Atelier Flight

Tough Guys

Posted on May 2, 2016     Leave a Comment

Be strong.
Don’t cry.
Let the tears pour down
the inside of your body
and ravage your soul,
until it’s rotten wood

Be strong.
Don’t cry.
Let the back of your eyes
break like two pipes.
Tears flow down the inside.
We’re tough guys.
We’re tough guys.

Drink and just replenish your supply.

Cold Spring

Posted on March 29, 2016     Leave a Comment

It’s a cold spring without you.
*
It’s a cold spring without your warm solace.
*
Winter did not turn to spring without you.
*
Your absence cast a cold shadow over spring.
*
It was in the spring that you left me
and brought winter back.
It never left.
You left a white frost in my brown hair.
That winter will never leave.
Frostbitten dreams.

Actor

Posted on June 1, 2015     Leave a Comment

The spotlight shines on you,
like a white moon.
The light falls upon you,
encircling you,
like a flock of countless white doves.
There is solitude in the spotlight,
as each dove glimmers,
those reflective bricks,
walls of mirrors.
The doves rest in your reflection
and you are at peace in their wings.

Your last part,
your final flight,
a spotlight remains,
as the crowd stares into an empty stage.

* * * *

Poem written for my father who passed away on May 21, 2015.

*  *  *

The Gray Curtain Over Life’s Window

Posted on June 1, 2015     Leave a Comment

Original post written on February 24, 2015

Words cannot express the extent of my sadness over my uncle Arash Ostadmohammad’s death. I remember being a kid and listening to various different kinds of music and I remember how he always directed me towards classical rock and roll, sometimes we would listen to my Guns N’ Roses albums, but that may have been his way of compromising. Arash Ostadmohammad was an amazing artist, in the true sense of the word. He could paint anything, anyone, anytime, andthat is what he decided to do. When he lived with us for a period of time he turned one of the rooms into his private studio and would paint for hours at a time. I remember one day he painted a rather somber painting and my mom, his sister, said it looked too depressing. He disagreed, but to make her happy, he painted what appeared to be a window in the upper right hand corner of the painting. Although I was a child, I knew that he did that just for her because he was perfectly happy with his somber painting. I also knew that the window’s addition was a big deal to him – it was his art. He eventually moved back to Sweden and then would go back and forth from Sweden to Iran. After he moved back to Sweden, he left many of his art pieces at my parents’ house. He never really left us and I don’t think he has left us now. I grew up surrounded by his creativity and genius.

Heart’s Night

Posted on July 29, 2013     Leave a Comment

I will never shed my last tear.
I will let it pour down under the surface of my face
where it will grow and spread its wings
from ear to ear
it will drip down,
continue to expand its wings,
and drop
like a giant liquid curtain
that will separate my heart
from the world.

Lock & Look

Posted on July 29, 2013     Leave a Comment

Your book has been closed,
but in my eyes
your story will live.
You possess me,
having read so much my pupils have become as black as the ink,
which made the words of your existence.
My pupils have become nothing,
but two words which signify your birth: you first and last name.
Your book has been closed,
however in my eyes there is a new certificate of your birth,
the words bolder than before,
a renewed declaration of life.

My brown eyes like the exterior of two rifles,
my ink-black pupils have become two dark barrels.
My pupils dilate, reloading, my whole body shakes,
my soul screaming like a pack of hungry lions, war cries….
With one firing look I drive away those,
who drove me away from you.