Cold Rain
Didn’t I stroll under its refreshing mist a thousand
times? Didn’t it make me wet on the way to
school? Didn’t it ruin my homework times and
again? Didn’t the young palms of my hands
endure the sting of punishment every time? Didn’t
it give me the cold, the congested nose and the
cough and the horrible taste of cough syrup
afterward? Didn’t I drop the vitamin C tablet in a
glass of water, dazzled with the fizzle and down it
with a frown? Wasn’t it all because of rain?
Wasn’t my first kiss under a broken umbrella?
Wasn’t it there sweet flavor of raindrops between
our steamy lips? If it wasn’t a rainy day, where
does the misty recollection come from? Why is it
flowing in my poem? Why does it shower my
thoughts? Why do I think of rain when I’m blue?
Why does it complement my delight?
Was it not true that when my aunt died, I cried
under the rain? Didn’t rain wash my tears? Didn’t
my sorrow make it fall? If rain has no feelings,
where does its sympathy come from? Why are my
sentiments soaked?
And now it’s pouring, this capricious rain. It’s
madly knocking on my lonely door, splashing on
the walls of my sorrow and drumming on the roof
of my youth. It’s seeping through the window
cracks of my room, dripping on the cherished
photos of mine. Through the foggy glass, I feel its
pain and embrace its hazy presence. Its beads are
freezing on the tips of nude branches. Autumn has
taken over, leaves have fallen. A long cold season
is on the way. Rain knows it well. Maybe I should
too.
Didn’t I stroll under its refreshing mist a thousand
times? Didn’t it make me wet on the way to
school? Didn’t it ruin my homework times and
again? Didn’t the young palms of my hands
endure the sting of punishment every time? Didn’t
it give me the cold, the congested nose and the
cough and the horrible taste of cough syrup
afterward? Didn’t I drop the vitamin C tablet in a
glass of water, dazzled with the fizzle and down it
with a frown? Wasn’t it all because of rain?
Wasn’t my first kiss under a broken umbrella?
Wasn’t it there sweet flavor of raindrops between
our steamy lips? If it wasn’t a rainy day, where
does the misty recollection come from? Why is it
flowing in my poem? Why does it shower my
thoughts? Why do I think of rain when I’m blue?
Why does it complement my delight?
Was it not true that when my aunt died, I cried
under the rain? Didn’t rain wash my tears? Didn’t
my sorrow make it fall? If rain has no feelings,
where does its sympathy come from? Why are my
sentiments soaked?
And now it’s pouring, this capricious rain. It’s
madly knocking on my lonely door, splashing on
the walls of my sorrow and drumming on the roof
of my youth. It’s seeping through the window
cracks of my room, dripping on the cherished
photos of mine. Through the foggy glass, I feel its
pain and embrace its hazy presence. Its beads are
freezing on the tips of nude branches. Autumn has
taken over, leaves have fallen. A long cold season
is on the way. Rain knows it well. Maybe I should
too.
Thief
It was late at night when we returned from the party,
both tired ready to get some sleep. As I turned the
key, I noticed the door was unlocked. Something was
wrong. Cautiously I nudged the door open just to face
a half-empty house. We’d been burglarized.
Neither the television nor the leather sofa in front of it
remained. My favorite ottoman wasn’t there. The
VCR, the camcorder and the stereo system were all
gone.
I rushed to the kitchen and grabbed a butcher knife
and ginger walked into every room, holding my breath
and ducking my head. Everything valuable in our
home was stolen. Even my wife’s cherished afghan.
>>>>
It was late at night when we returned from the party,
both tired ready to get some sleep. As I turned the
key, I noticed the door was unlocked. Something was
wrong. Cautiously I nudged the door open just to face
a half-empty house. We’d been burglarized.
Neither the television nor the leather sofa in front of it
remained. My favorite ottoman wasn’t there. The
VCR, the camcorder and the stereo system were all
gone.
I rushed to the kitchen and grabbed a butcher knife
and ginger walked into every room, holding my breath
and ducking my head. Everything valuable in our
home was stolen. Even my wife’s cherished afghan.
>>>>
Déjà Vu
After driving through the crowded
morning streets, I circled the block for the
second time and victoriously slipped into
the ultimate parking spot—the one right
across from my office. This
unprecedented event brightened my
morning. As I was locking the car door
and grinning to myself I noticed a small-
framed man standing on the sidewalk
looking through the window of an office
supply store.
