain. The sister-in-law is in pain. She walks in your cloths. The European sister of mine walks tall and beautiful in your clothing, Maman. She took your blanket back to her country. She took your gloves, your smell.

We drove to the grave yard Maman. So many people were in the church. I was praying. I didn’t cry. I didn’t drop one tear, maybe just one.

We took your coffin to the black car. We drove in another. So many people and so many flowers. Iranians, Danes, Poles, Romanians and one Iraqi. We all prayed for you. Men in the front and women in the back. We all stood there and said Allah-o Akbar (God is Great). Maman, all your Sufi friends were shaved and had white shirts on. It was peaceful. It was beautiful. So many loved you Maman. So many Loved Banoo Mohandes Batoul Nayer/Ms. Batoul Nayer (Engineer ).

Maman I had put you in the coffin. I knew how you looked under the white wood and the white roses and the white lilies…and under all the whites you were sleeping in your white dress and having all the white dreams.

Maman, I miss you.

posted by Zan 2:57 PM

Thursday, December 11, 2003

 
Maman:

This morning there was a fly in the bedroom. We never have flies in this house. I think it was you trying to wake me up from my early morning sleep. You never wanted us (Sheema and her two brothers) to sleep late but believe me you don’t have to worry. Your grand child does it enough for me. I am awake at five every morning. I am becoming you. The one thing I never wanted to be.
Maman, you lost your mother when you were 30 and I was 20 months old. Now you did it to me. I am your age and my daughter is 20 months old. P says to lose a parent is never early but I guess some one had to die yesterday and it had to be you. I guess some one had to experience this sad story and it had to be me.

The bitter fact that I will never see you again and will never fight, argue, laugh and cry with you is not going anywhere.

Maman I don’t know where to get my free of charge mother and child nutritionist consultation. I don’t know whom to call 3 A.M. knowing she will be giving me advice on what to do with the little girl. I have lost you and something is gone from my life that cannot be replaced by anyone or anything.

Last night we went out to eat and on the way back to the parking I walked in to a wall. I didn’t see the wall. I guess I am getting blind from all the invisible tears, Maman. It doesn’t matter that you died and I wasn’t there. It doesn’t really matter Maman. I wanted you to live. Now it doesn’t matter if I am there or not. Soon the Danish soil will be pregnant by your body. I guess I have to love Denmark now for cherishing your body.


My mother was practicing Sufism. From my limited knowledge of Sufism one should be remembered with peace and quiet.
posted by Zan 6:28 AM

Wednesday, December 10, 2003

 
Today at 5:45 A.M. (Denmark time) my mother died.

Suddenly I can’t breath. I write to not lose my sanity. I didn’t see you mother. I didn’t see you. Suddenly I can’t breath. It’s so warm in here. What a black day for me mother.
posted by Zan 12:42 PM

 
My name is Sheema Kalbasi. You may or may not know me. I am a human-female. I am suffering because in a matter of day or night I will lose my mother. I am not sure how long will I be able to continue writing about Maman’s condition but I will try... just to keep this as some sort of data.

Last night I felt I was her. Breathing heavy with long blond/white hair all around my face. With 60 years of age going to the grave. I felt your heavy breathing like I were you, Maman. I felt your pain but I am still functioning. I am still alive. I still write. You trained me to write but I am coming to you to put you in the grave. What daughter doesn’t hate putting her mother in the grave? You tell me mother.
All day I have been moving but am not sure where I am. The telephone line is gone dead without hearing your voice on the other end. I am so empty from you oh so empty, Maman. I am rational. I am…oh but so fragile, Mother.

Maman you were a lousy cook but I loved your food. I have lost weight. I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. I am still functioning Maman. I cook for the little girl. I have to take her to the doctor again. I am sick. I have fever. Will you not take me to the doctor like I was your little girl? Will you not cook your get-over-your-cold-soup for me?

P my love thank you for being my man, my lover, my friend and my supporter. I see you cry for my mother but I take my eyes from yours to not give in to the pian-not yet. I have to fly tomorrow with the little girl and a huge Barney and I have to stay rational.



I called her at 6.a.m. today and dad puts the phone on her ear. Than dad took the phone and said (like the day before) tears have fallen off her face. I called later and he said she is in a coma now. She can’t hear us. He said don’t hurry anymore. Take your flight tomorrow.

On the Phone

My brother: Sheema even if Maman dies... before you arrive... we will keep her... till you come.
Sheema: Is she dead?
My brother: No! You will see her once you are here.

My brother: I was at the university and dad called and said the nurse says she has died. I almost had a heart attack thinking I wasn’t there and I just dropped everything and went to the hospital. It turns out that dad has mistaken one word for another. Anyways just stay calm Sheema and I’ll see you in two days.


I am rational. I am…oh but so fragile, Mother.

posted by Zan 11:59 AM

Tuesday, December 09, 2003

 
Maman, I don't know how to live without you. I don't know how to cope with not having you in my life.

Wake up mother from this bad winter dream...
will you not hold me? Will you not? Will you die in your sleep tonight? Will I not see you again?
Will you not cry or laugh? Will you not sing or dance? Will you not write or read? Will you not mother me again? Will you not love me again? Will you not touch me again? Will you not hold me again? Will you not get mad at me? Will you not sign your name again? Will you not write poetry? Will you not kiss me goodbye? One last kiss? Will you not wait for me to come? Please mother don't leave us yet... two more days. Wait for me.


posted by Zan 12:40 PM

 
I Love You P and...

incase I don't get to say happy birthday on your day Dec. 21, I write it right here and right now: Happy Birthday my love.
posted by Zan 11:38 AM

 
Dad: The nurse is here. Will you talk to her?
Sheema: Ok!

Sheema: How bad is she?
Nurse: She may have a few days left.

My eyes can't see straight. I don't cry much. I am a quiet griever. I hate loud voices and loud people give me headaches. I don't know how to cope with this situation. I don’t know what to do or where to go. I am feeling empty from her. I wont know the touch of her hands on my face. The very touch I trust with my body and soul. The only touch that takes all the pains and gives all the comforts of the world. I am already missing you Woman. I am already there. I am already there Maman. I am scared oh so scared Maman. Will you not walk with me? Will you not walk with me?

posted by Zan 9:17 AM

 
My mother cannot talk any more.

...like most days I woke up at five.

Unlike other days I called her early. Dad took the cell phone. She can't talk any more. My legs, my feet went cold. My backbone broke from the fear of her loss. I am grieving to the extreme. Making myself ready to not see her ever again...so fast, so soon. So soon Maman...you are going to leave me forever...and I will never be able to argue with you over the slightest things.
... your first-born child is going to be motherless forever...

posted by Zan 3:58 AM

Monday, December 08, 2003

 
Yesterday

Sheema (On the phone): You are my beautiful Maman.
Maman: I am not beautiful anymore. I don't look anything like... can't hear her... I can't take shower every day...

Last Night

Sheema (Puts her face on P's hands): I am emotionally exhausted.
P: I am here for you. We have each other. Think positive.



Today

Sheema (On the phone): How is Maman?
My brother: make your self-ready for the worst. Don't be shocked when you see Maman.


This afternoon

Dad: When are you coming, Sheema?
Sheema: In a few days.
Dad: Can't you take an earlier flight?
Sheema: Dad I will be there in three days. Is she fading away?
Dad: We need you here. It would be good if you're here.

I am cold oh so cold...

