The Journey
Looking into my consciousness
I saw that
What had been said
And what had been heard
Seemed as if
They had never been said or heard
For all that had been said
Had been said in time and a place
And all that had been heard
Had been heard in time and a place
As I was floating in a void
There was neither time nor place
An infinite emptiness
In which everything was paradoxical
Black and white
Water and fire
Day and night
Love and hate
Life and death
In the floating void
All were changing places and becoming one
Was it all in the mind
Was it all nothing but hallucination
An attempt to understand
What seemed to be incomprehensible
Delirium in total tranquillity
There was no anxiety, confusion, agitation and haste
The mind was calm
Like a swan gliding on a beautiful lake
Or snowflakes dancing and descending from the sky
In the void
Everything is paradoxical
Nothing is what it appears to be
Truth is defined by merchants of souls
Love by Erida
Harmony by chaos
Salvation by damnation
An invisible force
Pulled me away
To where
Everything was engulfed in a thick cloud
In this infinite darkness and emptiness
There is, paradoxically, nothingness and everything
In the void, I began my spiritual journey
In search of everything
For everything lives in paradox
Life is death and death is life
Light is darkness and darkness is light
Good is evil and evil is good
Laughter is tears and tears are laughter
In this state of total delirium
I was floating with eyes closed
Going from nowhere to nowhere
Ascent or descent
A spiritual journey
A journey to the unknown
A journey in search of the truth
The journey of Christ to himself
Of Muhammad to the Heavens and Allah
And those to Mount Olympus, Shamayim, Asman, Heaven, Jannah, Asura,
Svarga, Real of Light, Brahmaloka, Asgard,
And many, many more
All in vain
All was just one
And one was nothing but an illusion
On this journey
The void was engulfed by thick dark clouds
The path had to be found
The path to the light
The light to the truth
The truth that was subject to paradoxes
I could hear Rumi whispering
“From inanimate, I became a living cell
I died from a living cell to become growing vegetation
From growing vegetation to the animal kingdom
Next I shall die as a human
And be reborn as an angel
Yet I shall die as an angel
And become what even the imagination can’t perceive.”
And is he now where even the imagination can’t comprehend
In the void the journey ends before it starts
And starts before it ends
Floating in the void engulfed by dark clouds
Nothing to see and nothing to hear
The Path could not be found
The light was darkness
And the journey had ended before it had started
The truth in the paradoxical dark void
Was a lie
Amir Marashi
You Know it is Time
You know it is time
when life offers no surprises
Days are assimilated into one another
And there is no excitement
At the first snow fall
Or daffodils
You know it is time
When there are no longer fewer and fewer
But only a few names on the calendar
Memories are no longer made
And the old ones are no longer visited
Neither Abba’s Dancing Queen
Nor the third movement of Beethoven’s Fifth
Evoke any feeling.
You know it is time
When time itself becomes irrelevant
The image in the mirror
Belongs to a stranger
Who both tolerates and tolerated
Whose name soon
Will be crossed in someone else’s calendar
You know it is time
When
Nothing left to do
Nothing left to say
You know it is time
When you tell yourself:
I am ready.
میدانی که زمانش فرا رسیده
میدانی که زمانش فرا رسیده است
آنگاه که زندگی
هیچ شگفت تازه ای به ارمغان نمی آورد
روزها در یکدیگر تحلیل گشته
و دیگر
نه در تماشای رقص دانه های اولین برف زمستانی
و نه درشکوفائی
نخستین گلهای نرگس در بهار
هیجانی دست نمی دهد
میداانی که زمانش فرا رسیده است
وقتی که نه تنها دیگر کمتر و کمتر
بلکه تنها معدودی نام در تقویم دیواری بجا مانده
خاطرات نو ساخته نمی شوند
وخاطرات قدیمی دیگر ورق نمی خورند
نه آهنگ
Dancing queen
از گروه
Abba
و نه
حرکت سوم سمفونی شما ره پنج بتهوون
احساسی را بر میانگیزد
میداانی که زمانش فرا رسیده است
وقتی زمان
تمام ارزش خود را از دست میدهد
و تصویر در آینه
تصویر بیگانه ای است
که هم تحمل میکند
و هم تحمل میشود
بیگانه ای که نامش بزودی
در تقویم های دیواری
خط میخورد
میداانی که زمانش فرا رسیده است
وقتی که
نه کاری مانده
و نه حرفی
میداانی که زمانش فرا رسیده است
آن زمان که به خود میگوئی
اکنون آماده ام