Suddenly, I was overwhelmed with a
peculiar sentiment. I felt like a school boy
again, a lazy pupil with homework full of
mistakes, a student waiting for a severe
punishment. My palms stung from the
soul-piercing pain inflicted by the angry
strikes of the ruler. Confused and
shaken by this sudden event, cautiously I
took a few steps closer to the man who
was calmly standing there, utterly
unaware of my suffering, gazing at the
contents of the stationery shop
showcase. I knew what he was after, the
ruler with the metallic edges. It was his
favorite, the very kind that inflicted the
most pain on my young hands. >>>>
After driving through the crowded
morning streets, I circled the block for the
second time and victoriously slipped into
the ultimate parking spot—the one right
across from my office. This
unprecedented event brightened my
morning. As I was locking the car door
and grinning to myself I noticed a small-
framed man standing on the sidewalk
looking through the window of an office
supply store.
Suddenly, I was overwhelmed with a
peculiar sentiment. I felt like a school boy
again, a lazy pupil with homework full of
mistakes, a student waiting for a severe
punishment. My palms stung from the
soul-piercing pain inflicted by the angry
strikes of the ruler. Confused and
shaken by this sudden event, cautiously I
took a few steps closer to the man who
was calmly standing there, utterly
unaware of my suffering, gazing at the
contents of the stationery shop
showcase. I knew what he was after, the
ruler with the metallic edges. It was his
favorite, the very kind that inflicted the
most pain on my young hands. >>>>
End of a Day
The last day of the month when
Mr. Mahan woke, his mouth
had a strange bitter taste. After
breakfast he checked his
mailbox and found a letter, one
with no sender’s address.
When he looked at the
recipient’s address he was
puzzled, it was written in his
own handwriting as if he had
written it today. He was more
shocked when he noticed the
postmark date. The letter was
mailed over 30 years ago.
He wondered how he could
have received a letter after all
these years, a letter he’d sent
to him. He held the envelope
with two hands before his
dazzled eyes and murmured,
“In the last thirty years, I’ve
moved three or four times. Now
I’m supposed to believe that
the post office is so dedicated
as to track me down after all
these years to deliver this
letter? A letter I never wrote?”
>>>>
The last day of the month when
Mr. Mahan woke, his mouth
had a strange bitter taste. After
breakfast he checked his
mailbox and found a letter, one
with no sender’s address.
When he looked at the
recipient’s address he was
puzzled, it was written in his
own handwriting as if he had
written it today. He was more
shocked when he noticed the
postmark date. The letter was
mailed over 30 years ago.
He wondered how he could
have received a letter after all
these years, a letter he’d sent
to him. He held the envelope
with two hands before his
dazzled eyes and murmured,
“In the last thirty years, I’ve
moved three or four times. Now
I’m supposed to believe that
the post office is so dedicated
as to track me down after all
these years to deliver this
letter? A letter I never wrote?”
>>>>
Jacob
He covered his ears with the palms
of his hands and rose from his
chair tired after writing for hours.
Looking at the pile of papers on his
desk, he threw his pen aside,
massaged his aching fingers and
staggered toward his bed in the
corner. The roaring wind rattled the
window panes. An excruciating pain
radiated through his spine and
while he was whizzing, he wondered
why autumn was not his favorite
season. As he reached his bed, a
muffled voice eerily echoed in his
little room. He moved his face close
to the window and peered into the
darkness and saw nothing but his
own hazy reflection on the glass.
>>>>
He covered his ears with the palms
of his hands and rose from his
chair tired after writing for hours.
Looking at the pile of papers on his
desk, he threw his pen aside,
massaged his aching fingers and
staggered toward his bed in the
corner. The roaring wind rattled the
window panes. An excruciating pain
radiated through his spine and
while he was whizzing, he wondered
why autumn was not his favorite
season. As he reached his bed, a
muffled voice eerily echoed in his
little room. He moved his face close
to the window and peered into the
darkness and saw nothing but his
own hazy reflection on the glass.
>>>>
Girl behind the
window
different from where she
grew up. The street
below was overrun with
the crowd. Tons of young
people were gathered in
small circles,
passionately arguing.
Some held signs, waving
them furiously, heads
moved back and forth
and hands cut the air like
knives. She’d never seen
people that excited
before—what could have
made so many people so
angry? She wondered.
>>>>
window
different from where she
grew up. The street
below was overrun with
the crowd. Tons of young
people were gathered in
small circles,
passionately arguing.
Some held signs, waving
them furiously, heads
moved back and forth
and hands cut the air like
knives. She’d never seen
people that excited
before—what could have
made so many people so
angry? She wondered.