I am shivering from pain. I can see my eyelashes are falling and my hair is falling and... I just want to feel your hands on my face, on my hair, mother...
posted by Zan 4:36 PM

Friday, December 05, 2003

 
Danish Sharia?

The psychological and social pressure in Denmark is so much so that even if you are not an orthodox something you end up becoming one! I will not go into more details but whatever you read on this site is true with one thing missing... and that is an/the information on the constant rape of the immigrants. What Denmark offers is to kill the messenger without even trying to know what the message is about!
How can (Jews, Muslims, Blacks, etc.) show desire to fit into their adopted country when they are constantly rejected? Denmark is like the U.S. immigration offices. They don't care how badly they treat people because their costumers don't have any other options. Imagine living in a country with people who treat you like the U.S. immigration offices! You can't leave and you can't live!

...P and I took the little girl to the doctor today. She has a cold again. Her doctor says except for the running nose everything else is fine but it's not fine. She doesn't eat and have only had two bottles of milk today. I am worried for the girl. It is stressful with the snowstorm to think of what/if we have to drive in this weather...

posted by Zan 4:10 PM

Thursday, December 04, 2003

 
I Stand Where The Window Is Empty

I stand where the window is empty
from my reflex and in the growing
twilight of the evening I stare
into the happy alley
and listen to the hush
where no bird's song breaks
the gloom of the moment
but mine

and I think of you
- connected to me
womb to womb -
and I await your arrival
with a lamp that now
grows oh so dim.

For I know for the truth
in this sacred moment,
when we shall talk once more,
face to face,
that the door to the cage
is at last open
and together we shall watch
the final gathering of the birds
when they take flight
at the end of our days.

Yes, my cut heart shall sing
but it will be the bitter tears
where one realizes the true
meaning of exile is to be
left all alone.

For I know for the truth
in this sacred moment
what the poet truly meant
when her sad voice sang

this bird is mortal…

Sheema Kalbasi & Roger Humes
posted by Zan 2:18 PM

Wednesday, December 03, 2003

 
The little girl and I are leaving for Denmark in a week and P will join us for Christmas... I finally got the news that I am accepted as a visiting student. This means next semester I will be studying in Copenhagen and P will be staying in the U.S. He probably will visit us for the little girl's birthday but it's pretty hard not to live as a family even if it's for a few months. Maman is still in hospital and dad is staying with her 24/7. Life goes on and... this conversation happened earlier tonight...

P: I love you my little girl.
P: I will miss you my little girl.
P: How can I stay away and not see you for five months?
P: Baba loves you.
P: You are my life.
The little girl: Ok! Bye now.
posted by Zan 8:27 PM

 
1) I do not see Iranian women or men as an illiterate bunch that must be lured into being civilized. I believe that the current generation is much smarter than that. We need clarity and transparency more than anything else.

2) I believe the society's overwhelming desire is to move towards a secular democracy. We need thought leaders that would show us how, rather than tell us how to derive human rights from fegh (Islamic jurisprudence). An example of a significant move in the right direction was Mr. Akbar Ganji's “Republicanism Manifest,” which despite being widely misconstrued by the exile community, created a big impact.

3) There are plans to demonstrate against Ms. Ebadi in Oslo when she receives her award. Although I have criticized Ms. Ebadi and I stand by my criticism, I believe such demonstration will be a very wrong move. This reminds me of an equally despicable act by some Iranians who were collecting signatures to request termination of Professor Rob Sobhani from Georgetown University. Whether we agree or disagree with Ms. Ebadi and/or her approach, we have to remember that our nation has been honored with its first Nobel Prize because of her.

4) I am disappointed by few personal attacks against me. People like Azam Nemati and Taraneh Izadi whose responses have been largely personal attacks need to learn the basics of civilized behavior.

posted by Zan 7:42 PM

 
Ms. Ebadi crossed that fine line between political and human rights activism when she started making disappointing political statements some of which are mentioned in my articles or others such as encouraging people to participate in the upcoming Majlis elections, discouraging anti-government demonstrations, praising the current pathetic Majlis for being the shining star and pride of our nation, and comments you usually don't hear from The Human Rights Activists' of the world. The Majlis she praised as the honor of our nation in recent history is the same Majlis that had to shut up and suspend its amendment of the "media bill" on the orders of Rahbare Moazam (the Supreme Leader). Whenever I read a new statement, speech, or interview from Ms. Ebadi, I whisper to myself "har dam az in bagh bari miresad, taz-e-tar az taz-e-tari miresad."

By the way Mr. Moini, what are exactly the issues that I am confusing? Where is the ambiguity when Ms. Ebadi says "I would have awarded the Nobel peace prize to Mr. Khatami"? For those who have forgotten, Mr. Khatami is the same man who praised Mr. Lajevardi and called Mr. Rafsanjani the identity of the revolution. All these fellows of course belong in the same "human rights activism" camp, which explains why they praise each other! And please stay away from putting people in the same category as it pleases you. For example, I have high regards for Mehrangiz Kar's work and her secular views.


I have to reiterate from my article that if Ms. Ebadi wants to remain a human rights activist no one can or should force her to become an opposition leader. But the truth is that she is throwing her weight behind a bunch of inept political charlatans (otherwise known as "Reformists") and their proven dissembling path. It is her participation in such deceptive political game, despite her public insistence on staying away from it that opens the door to criticism. Under these circumstances, I believe it is everyone's duty to challenge her. And by the way challenging is quite different from silencing, for example silencing through personal attacks. If you find a word in my two articles in which I have personally attacked Ms. Ebadi please point that out to me. On the other hand Ms. Izzadi's response, which you apparently praise and regard so highly, is nothing BUT personal attack. As if visiting nightclubs or not living in Iran strips one of the right to speak and voice his/her opinion. Such behavior may be acceptable from someone with little exposure to the civil discourse of exchanges like this (after all we are not in a neck to neck campaign on the same political office), but it becomes far more disappointing when it comes from people who have lived years and years in the so-called free world.

Finally a human with no FEAR is no human. Of course we all have fears and emotions, some have more some have less. This is a typical example of what I call "meaningless tarofs."

posted by Zan 12:38 PM

 
To criticize or voice your opinion you do not need a qualification letter.

Read the Iranian.com's letter section and the three responses to my article. Are these people real? They think, assume and talk for me. Mahmoud Shahbodaghi's letter is just an example of how life is in Matrix without taking the right pill! ...I am not sure if I'd want to respond to their personal attacks but here are a few thoughts:

Shahbodaghi: Ebadi is a rare commodity: an accomplished authority on both Western and Islamic jurisprudence, as well as a tireless activist.

Sheema: Again tarof with Ms. Ebadi. I remember that Ayatollah Khomeini also spoke seven languages fluently, wrote world class poetry, and had occasional trips to the moon.

Shahbodaghi: How are you at all qualified to comment on her struggle, let alone criticize it?

Sheema: I didn't know to criticize or voice your opinion you need a qualification letter.

Shahbodaghi: Correct me if I'm wrong,...

Sheema (laughs): That is the job I leave to the God Almighty.

Shahbodaghi: raw (khaam) vs. mature (pokhteh)...

Sheema: As for this gastronomical doctrine, I see a generation being burned by the cooked (pokhteh) people whose art is tarofing and being tarofed by.
posted by Zan 9:19 AM

Tuesday, December 02, 2003

 
Have Mercy!

