love

You haven't done much if you love back those who love you , the real art , which few are aware of , is loving those who hate you

It's 12:10 PM

Few minutes ago I got a text message from an old friend , a rather unsociable timid boy with whom I share tons of sweet memories. He was so upset , feeling down he had wanted to check if he could talk to me for some minutes . once more came a moment that I hated my placid teeth-exposing stupid grins , how can I laugh ignorantly when a person this close to my heart is immersed in some self-created deep swampy sadness . I feel deeply happy , what makes me every then and now swim up and pull myself out of this selfish pool of flecity and tolerate shivering as I stand out is the fear of drowning in the depth of my inner prosperity, I can't carry on laughing as I can see teardrops washing the faces of the people with whom I identify myself.
God give me the strengh to keep on loving people indiscriminately

Love

When you look back in time , you can always find people whom you once loved deeply but can't love anymore
but you don't have to hate them forever

selflessness

It was not until recently, when I entered dormitory five months ago , that I understood how selfishly I had been trying to seem sophisticatedly selfless . I had always claimed I had had the aim of letting my life center around people’s interest ,thought , I now understand in every single thing I did signs of self interest could be traced with very little difficulty. It was there that I learned things I never expected to learn, but now it seems to me I learned them from the right people in the right time and the right place. It sent a shiver, not of fear but of surprise, down my spine sometime at night when I felt a pillow being delicately tucked below my head the very first night I spent in my dorms. Only to wake up and see a total stranger ,now though to my delight a close friend ,had taken it from below his own head. It was there that I learned selflessness has to start from the simplest acts you do and messages you put out , although it’s difficult to turn a blind eye on your ego as it stares you in the face.
You know if all the people of the world are selfish they all have one person who cares deeply for them but imagine a world with selfless people, there every body has as many as there are in the world caring for him more than themselves and of course more than he himself does, there it’s easy to sacrifice yourself for the others safe in the knowledge that almost everyone else will do it when need be.

One of my poems

I don't regularly compose poems and when I do I don't share them with others
This one ,though, has been composed in response to a poem with the same oppening line someone once wrote for me , some one with a heart of gold , it deserved a reply

تو به زیبایی هر صبح که بر میخیزم
موجی از خنده و عشق میپاشی
تو به چشمان من خواب آلود
نور خوشرنگ سحر میبخشی
به سحر گاه من ناله کنان در سفری
گر چه از راز دلم بی خبری
تو که بودت همه از لطف خداست
نفس صبح من در بدری
تا سحر خواب تو را می بینم
و به زیبایی صبحی که در آن مال منی

غصه ها را ز دلم میچینم

composed by : Nima on Bahman 1st

A story of pain

My main goal of establishing this weblog was to spread joy and to share my surplus energy and enthusiasm with others , however, I will hate myself if I pass by people’s problems without even considering them worse a mention.
I consider myself a very lively and optimistic person with very few problems and obsessions typical of my class and age , I actually don’t care enough to bother myself thinking about matters which concern my likes. However , sometimes I see things which bruise my soul , annoy me to the bone , my spirit shakes uncontrollably , my heart-beat quickens , my eye pupils extend in size ,I sweat , become drained and void of enthusiasm to see the everyday beauties of life. One such time was last night , I haven’t recovered from it yet, I took a taxi , sat in the front beside this plain skinny dark-complexioned man in his thirties , his face awkwardly decorated with a thin moustache. The driver was a rather young good-looking man on whose face I could spot beads of sweat despite the very cold weather , his eyes nearly falling closed . As soon as they started talking I could feel the invisible flow of wounds landing on my soul. They talked of politics and social problems , manifesting a very simplistic yet rational understanding of politics and sociology , and finally of the hardship they had to go through everyday . Momentarily I was ashamed of myself for not sharing their difficulties. It was minutes before Midnight , the man beside me had just finished his second job . He hadn’t paid his rent ,he admitted, for two months . He earned little above what he had to hand to his landlord out of his two jobs . Talking of his little cute daughter whom he hadn’t seen awake for a weak and what ambitions he had nourished in mind before marrying the one he used to love but doesn’t afford to love any more formed tears in my eyes , I looked away not to let them notice I was interested to hear more . The driver’s story was as painful . Despite working hard he couldn’t meet the ends , claiming he had forgotten the taste of red meat . Likes of these people are not few around us and blithely unaware of their presence we keep obsessing over ridiculously abstract concerns . I am unbelievably happy I am not very rich , how could I otherwise look myself in the mirror .feels bitter to helplessly look around and have no bigger gift than a sigh to give .
Let’s do something please

It's said , most people will leave you if you so badly love them
maybe we are meant to lose things we love most, as some people say , or more probably people don't deserve love
I have never left any one because they loved me
this means, I suppose , I deserve love



...but wait a minute
Maybe I have never been truly loved , I have never been put to this test to see if I stand it or not

FRIEND OR FOE

I am so busy loving my friends that I have no time left to hate my enemies .
By the way , do I have any enemies?
Nomatter how long I think I don't find a person I can hate reasonably
So it's not only a matter of time

How I started being !

I was born on a splendidly colored , rather cold and windy yet an ordinary night in Fall roughly 22 years ago in Madar hospital ( Mashad) , to be exact on November 23d of 1985 , I thank any one responsible for giving me this chance , be it God or my parents. It should have been a very mysterious feeling then, I suppose I am pretty much used to it now , feeling my existence for the first time in a family of four. Second to my brother only after a year , I sometimes felt like an added burden on an already busy couple. My parents working conditions had us constantly moving from one city to another for my first years of life. They both worked, which meant I had little time to enjoy their companionship.
I remember this old woman, she was as ugly as she could , but kind like a mother , taking care of us when they were not in . A s a child I could never bring myself to love her. One thing which had until recently subconsciously bothered me about my childhood was my unfairly minimal share of pictures in our family album ; I had two or three pictures I think , Now ,though, I laugh at how childish a concern it had been. As a child I was never taken seriously, that can give me a clue why now I am so desperately trying to stand out. Not being taken seriously, at least how I viewed things then, made me effort doubly. If I am not jumping to a hasty conclusion I owe whatever I am proud of today to that “then perceived as bitter” period . On the other hand, I never lived like a child ; my mind was where big ambitions were being cooked . In a sentence: My childhood was spent dreaming of my adulthood maybe because I thought I would then attain what I deserved. However, I now feel the loss.