>>>>
Colors of Dream
In a day unlike any other, two toddlers
sat alone and out of their parents’
sight. They exchanged no words, they
just didn’t know how. Yet, with their
impulses, expressions and gestures,
they expressed their utter eagerness to
explore the world in which they’d
recently arrived.
In the midst of their childhood moment
and to their complete surprise, a
colorful ball suddenly fell between
them. The vivacious colors of their new
toy painted wide smiles on their faces.
Violet splashed on black, yellow curved
into white and purple tickled green.
Orange bumped into gray, scarlet
giggled with red to make cobalt feel so
blue. >>>>
In a day unlike any other, two toddlers
sat alone and out of their parents’
sight. They exchanged no words, they
just didn’t know how. Yet, with their
impulses, expressions and gestures,
they expressed their utter eagerness to
explore the world in which they’d
recently arrived.
In the midst of their childhood moment
and to their complete surprise, a
colorful ball suddenly fell between
them. The vivacious colors of their new
toy painted wide smiles on their faces.
Violet splashed on black, yellow curved
into white and purple tickled green.
Orange bumped into gray, scarlet
giggled with red to make cobalt feel so
blue. >>>>
Jen
My ominous association with ghosts goes back
to my early childhood years. Aunt Sedighe my
father’s youngest sister lived in Shoushtar, one
of the oldest cities in the world, dating back to
Achaemenian dynasty (400 BC). Shoushtar
used to be the winter capital of Sassanian
dynasty and it was built by the Karoun River.
The river was channeled to form a trench
around the city. A subterranean system called
ghanats connected the river to the private
reservoirs of houses and buildings, supplied
water during times of war when the main gates
were closed. The ruins of these ghanats still
exist and one was connected to aunt Sedeghe’s
house where my cousins and I explored if we
dared to. >>>>
My ominous association with ghosts goes back
to my early childhood years. Aunt Sedighe my
father’s youngest sister lived in Shoushtar, one
of the oldest cities in the world, dating back to
Achaemenian dynasty (400 BC). Shoushtar
used to be the winter capital of Sassanian
dynasty and it was built by the Karoun River.
The river was channeled to form a trench
around the city. A subterranean system called
ghanats connected the river to the private
reservoirs of houses and buildings, supplied
water during times of war when the main gates
were closed. The ruins of these ghanats still
exist and one was connected to aunt Sedeghe’s
house where my cousins and I explored if we
dared to. >>>>
Baby Bride*
The best day of my life was when
mom bought me the Princess Saba in
her long white dress covered with
thousands of colorful tinsels. Her lush
blonde hair falling over her chest
was so shiny that when in stared at
them it was like staring into the sun.
Her eyes were blue, the type that
open and close. Every day I combed
her hair, I touch her breasts hoping
one day mine would grow like them.
My only wish was to become a bride
just like the Princess with blonde
hair, blue eyes, red lips and white
gown.
Princess Saba always slept in my bed.
>>>>
The best day of my life was when
mom bought me the Princess Saba in
her long white dress covered with
thousands of colorful tinsels. Her lush
blonde hair falling over her chest
was so shiny that when in stared at
them it was like staring into the sun.
Her eyes were blue, the type that
open and close. Every day I combed
her hair, I touch her breasts hoping
one day mine would grow like them.
My only wish was to become a bride
just like the Princess with blonde
hair, blue eyes, red lips and white
gown.
Princess Saba always slept in my bed.
>>>>
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Adam and
Eve
Adam was sleeping on his back,
snoring loudly. His annoying noise
echoed through the cave and kept
Eve from sleeping a wink. The
moment she dozed off, his
unpleasant sounds woke her. She
finally rolled over and gripped his
nose shut ‘til he couldn’t breathe.
Adam’s chest shook violently and
jumped awake.
“Must you lie on your back and snore
like beasts? You’re making noise
from every hole in your body. How do
you expect me to get some rest?”
she sniped. >>>>
Eve
Adam was sleeping on his back,
snoring loudly. His annoying noise
echoed through the cave and kept
Eve from sleeping a wink. The
moment she dozed off, his
unpleasant sounds woke her. She
finally rolled over and gripped his
nose shut ‘til he couldn’t breathe.
Adam’s chest shook violently and
jumped awake.
“Must you lie on your back and snore
like beasts? You’re making noise
from every hole in your body. How do
you expect me to get some rest?”
she sniped. >>>>
Fictional Character
From where I sit behind my desk
typing on my computer, I can
always hear the rumbling of his
truck before I turn my head to see
him shoving the articles of mail
into the mail boxes. The mailman
reaches our street everyday
around eleven. I admire his driving
skills, the way he maneuvers his
little white truck to fit in between
the two parked cars on either side
of my mailbox. Once he attached a
little pink note on the box letting
me know that my car must be
parked far enough from the
mailbox to allow easy access.