Reading blogs is like watching a sitcom. You start reading (watching)... not necessarily to stimulate your thoughts/mind. After awhile (if they -the sitcoms- are not canceled for lack of viewers,) you will be able to keep going back to read (watch) more... but amazingly enough there are some blogers with nothing but two aims. 1 is to hurt the reader's eyes by the color-choice on their blogs and 2 is to bore their readers to death!
posted by Zan 8:42 PM

 
Hossein Derakhshan: "We can't vote for our desired candidates who have our favorite platform. So why don't we publicly and directly say what we want? Let's have thousands of symbolic candidates for the upcoming parliament elections to show the Iranian regime and to the world what we really want."
posted by Zan 2:38 PM

Monday, December 01, 2003

 
...Cut me to pieces!
every piece will come as a word
and will encircle your eyes...

from a poem by Alireza Behnam

1) I believe it is everyone's duty to challenge one another. And challenging is quite different from silencing, for example silencing through personal attacks. Such bevior may be acceptable from someone with little exposure to the civil discourse of exchanges but it becomes far more disappointing when it comes from people who have lived years and years in the so-called free world.

2) Those of you who read Mr. Hossein Derakhshan's blog know of his plans to run for parliament in the upcoming elections in Iran... well dear Hoder guess what! Mr. Khatami has spoken to you. It seems one has to belive in the Islamic Republic of Iran's (Criminal) government before s/he can run for the Majlis (parliament, ) something you are far too honest and moderate for. The Majlis (parliament) is the same Majlis (parliament) Ms. Ebadi praised as the honor of our nation in recent history and is the same Majlis that had to shut up and suspend its amendment of the "media bill" on the orders of Rahbare Moazam (the Supreme Leader). And for those who have forgotten, Mr. Khatami is the same man who praised Mr. Lajevardi and called Mr. Rafsanjani the identity of the revolution. All these fellows of course belong in the same "human rights activism" camp, which explains why they praise each other!


Maryam:"If there was nothing else that the Persians contributed to the world (apart from Zoroastrianism, Cyrus the Great, Darius, Jamshid the musician, Zamakhshari, the Sassanians, the Safavids, and a flair for bureaucracy) then khoreshte badamjoon (loosely translated: eggplant stew) has to be the most divine dish in the world." ... Thanks to Jonathan Edelstein, Maryam from Australia... is my newly found blog.


posted by Zan 6:38 AM

Friday, November 28, 2003

 
Iqbal Latif: "Throwing a gauntlet like what Bush did makes it harder but it takes a very big man to do it. History has put this burden on a Texan who looked quite ordinary -- and for the left even stupid -- but he has taken this burden better than many a Sagittarius!"


posted by Zan 7:41 AM

Thursday, November 27, 2003

 
It is interesting to see how this apparently simple point is so easily misunderstood. I don't claim compatibility or incompatibility of Islam with anything. I simply think religion must find its proper place in the society as a system of beliefs that is practiced freely by individuals.

What I have heard from Ms. Ebadi on the contrary is to try to reconcile everything with Islamic theology. An example was given by her as to how Ramadan fasting may be modified to address the needs of the individuals who live in the North Pole. I think it is absurd to think you can generalize from this to conclude that Iran's in-depth problems may be solved in this manner.

An enlightened Iranian cleric whose name I do not remember once wrote that by limiting democracy to Islam we may think we have discovered a new form of democracy but in the process we have really devised a new form of dictatorship. I believe that Ms. Ebadi should set an example of a Muslim with firm beliefs in human rights and democracy. Unfortunately to my disappointment, she has apparently chosen to become the harbinger of an unknown Islamic democracy.

posted by Zan 5:50 AM

Wednesday, November 26, 2003

 
There are a few subjects that I tend to stay away from. One is the Israeli and Palestinian conflict but Pedram Moallemian's The Apartheid Wall made me chill. The Apartheid Wall is exactly what the Danish government has built in Denmark. A wall of hatred, which has transferred Denmark to a Concentration Camp for the minorities (Jews, Muslims, blacks, etc!) I don't expect Denmark suddenly turn into a Neve Shalom but... a democratic society should treat humans as equals and... Denmark should put an end to the psychological and social rape of the minorities.

Read my Open Criticism on the Iranian Times.

posted by Zan 11:45 AM

Monday, November 24, 2003

 
On June 30, 2003 I wrote: Mr. Amir Entezam (who has been in the Islamic Republic of Iran's jail for the past 25 years -in my opinion) is an unknown Mandela. Tomorrow Mr. Entezam (and Professor Aghajari) will receive Jan Karski Award at The American Center of Polish Culture, Washington, D.C., USA.

posted by Zan 12:51 PM

Thursday, November 20, 2003

 
just got this card from P and my little girl.

Maani (mama),
I want to let you know how much Baba and I are happy for having you in our lives. I love you so much even the first time you brushed my teeth. And between you and me, Baba said to me he loves you even when he is washing the dishes.


posted by Zan 3:08 PM

 
Happy Birthday Sheema
posted by Zan 7:28 AM

Sunday, November 16, 2003

 
At the supermarket

My baby girl (20 mounths young): Mamaaaaa
Baby girl: Mamaaaaaa
Baby girl: Mamaaaaaa
Sheema: You don't have to sing it so loud, love. I am standing right here.
Baby girl singing on top of her lungs: Mamaaaaa
Baby girl: Mamaaaaaa
Sheema singing the rest from Bohemian Rhapsody: Mama, ooh, didn't mean to make you cry... If I'm not back again this time tomorrow.
Baby girl: Carry... carry... Mamaaaaaa (Carry on, carry on as if nothing really matters.)
Baby girl: Mamaaaa
Sheema: Bayad kharidam bekonim (We have to do some shopping too!)
Baby girl: Mamaaaa
P: Which cheese did we buy her last week?
P: Was it this one or that one?
P: I buy two of these.
P: Is this ok?
P: Why don't you answer me?
Baby girl: Mamaaaa... oohooooo... Cary... Cary... Mamaaaa...
Sheema's thoughts: Now I know why dad (my father) can hear only when he wants to!
posted by Zan 7:59 PM

Saturday, November 15, 2003

 
Well-Come to New England: her smile kills!
The university I study at is some 30 minutes away from where I live. In order to get there I drive in one of the most dangerous roads in the U.S. (based on my personal experience I dare to say it is nothing compared to the roads in Iran, Pakistan and India but still a scary road to drive in.) It is one of those roads that every year on an average some fifty people lose either their lives or one/some part/s of their body and it is only natural to not want to go through this near death experience. Today on my way back I escaped a fatal accident, which makes me wonder why after more than thirty years of planning for a highway this road is still in its satanic 666 zone.
posted by Zan 7:41 PM

Friday, November 14, 2003

 
Blank

From beneath the skin
to the brain,
my blood cells are fighting
to breathe me through
the tortured shadows of memory.

Sorry, I am mother, sorry,
for losing you if you give up on the life
that has been the one constant in mine.
Look at my fingers
that are covered in blood

and bitten by the snails that are nervously
swimming inside of my breasts.

I cover my broken skin
from the dry drafts,
and from the tears that peel my cut heart
and from beneath the brain cells
I hear the enjoined memories
(that I wish I never had)
and the rocks that are crying
for the outbreak of the White Divs.1

Sorry, I am mother, sorry,
for the childhood
that was stolen from me
by the displacements and the wars,
by the governments and their inhumane crimes.

Zero blood...sacred blood...blood
from beneath my nails...hair
that is rended in anguish...breasts
that are driven from...
one end to another
...the body that will be buried beneath...

Shut these thoughts, Sheema, shut...
shhhhhhhh...
Khaamush! 2

1 Demons; from the The Book of Kings by the Persian poet Ferdowsi.
2 Persian for "Be quiet"


posted by Zan 5:04 PM

 
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...

- Forough Farrokhzad
posted by Zan 11:52 AM

 
Earlier today my sister-in-law called and said lets stay hopeful for Maman's sake.

I sit here with my 0000 thoughts ...and blood starts drifting from one end of the keyboards to another. Suddenly this 2000 something house is closing on me. Suddenly I can see the walls are chewing my bones. Suddenly all I want is to lose my memory and never know losing a loved one. I wish I did not feel pain, did not see suffering and have never had learned counting... the days that are left.
posted by Zan 9:04 AM

Thursday, November 13, 2003

 

Lost in fantasia? No not really...
1978: A pregnant woman is taken to the delivery room to give birth. The mother keeps pushing and pushing. She is out of breath and can't wait for the baby to be delivered. Moments later Ahmad Batebi is born not knowing at the young age of 21 his face will appear on The Economist... changing his life forever... He doesn't know his youth will pass him by... within the cold prisons of the oppressive regime or... he would have asked the doctors not to cut the umbilical cord... and... he would have stayed in the warm and protective womb of his mother...

He is my Ahmad Batebi and yours. He is my father, brother, son, husband, lover, teacher, neighbor, classmate. He is your moral judgment that does not know borders...
Ahmad Batebi's execution is commuted to 15 years imprisonment... but
2003: It is five days since he was last heard from. Related news can be found on freeiran.
posted by Zan 8:26 AM

Wednesday, November 12, 2003

 
...check out this video...so sweet so beautiful nobody knows how she feels...

... and Bahman Kalbasi's article, Omid Habibi Nia and Dr.Noury's sites, Jonathan Edelstein's blog and Mahshid's latest posts.


posted by Zan 11:37 AM

Sunday, November 09, 2003

 
Maman is still in the hospital. We (P, Sheema and the baby girl) are leaving for Denmark in a few weeks. I have applied as a visiting student to a Danish university for the spring semester. P will return to the U.S. while the girl and I will stay behind for the spring.

Today on the phone
Sheema: Maman I look forward to seeing you.
Maman: Yes I do too... but make sure you lose weight before coming to Denmark.
posted by Zan 6:51 PM

Friday, November 07, 2003

 
Like every night -before the little girl goes to bed- her song... Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody was playing on the computer and... I was reading the news/a few blogs... when my must-read blog The Eyeranian suddenly became the center of her attention ...and my little girl... started... calling for the Barney. Pedram Moallemian's musical day almost became my musical nightmare... before... I found the perfect Barney site with plenty of Barney music for the young lady.

posted by Zan 3:47 PM

Thursday, November 06, 2003

 
...fight it Maman...fight it...for I will be lost for the longest time without hearing your voice on the other side of the phone...
...I look in the mirror and can't find me...
posted by Zan 7:25 PM

 
Maman...today is a foggy day...so foggy... that I can't see my heart's pieces hanging from my fingers. My thoughts are too loud to bear grief...I want to make a deal with the gods...

...P and I will call your doctor tomorrow...he wasn't there today...
posted by Zan 11:48 AM

Tuesday, November 04, 2003

 
Maman...ever since I opened my eyes into yours...my love for you...has evenly spread in my body...like...when spirits grow into humans and become...mothers and daughters...
posted by Zan 6:20 PM

Monday, November 03, 2003

 
Unfinished

It is not a matter of if but when
we no longer are a mother and a child
(you the mother and I the child)

...when our time is over
and darkness falls...

and you -may be- the first to cross
the threshold of winter's bones, and then I
step into the unknown world
where we will never again
be a mother and a child
(you the mother and I the child)
...
posted by Zan 12:19 PM

 
...both the girl and I have a cold.
posted by Zan 10:22 AM

Friday, October 31, 2003

 
Happy Birthday Maman

My dad is taking us (mom+Sheema+Sheema's two brothers) to Shem-shak (one of the ski resorts near Tehran). I am a Ten-year-old girl who wants to stay in the warm bed and never to wake up at 3 A. M. to her mom's kheshhhh kheshhhhh sound of skiing outfit...walking in the next room. Dad dressed and ready (already has made sandwiches, has put extra hats/ gloves, etc. in the back of the red station car and) is waiting downstairs for Sheema and her two brothers to get ready and leave before the traffic gets heavy. Why today is any different than all the other-every-winter- Fridays? Well I still remember it after all these years. Not only for the accident we had on the way back which made my parents suffer financially and physically for two ugly months but also because while we were stuck in the Tehran-Shemshak's ever existing traffic and bad drivers...mom told us (her three kids) to never smoke or drink. Now...years later I still don't smoke cigarettes/drugs...I don't eat pork (red meat in general,) fried food, and I don't drink alcohol or coffee but (yes there is a but) I am a chocoholic. Chocolate is my biggest weakness (I see a dark chocolate and I can feel my body is experiencing some sort of immediate ache for the blinking poisonous beauty.)
Why am I writing all these is because as a first time mom I want my daughter...as she grows older to stay away from addictions...to drugs/alcohol and talking heads (keh saro kaleye adam-o mibaran) and Chocolate...


posted by Zan 8:08 AM

Wednesday, October 29, 2003

 
From Where Have These Flies Come?*

From where have these flies come

that sit upon on the dead meat
and have taken my father out
of his grave and for my mother sangsaar**
before she was hung in Maidane E'dam***?

Who are these flies,
what are these flies,
which have painted my eyelashes with dirt
and have put this cut heart of mine on top
of their arrows and have burned my hair
with the fire of shame?

Who are these flies,
what are these flies,
which question my moral judgment
and place my head on the guillotine of guilt?

Who are they that take out
my eyelashes one by one
to parade on the field of their self-righteousness?!

From where have these flies come?

And to where must I go to be rid
of the disease and filth that they carry in their hearts?

* Version (by Sheema Kalbasi and Roger Humes) based on Kalbasi's Farsi poem In Magas-ha Az Koja Amadehand?
** Ritual stoning
*** A square in Tehran once used for public executions

posted by Zan 4:52 PM

Tuesday, October 28, 2003

 


A Fading Voice

I come from a land
where god never exists

god...
god...

When the children called him
When the fathers called him
When the mothers called him
The sisters
Brothers...

god
took his eyes out
cut his ears off
cut his tongue off
out of the dirty land (god) took his heart out

god banished that land!

Sheema Kalbasi
posted by Zan 5:12 PM

Monday, October 27, 2003

 

Since my article Ayatollah Ebadi was published I received considerable number of responses. Most of them were encouraging. Some were critical of my point of view at the same time as providing well-reasoned arguments and factual references to historical events, and I value and appreciate such opposing views. There were also some angry notes and remarks published on Iranian.com. Some of those remarks are not worthy of response, for example that Ms. Ebadi was fighting in Iran while I was spending my time in nightclubs or as women we must stand behind Ms. Ebadi. Here I try to summarize and respond to some of the opposing views to the best of my ability.