Sometimes, the moment I see him
stop by my mailbox, I storm out in
the nick of time to give him a piece
of mail before he drives off. And on
occasions, he knocks on my door to
deliver a package that requires my
signature. >>>>
From where I sit behind my desk
typing on my computer, I can
always hear the rumbling of his
truck before I turn my head to see
him shoving the articles of mail
into the mail boxes. The mailman
reaches our street everyday
around eleven. I admire his driving
skills, the way he maneuvers his
little white truck to fit in between
the two parked cars on either side
of my mailbox. Once he attached a
little pink note on the box letting
me know that my car must be
parked far enough from the
mailbox to allow easy access.
Sometimes, the moment I see him
stop by my mailbox, I storm out in
the nick of time to give him a piece
of mail before he drives off. And on
occasions, he knocks on my door to
deliver a package that requires my
signature. >>>>
Abstract
After debating myself for months, I
finally decided to take the art class. I
always wanted to create. This dream
seemed so within my reach after I
read the course description in the
continuing education catalog of the
local community college. It read,
“Discover the power of a pencil
rendering as you explore line,
texture, shape, and tone to create
three dimensional images. Emphasis
will be on tools, techniques, elements
and composition. This is the class to
take whether you are new to drawing
or experienced.”
>>>>
After debating myself for months, I
finally decided to take the art class. I
always wanted to create. This dream
seemed so within my reach after I
read the course description in the
continuing education catalog of the
local community college. It read,
“Discover the power of a pencil
rendering as you explore line,
texture, shape, and tone to create
three dimensional images. Emphasis
will be on tools, techniques, elements
and composition. This is the class to
take whether you are new to drawing
or experienced.”
>>>>
Hook
before I went to bed. If I drink
more, I wake up in the middle of
the night for a trip to bathroom
and the tormenting insomnia
afterward is inevitable. I’ve
learned that water at night
epitomizes shattered dreams and
painful awakening.
I tucked myself in and before
closing my eyes, myself victoriously
parading my prized catch dangling
from the fishing line wrapped
around my hand.>>>>
before I went to bed. If I drink
more, I wake up in the middle of
the night for a trip to bathroom
and the tormenting insomnia
afterward is inevitable. I’ve
learned that water at night
epitomizes shattered dreams and
painful awakening.
I tucked myself in and before
closing my eyes, myself victoriously
parading my prized catch dangling
from the fishing line wrapped
around my hand.>>>>
Real Me
I was kidnapped from the
maternity ward of a hospital
after birth. When this appalling
incident happened, to avoid a
scandal, the hospital
authorities took the
unidentified baby in the next
crib whose parents had
abandoned him on the street
and gave him to my parents. I
am someone else. I could
have been a normal baby
growing up in a normal family
and became a functional adult,
but my destiny was not written
this way. Just to add a little
flair to my life, when I was a
kid, once my mother told me if
it wasn’t for a defective
condom, I would not be born. I
don’t know who I really am, but
I’m so glad the real me
disappeared otherwise he
would have had some serious
issues. My life started based
on lies, misunderstandings and
deceptions. >>>>
I was kidnapped from the
maternity ward of a hospital
after birth. When this appalling
incident happened, to avoid a
scandal, the hospital
authorities took the
unidentified baby in the next
crib whose parents had
abandoned him on the street
and gave him to my parents. I
am someone else. I could
have been a normal baby
growing up in a normal family
and became a functional adult,
but my destiny was not written
this way. Just to add a little
flair to my life, when I was a
kid, once my mother told me if
it wasn’t for a defective
condom, I would not be born. I
don’t know who I really am, but
I’m so glad the real me
disappeared otherwise he
would have had some serious
issues. My life started based
on lies, misunderstandings and
deceptions. >>>>
Insomnia
...Why would a little fly make
its mission in life to torment
me in the middle of the
night? We both knew shut
and the windows closed; one
of us had to fall tonight.
As I fantasized different ways
of destroying my enemy, the
insect callously opened
another front in the war and
suddenly flew right into my
face. A split second before
clocking me in the eye, it
changed its path and violently
circled my head. Now the
only way to strike it was to
punch my own face. This
charade had gone long
enough...>>>>
...Why would a little fly make
its mission in life to torment
me in the middle of the
night? We both knew shut
and the windows closed; one
of us had to fall tonight.