Am I not confusing Islamic Republic with Islam. Am I attacking Ms. Ebadi for her religious beliefs? The answer is no. As a matter of fact, the article was not an attack on Islam, Fegh, or even Islamic Republic or Ms. Ebadi's beliefs. It was an objection to Ms. Ebadi's approach to address profound social and cultural problems in Iran through reconciling Fegh with human rights. Compatibility of Islam with democracy and human rights is a hotly debated topic within religious circles. Ms. Ebadi and some renowned clerics believe Islam and human rights can be reconciled, many others don't share this view. If we listen to Friday sermons in Iran we find numerous examples of the latter group.

Islamic theologians are welcome to spend years and years debating this issue and I will be very interested to follow this debate closely. While I am not in a position to participate in this debate, I have the right to demand that the fate of our nation shall not hinge upon the outcome of such debate. The history of mankind has shown that only through separation of religion and state, religion gets the dignity it deserves and the society gets the freedom it needs to foster and safeguard the so-called "marketplace of ideas." The odds that our nation suddenly discovers a new magical recipe that contradicts thousands of human experience is, realistically, slim to none.

Ms. Ebadi is living and working in Iran. She cannot express her opinions freely. Am I not expecting too much? It is a rather tricky question, which also keeps me wondering. On the one hand I have to admit that she is already under so much pressure. After all she is a human being with all the emotions and fears. And in fairness to Ms. Ebadi, she didn't choose to become a Nobel Laureate. On the other hand, there are numerous examples of people shouting their conscience under much harsher conditions without enjoying a Nobel class protection. A few examples are Abbas Amir-Entezam, Akbar Ganji, Hashem Aghajari, Heshmatollah Tabarzadi, Kianoush Sanjari, Ahmad Batebi, Mohammad Maleki, Manouchehr Mohammadi,... The list goes on. Each of these people has broken new grounds at the same time as having not shied away from speaking up. As a matter of fact I can point to some specific examples of people who have pursued a timid approach and have been punished more heavily (does Abdi and Poorzand ring a bell?)

If Ms. Ebadi decides to continue helping women and children and represent victims, nobody can force her to do otherwise. But when she suggests a particular approach to solving Iran's profound problems, she opens the door to criticism. This is the responsibility of every one of us to challenge each other and to make the views transparent.
One reader noted that my reference to Black civil rights movements was indeed an example of how change could come from within the legal system instead of being a counter-example by pointing to the role of the Warren Supreme Court. While this is certainly an interesting and productive discussion, my point was to warn against setting a discourse blindly without examining the alternatives from the wealth of experience provided by human history.

Finally some readers found the title of the article provocative. This objection goes to Mr. Jahanshah Javid (Iranian.com editor) who picks the titles!


All that is left
to us by tradition
is mere words.
It is up to us
to find out what they mean.

-- ibn al-'Arabi, Tarjuman al-Ashwaq, in The Mystics of Islam, translated by Reynold A Nicholson


Read Niloofar Beyzaie's latest article.
posted by Zan 9:09 AM

Friday, October 24, 2003

 


Sheema the Party breaker... was what P called me today after telling him about the music compiler- Ms. Azam's letter to the Iranian.com.

...I grew up hearing about some Iranian people (what 90% of the Iranian population?) seeing Mr. Khomaini's face on the moon. If you do not know the story let me start over. One of the nights when the IRI had just come to power (and I was what? 4, 5 years old?) every one became part of this ground breaking news in the 20th century that The Moon is made of cheese and the face of Imam Khomaini (?) can be seen on the moon. Anyways now after years of IRI and seven years of Reformists and the game of Khatami verses Khameni, we have a new candidate, Ms. Ebadi.

Neither Shah and Khomaini nor Rajavi, Tabari and Reformists have fooled us. It is we the people who choose not to hear, not to see and not to know! Islamic Human Rights? What about Human Rights for Muslims since Iran is a home to the Bahaies, Jews, Christians, Zoroastrians and Communists as well as Muslims? What about Human Rights for the Humans?

Please don't come up with arguments such as Ms. Ebadi lives in Iran and she has to be careful, etc. What about Mr. Ganji or Mr. Amir Entezam? Even in the prisons of the IRI... they stand for their beliefs.... Give me facts...give me facts and not your assumptions. I don't want your assumptions... and as for saying Sheema (myself) doesn't live in Iran, etc....well I didn't win the Nobel Peace Prize, Ms. Ebadi did and her responsibilities are no longer limited to just what she used to do!

...and Sheema's comment to P was: Am I a party breaker? Bad Sheema. Bad!

The Ashes Wept

The ashes wept from a paste-yellow sky
while flowing from the river of the heart
to the soul of the sea the anguish tasted
bitter and dry in the mouths of a nation
who were hidden behind the veil of despair.

When I was five years old the supreme
interpreters informed us that a moon
of cheese shone forth with the face
of the Imam - not the smiling face
of the kind tales but the stern face
of the taskmaster who watched our every sin.

And Al'Lat* wept from her throne
in the underworld for they had turned
their backs upon the lion and the queen
who had knelt before the wisest of kings,
and Al'Lat wept seven times for to lift
up their power they had stepped
on the necks of those they proclaimed to save...

...when I was five years old...

...he watched my every move from the moon...

...when I was five years old...

...Al'Lat wept ashes from a paste-yellow sky...

*Pre-Islamic goddess of the moon and the underworld.
posted by Zan 5:54 AM

Thursday, October 23, 2003

 


Ayatollah Ebadi? Shirin Ebadi seems far from acknowledging separation of religion and state.

For P and our baby girl:

I belong to you
And you
You belong to me too
You make my life complete
You make me feel so sweet
You make me feel so divine
Your soul and mind are entwined
Before you I was blind
But since I've opened my eyes
And with you there's no disguise
So I could open up my mind
I always loved you from the start
Lyrics by Lenny Kravitz
posted by Zan 8:23 AM

Tuesday, October 21, 2003

 


We, the Iranians, usually don't listen to each other. When we do we usually hear only what we want to hear.

I am not sure if the crowd that praises Ms. Ebadi has ever listened to what she has to say, and if so, if they have actually heard her out. Let me make it clear that as an Iranian I am very proud to see an Iranian woman to become not only the first Iranian Nobel Laureate but also the first Muslim woman to receive this honor. But I have to admit that I am extremely disappointed by her views. In a round table with BBC, she made several disturbing remarks. First was her emphasis on the possibility of reconciling human rights with Islamic Fegh. She gave examples of the flexibility of Islamic Fegh to serve the specific needs of the society through the so-called "ahkam-e-sanaviyeh." This was given against the backdrop that "reason" is one of the sources of knowledge and wisdom in Islam. Make no mistake Ms. Ebadi. The Islamic establishment in Iran is very pragmatic in the way they handle Fegh. The only problem is that they use it as a flexible tool to serve their own goals and why not? After all they are the "supreme interpreters" of what Fegh should be about. Ms. Ebadi, what you are suggesting was institutionalized years ago through formation of the Expediency Council (which is now headed by Mr. Rafsanjani)? Recall that this council was established with the mandate to even abolish daily prayers as seen fit by the members. Somebody wrote on one of the Internet sites: "Ms. Ebadi please leave Fegh to Foghaha." Let them do their job you do yours.

Second, Ms. Ebadi vehemently insists on abiding by the laws of the land. It is not clear though whether it is her belief, some sort of moral judgment, or just a convenient tactic. What if the "laws of the land" are inherently discriminatory, with no room for meaningful changes except by the approval of the discriminators (which in almost all practical situations would mean never)? Should they then be abided by? Is this Aristotelian view of the law the only alternative? Black Americans challenged Jim Crow by intentionally but peacefully breaking the segregation laws of the South. Does this make their struggle any less worthy? What about Gandhi's civil disobedience movement? What about American antiwar protesters who burned draft cards to refuse to serve in the Vietnam War? Weren’t those people, speaking, or actually shouting their conscience? Isn't the over-emphasis on abiding by the law one of the biggest impediments of the reformist movement? Hasn't it been one of the leading causes of the current political stalemate? Laws that don't reflect the conscience of the society deserve no more respect than the rules set by a band of thieves.

Without complete separation of religion and state we will be doomed to re-experience failures over and over. Ms. Ebadi seems to be far from acknowledging this, let alone taking any steps towards leading the society in such direction. Nevertheless, I still have some hope that the people of Iran could benefit from her standing as a Nobel Laureate but it all depends on us. Now that the honeymoon is over, we have to look at the hard facts and increase our level of expectations from her. Meaningless "tarofs" will do us no good, nor will it do justice to Ms. Ebadi. Ms. Ebadi needs our help to prove it to herself and to the world that she indeed deserved the honor. For this to happen, Ms. Ebadi should set an example of a Muslim who can be democrat and who can respect human rights not a preacher of Islamic democracy and Islamic human rights.


posted by Zan 7:52 PM

Thursday, October 16, 2003

 

Conscious optimism
The Iranian Noble Peace prizewinner, Ms. Shirin Ebadi seems to have become the greatest attraction in the western media since the movie Not Without My daughter. Ms. Ebadi, a blind spot and a ticking bomb in the heart of the Islamic Republic of Iran can be compared to what Mr. Khomaini was to the Shah. She may be an excellent choice for the future of Iran if only she uses her popularity to advocate genuine human rights and democracy for Iran as well as the Muslim world (I hope she will not get killed by the government-made-accidents!)

I am invited to be the guest co-editor for the muse-apprentice-guild.com 2004.

Today: A daughter of autumn, the Scorpion-Sheema takes her little girl for a walk to enjoy the sun dance in the beautiful New England before returning to work on a Psychology report and feeding the baby. Her husband (the cleaning robot) is out of town. Sheema...struggling with a suffocating dish washer and a dead garbage disposal, is not sure what the next life-saving-decision should be to stop the dirty dishes from bungee jumping on top of one another!

Check maaniha and Babak Ghaffari (poetry).


posted by Zan 7:22 PM

Sunday, October 12, 2003

 

What would Ms. Ebadi's Nobel peace prize mean for Iran and the Iranian people struggle for democracy?
It is still too early to say. So far one may understand Ms. Ebadi's position in two different ways. One is a more humane interpretation of Islam. The other is a secular interpretation; one that asserts Muslims can remain Muslims at the same time as being modern, tolerant, and democratic. The dividing line between these two interpretations is fine and delicate. The former conditions the acceptance of human rights and democracy on compatibility with Islamic law by trying to create Islamic human rights, Islamic democracy and so on; a sort of "modernity light" if you will. The latter advocates genuine human rights and democracy for the Muslim world. The former is what Soroush and the reformist camp have tried to establish for many years with absolutely no success whatsoever. The latter can bring about radical changes not only in Iran but also in the whole Middle East. Only time will show what camp Ms. Ebadi really belongs to and how she would use her influence as a Nobel laureate to shape the future of Iran and the Middle East. No matter what, now is the time for celebration. Congratulations to Ms. Ebadi for this great achievement.


What would the mullahs do if the US launched an air strike at a nuclear plant in Iran? What would the Iranian people think about it?
The key point in this debate is that we are dealing with an irresponsible government in Iran. The international community and the Iranian people have every right to be concerned about nuclear ambitions of the regime. This includes not only military use of nuclear technology but also peaceful use such as power production. Personally I don't want to be living anywhere near Bushehr nuclear power plant should it ever become operational because I seriously doubt that safety concerns keep mullahs and their Russian contractors awake at night! And God help us if these people ever get their hands on nuclear trigger. In the event of air strikes, I don't think Mullahs can do much other than making some noise and throwing some people in jail to consolidate their rule. People may act in many different unpredictable ways. Everything and anything is conceivable so I don't know What would the Iranian people think about it!
posted by Zan 8:35 PM

Friday, October 10, 2003

 
...We run through the forests of emotion
with the wolves of the heart at our heels
in search of the moon and the blood, in search
of the perfect prey to lay between our jaws
as we wait for the sweet music
of when bones and hope crunch beneath
a savage assault and dreams are left a corpse
lain to rest under the ethereal light...

Sheema Kalbasi & Roger Humes

Shirin Ebadi, a judge, lecturer, writer and a female human rights and democracy activist, wins 2003 Nobel Peace Prize. Congratulations Ms. Ebadi. (The baby Shirin Ebadi with her mom).

There are a few rules...that the baby has to follow...one is sleeping at 8:00 p.m. but...we had pacifier-crises last night! The baby is not allowed to have her pacifier anywhere but in the bed (and I if I had not had a C-section and if I had not experienced problems with breastfeeding and if… she wouldn't have had a pacifier in the first place!) ...since the baby's one and only pacifier was out of sight but not out of (her) mind...P decided to go and find/buy the-baby-right-type-pacifier (he spent some $18 and... all were rejected by the little girl!) So from the baby not sleeping up until 11:45 p.m. (I am not sure what time the father/daughter went to sleep because around 11:30 I took a leave from motherhood and retired to bed while hearing P's voice pleading: Don't leave me with the baby, pleaszzz -the little girl is running around the house and doesn't seem to be sleepy...) to the baby not sleeping at 8:00 p.m. to the baby not sleeping at 8:00 p.m. to the baby not sleeping at 8:00 p.m. to the baby not sleeping at 8:00 p.m. to the baby not sleeping at 8:00 p.m. left P and I with a difficult-parenting-night to remember.

Alireza Behnam has a new discussion on Sohrab Sepehri (Iranian Poet)...while you are there check Mr. Behnam's works.

Hoder has written a fun-to-read article...He writes what could the Mullahs do if women decide to take off their Hijab? ...It reminds me of what my dad used to say: The Iranian women should shave off ther heads and come to the streets... lets see what they (Mullahs) say about that!

When I read/see/hear some Iranians favor a "Che" Guevara without having prior knowledge on how many deaths he's responsible for and haven't even heard of a Chico Mendes (a famous Brazilian environmentalist who was murdered 10 years ago for opposing the destruction of the rainforest) makes me very disappointed.....
...just found this blog by Reza Eghbal.
posted by Zan 6:33 AM

Thursday, October 09, 2003

 



To the readers of Lam Ta Kam (it 's a site for Persian poetry-written for every one by every one.)

I do not know why this poem needs to be defended or attacked. It is not a human being and does not feel, hear, understand your pain or love hidden behind the comments you leave on these pages. This writing/work/poem/brain storming is neither the best of my works nor the last one. If you dislike the poem so much so to call me a whore you are welcome to do that for I am a human first and last and no one can change this fact in this lifetime. I do not live with your rules for I have mine and I will not be limited by your rules for I am born free and will live free and fight for my rights and yours!
posted by Zan 7:29 AM

Wednesday, October 08, 2003

 
...every night the window panes are shattered ,

not by a football ,

or by the sarcasm of an onlooker ,

but by an undistinguishable boom from above ,

like the echo of an execution bullet from a distance !

Maryam Hoole




Welcome to Iran: a country where a rapist has more right than a woman. Welcome to Iran: This is where a woman is hanged for protecting herself from a rapist. Welcome to Iran: a country where defending yourself from an aggressor is a crime and punishable by death. Welcome to my land! I am Afsaneh Noroozi, prisoner number 55,644,568.

(P: why this number?
Sheema: out of the 60,000,000 Iranians, Noroozi is number 55,644,568.
P: and the rest are?
Sheema: The bloodthirsty mob of the Iranian government.
P: Very Interesting)



posted by Zan 7:15 AM

Tuesday, October 07, 2003

 
Maman will be hospitalized tomorrow...I take me out of me and let her sit on the floor and put her arms around me. I call P and tell him when he comes home he has to touch me with care for I will break if his kisses are anything but soft... What is the sound when doves weep? What is the sound when crows cry...
posted by Zan 3:30 PM

 
On July 27th, I had received an invitation to attend a Middle Eastern Studies conference at Harvard. The plan was for P, the baby and I to go for the weekend (...p and the baby to spend the weekend sightseeing Boston.) This was the plan made three months ago...for last weekend...but what happened were an exam (Sheema having an exam) and a cold (Sheema having fever and cold!) We ended up staying home with a cranky Sheema (myself) and an Iranian husband (P) discussing Iran's current political events while trying to assemble the baby's first vehicle (a green, yellow and navy blue, German-made tricycle.) I also had to call my attorneys to discuss some legal issues. It feels good to live in the U.S.A., a country where my rights as a human and a female poet are protected and harassment in every shape and form is not tolerated.




Beyond Borders

What is the sound when doves weep,
what is the sound when crows cry...

Beyond borders
we climb through
the sadness of time
to stop the killing
of the blushing birds
and of the summer days...
and not to hide within the white winds
in hope of some distant heaven
or of a vision of spring.

What is the sound when mirrors shatter,
what is the sound when forests burn...

Beyond borders
we climb through
the sadness of time
to stop the deforestation
of the oceans
that are filled with the blood
and the mute agony
of the blushing birds.

What is the sound when waters flow red,
what is the sound when winds suffer mute...

Beyond borders
we climb through
the sadness of time
where the men are speechless
and hindered by their centuries' worth of silence...
in a place where the conviction of innocence
when raped from the soul and lost to the generations
kills the perfect dream of freedom-hope-peace.

What is the sound when dreams die,
what is the sound when hope turn to dust...

Beyond borders
we climb through
the sadness of time
and question the antique patriot love
and question if death can be expelled
from the vocabulary of the mortal
and question if the lifelong grief for a martyr
can become unaccustomed to my mother tongue.

What is the sound when doves weep,
what is the sound when crows cry...

Sheema Kalbasi & Roger Humes

If you like to read modern Persian poetry….you can check Lam Ta Kam.

posted by Zan 7:20 AM

Monday, October 06, 2003

 
So now I have my own page on Artists Without Frontiers!
posted by Zan 7:34 AM

Friday, October 03, 2003

 


Dror Yikra*

She knew no haste in this futureless present
when she denied me eternity
and renounced my wishes.

The tears came to my eyes,
vanquishing all hope, the tears
of flame that echo in the ocean
of the soul and flow from the rivers
of aspiration that course
through the veins of our lives

...for the past is the past
but when may it be laid to rest…

while I chanted the enchantment
for the funeral of the hearts, she asked
if ashes are all that remain
of the dead what use is prayer
when one is dead.

But I shall stand tall, for I have my Dror Yikra,
and even though death will take my body,
my desires and hope will live the eternal life
in those who have listened to my voice
and will tell her of my faultless being
that deserved to live in freedom.

*Traditional Jewish prayer for freedom.

Sheema Kalbasi & Roger Humes


posted by Zan 6:57 AM

Wednesday, October 01, 2003

 
Last night I finished reading Shaban Nikou, Mahasti Shahrokhi's latest work. The characters in Mahasti's book portray a refreshing new perspective on Iranian life in Diaspora. It is a delightful read.

Hossein Derakhshan has written an article on How weblogs can change the way the world sees Iran.


posted by Zan 9:06 AM

Tuesday, September 30, 2003

 
Nurit Galron's voice goes with the Autumn, doesn't it?

The Casualties Of War

The casualties of war are the zeros
that never exist in history

but I remember when

the sister embraced her younger brother
as they sat upon the porch,
La Vita a Bella playing softly
from a cheap radio,
with nothing but a blanket
to protect them from the bombs,
to protect them from the soldiers.

The sun set crimson in the east
reflected her blood and his
all over the road

and the guns were as empty
as the eyes of the soldiers
whose boots were stained forever
with the mark of Cain
from the blood of the innocent.

Sheema Kalbasi & Roger Humes
posted by Zan 9:21 AM

Friday, September 26, 2003

 
Nuke Mullahs? Thanks but No Thanks!

A man is often judged for the way he treats his family. Governments are that father figure to the people. An oppressive regime such as one in the present Iran, as well as being a threat to the Iranians is a danger to other nations. It is obvious that there should not be Nuke Mullahs.


posted by Zan 7:39 PM

 
searching and searching to find...constant reminder of-where do I belong to! why can I not find a common ground with those in power? Why I do not understand the language they speak, the ideology they believe in and the life they live? Their belief is covered with thick black ice and I'm a tiny little one- melting away! They know they are the superior race! They have enslaved me...with the direct connection to their God/s! And they make me feel ugly to my bones. And to them...I am a whore...walking in the streets of my life...they don't care...But they have their Iran and I Have Mine!

After I read Shadi's post about her recent trip to Iran...I asked P if he missed Iran.
P: No. I do not miss Iran. Do you?
Sheema: Yes I do miss Iran but it feels like burning ashes.
posted by Zan 1:51 PM

Wednesday, September 24, 2003

 
P has one of his moments tonight. He is fed up with everything and everyone. He is fed up with his favorite TV host Chris Matthews who literally turned his show Hardball into Arnold Schwarzenegger's campaign headquarters. He is fed up with iran-emrooz and similar sites that are full of irrelevant articles about Republic versus Monarchy written by people who apparently lack the slightest understanding about the extent of the tragedy that religious tyranny has brought upon Iran. Baby's happiness when P comes back from work is an oasis of relief among all the nerve-racking experiences of the day and articles/shows of the night. Sleep tight baby!
posted by Zan 9:22 PM

 
a few nights ago...

We (P, the baby and I) were driving to Barnes & Noble to check some books and I heard Salam Pax on the NPR.
P's hand goes to change the station.
Sheema: No, let us hear. It's Salam Pax's interview.
P: Who is Salam Pax?
Sheema: The Baghdad Bloger
P: That guy! Okay, sure let us hear what he says.

...after a while...

P: Why these radios don't interview Iranian bloggers? What was the name of that Journalist bloger? Wasn't it Sina? Why don't they interview Hussein Derakhshan or Sina Mottalebi? Or you?

Between the baby's constant request to sing her Barney's song and P talking about the Iranian students in the prisions of the oppressive regime, I only heard something like: I will not leave Iraq. It is a historic time and I don't want to miss it (...You can hear his interview on the Fresh Air and here is G's blog. Last May, I let my readers know that Salam Pax was back on line...so he already is part of the zaneirani-readers-family...)


Last night I put the little girl in her bed and went to open the window...and as hours passed the images waltzed their way into the "Good Night Baby Girl".

Good Night Baby Girl

I open the window
so that she can hear the sound of the night,
so that she can smell the fresh scent,
and when the rain starts
she will hear her mama again
walking quietly as a breeze of air
to cover her from the cool of the storm.

Watch her gently as she stirs slightly,
amazed by the face, so small
and innocent, that reflects the generations
back through untold time, that moves
toward a future shaped and molded
by who we are, by from where we came,
by the question mark of where we are today.

Notice the little hand
that clutches the blanket, so perfectly
formed, sculpted by love and
the grace of God, the hand which someday
perhaps will cover with a blanket
her own baby girl and remember the moments
when she was young and knew
even in her sleep that mama was there.

Reach down and the fingers so tiny,
so fragile yet so strong in their quiet slumbered love
unconsciously wrap around mine
and transmit pulse through my body,
circling, snaking, dancing through me
with a warmth that runs from my heart
to my womb, and reminds me of the bond
that will connect us as long as she lives.

Tip-toe from her room and return to mine,
slip between the blankets lest I rouse him
from his rest, although I wouldn't mind,
for at this moment it would be wonderful
to disappear into a small nested universe
where twined beneath the lullaby of the rain

we would remember the miracle

from which she came.

Sheema Kalbasi & Roger Humes

...these are a few more blogs I check on from time to time:
i have a headache , not a fish , CYBER ARCHITECT , ReachM High, Persian Students in the United Kingdom, iraniantruth, cyberwriter, polskipers and matthias klein.







posted by Zan 12:10 PM

Friday, September 19, 2003

 
Listening to the birth of crystals is an anthology benefiting Merseyside Society for Deaf People and National Deaf Children’s Society. Sangsar, Exile and Surface of attraction are three of my poems that will be part of this collection.

Mahasti Shahrokhi is a writer-friend. A journalist, theater critic and storyteller, Mahasti is best known for her book A Shawl as Long as the Silk Road (Shali Be Derazay Jadeye Abrisham). I read the book last year and I liked it a lot. Now it’s your turn.
posted by Zan 10:23 AM

Thursday, September 18, 2003

 
Iran: An Unfit Mother

Iranian Children do not have rights. The 9-year-old Narges is the latest victim I know of. She is been physically abused and injured by a family member. If you know of/are an attorney… Narges may be a/the case for you. She is one of many abused children in Iran. Break the cycle today.

My poet-friend Leila Farjami has started her weblog. I recommend reading her writings.
posted by Zan 1:38 PM

Wednesday, September 17, 2003

 
Happy Birthday dear Elham!

My girl has learned to 1) clean her table after eating the meal 2) hand me her dishes/cups from the dish washing machine (dish washer)...great achievements for both of us (mother & daughter). It makes life easier when a person learns to clean after himself/herself as a child and not as a teenager/adult.

My friend’s comment on yesterday’s blog:

ANN COULTER seems to live the debating maxim of American Cable news: "If I can outshout you, I win."
Sheema, have you read Animal Farm? I can just picture Coulter bleating "Two legs good, four legs bad!"


posted by Zan 9:57 AM

Tuesday, September 16, 2003

 
ANN COULTER is one of the least intellectuals when it comes to the issues related to Iran and the Middle East...

Who are these so-called experts?


...at breakfast:


P: There should have been a reform in 1978-1979 and a revolution right now!

Sheema: The government of a country represents the attitude and the viewpoint of that nation/people. Right now Iran represents terrorism, stoning, torture and killing...

The baby: Moni…Barney…thank you…must (yogurt)…mmmm…mmmm…eema (Sheema)…moni…baba…
posted by Zan 11:00 AM

Friday, September 12, 2003

 
Leila Farjami's poetry is sharp and intelligently written.

...Pardon me if I am too shallow
my ancestral teapot has thousand-year old stains
my heart, thousand-layered ventricles pumping
galaxy of cells; stars
and my drinking water
is still soiled
by the maggots of the Dead Sea...

...and I love Hurt by Johnny Cash... he Died today.
posted by Zan 8:08 AM

Thursday, September 11, 2003

 
11 September

The gray bird does not sit
on the tall dry tree,
the red fox is gone,
the bulimic night will soon
give way to the dawn.

Within the ebon eclipse of these hours
I shall fast for the green days,
and in the deep darkness of my soul
the lamp will shine bright
and the mirror reflect back a world
where no one hates me
for the brown beauty of my life.

Sheema Kalbasi & Roger Humes

...Ground Zero and Today on the Day 9/11...
posted by Zan 8:17 AM

Wednesday, September 10, 2003

 
Yesterday's tomorrow: sad things happening right now...there was a gray bird on the tall tree...there was a red fox...there were signs...isn't this called Abnormal psychology?
posted by Zan 8:23 PM

 
P: Is this the type of wisdom you want our child to have/learn from?

Sheema: Is it really what I want her to remember me by? Is it how I want her to treat her surrounding? Is there a right way to live?
posted by Zan 8:17 PM

 
What is it to you if I am a Jew, a Muslim, a Shinto, a Christian, or a Hindu? What is it to you if I am an Iranian, an Arab or a Mongol... a homosexual, a transsexual or a hetero…What is to you where I am from…or what faith I have…for I am a Human first and… last.

September/ 11/01

I cannot walk
My nerves have failed my knees
Doctors say: She is scared
I cannot write, my hands are short
my soul dried up
not one word
empty chest
blinded eyes
no poetry for me
I am too black to write
Born on the wrong side of the world
My eyes are too dark to see
Once I wrote about the roses,
Now the joy is lost

September/14/01

I do not speak
My accent is too bruised
Not one word, one word to say; to write
I do not go (out)
I cry
Baby in my womb vomits in anger
I do not want sex
I do not want food; I do not leave the four-walled room
I am tired
I do not want to hear, see, or read
I want to have the bluest eyes
I want to have the blondest hair
I want to have the tallest legs (to show off by the sea?)
Does it sound American enough?
I want
I want
I want

I want to know why when those bluest eyes,
blondest hair, bombed Oklahoma,
racial profiling was not in the news!

September/11/01

God please let it not be Iranians,
Let it not be Middle Eastern, let it not be!
Please God let it not be those who look like my brothers
Do Not you go today!
My brother sits at home all day long, all night long!

September/20/01

No
No poetry for me
The sounds of spring,
Flying birds!
The Mud,
Covering the ears!
Tears: falling,
Fear's: pulling
I fear

Lives lost in the ashes
Broken souls

Unborn child
For you
I will change my very being
Tonight
I will ask god to give me blond hair
I will ask god to give me blue eyes
I will ask god to let me
I will ask god to let me
I will ask god to let me...
Today I heard
Today I heard
Today I learned
Today I learned a new word: Hijackers
Today I learned: my hopes are dried
Today I know about not being born in the right part of the world

October/07/01

I am not an Arab
I keep telling them
Well what is the difference?
You are a Muslim!
I am not a Muslim
Well what is the difference?
...

No, not even you know the
the difference
between Indians,
Afghans, Muslims,
Sikhs, Hindus and Jews.
more than ever, there is no difference.

Sheema Kalbasi,
September 2001, USA
posted by Zan 10:31 AM

Tuesday, September 09, 2003

 
Today on Hoder’s blog I came across a familiar name. Nazila Fathi, a reporter for NY times! Nazila Fathi...a beautiful...slim girl...a year or two older...it’s not Nazila but Golnaz, the younger sister whom I remember most. Golnaz is an artist who was trained in calligraphy and drawing since we were in third grade. I have linked to them so that you can read/see the articles and painting by the sisters.
posted by Zan 2:03 PM