As I fantasized different ways
of destroying my enemy, the
insect callously opened
another front in the war and
suddenly flew right into my
face. A split second before
clocking me in the eye, it
changed its path and violently
circled my head. Now the
only way to strike it was to
punch my own face. This
charade had gone long
enough...>>>>
Colors of Dream
In a day unlike any other, two
toddlers sat alone and out of
their parents’ sight. They
exchanged no words, they
just didn’t know how. Yet,
with their impulses,
expressions and gestures,
they expressed their utter
eagerness to explore the
world in which they’d recently
arrived. >>>>
In a day unlike any other, two
toddlers sat alone and out of
their parents’ sight. They
exchanged no words, they
just didn’t know how. Yet,
with their impulses,
expressions and gestures,
they expressed their utter
eagerness to explore the
world in which they’d recently
arrived. >>>>
My Beloved!
What are you exactly?
To me perhaps,
The distant memories
Of a rowdy child.
The Goosebumps I had
In the cold dark cinema
With a frosty Pepsi in my hand.
Or perhaps,
The garlic flavor of bologna
The orange color of Fanta
Or the salt of doogh.
You’re the burning sensation,
The sting of punishment
In the palms of my hands.
The painful strikes
Of the merciless flog
For my sloppy homework
Or for being late to school.
You’re every word I misspelled
When I was dictated to.
You’re the sweet
Steam of the baked beets
On the street vendor’s cart.
You’re the stripes of the plastic balls
I kicked as a child.
You’re as dark,
As gooey as the melted tar
Stuck to the sole of my bare feet
In the summer heat of Ahvaz.
You’re the fight
I had with classmates once in a while.
You’re my sore throat
And my doctor excuse.
You’re my ruthless teachers
In third grade and four.
The slap in my face,
The excruciating pain
When a pencil was squeezed
Between my young fingers.
Read More
What are you exactly?
To me perhaps,
The distant memories
Of a rowdy child.
The Goosebumps I had
In the cold dark cinema
With a frosty Pepsi in my hand.
Or perhaps,
The garlic flavor of bologna
The orange color of Fanta
Or the salt of doogh.
You’re the burning sensation,
The sting of punishment
In the palms of my hands.
The painful strikes
Of the merciless flog
For my sloppy homework
Or for being late to school.
You’re every word I misspelled
When I was dictated to.
You’re the sweet
Steam of the baked beets
On the street vendor’s cart.
You’re the stripes of the plastic balls
I kicked as a child.
You’re as dark,
As gooey as the melted tar
Stuck to the sole of my bare feet
In the summer heat of Ahvaz.
You’re the fight
I had with classmates once in a while.
You’re my sore throat
And my doctor excuse.
You’re my ruthless teachers
In third grade and four.
The slap in my face,
The excruciating pain
When a pencil was squeezed
Between my young fingers.
Read More
| Interview with a Long Story Short http://www.alongstoryshort.net Read More |
Shadow
One gray night
In the corner of cold
Under the absent moonlight
With a suspicious gaze
Through a window frame
That did not open to anywhere
A shadow I saw
That has never been
Is not
And will never be
Yes, in the nick of time
When it passed by
The huge tree of memory
Trying to escape
My glance
For a second I saw
One gray night
In the corner of cold
Under the absent moonlight
With a suspicious gaze
Through a window frame
That did not open to anywhere
A shadow I saw
That has never been
Is not
And will never be
Yes, in the nick of time
When it passed by
The huge tree of memory
Trying to escape
My glance
For a second I saw
PREMONITION
“Would you like another one?” The man
sitting at the bar offered a drink to the woman
next to him.
“Ah. I don’t know. I’m getting tipsy,” she said.
“That’s what Friday night is for.” he chuckled.
“Are you trying to get me drunk?” Uma
replied in a seductive tone while playing with
the empty glass in her hand.
“I enjoy your company and do anything to
prolong its pleasure.”
“Hum. Why am I so skeptical of your
intentions then?” she sneered.
“That’s because you’re cynical. I like that in a
woman.” Read More
“Would you like another one?” The man
sitting at the bar offered a drink to the woman
next to him.
“Ah. I don’t know. I’m getting tipsy,” she said.
“That’s what Friday night is for.” he chuckled.
“Are you trying to get me drunk?” Uma
replied in a seductive tone while playing with
the empty glass in her hand.
“I enjoy your company and do anything to
prolong its pleasure.”
“Hum. Why am I so skeptical of your
intentions then?” she sneered.
“That’s because you’re cynical. I like that in a
woman.” Read More
Lost
The bitter sting of tobacco
poisoned my mouth. I’m
nauseated when I sluggishly
stretch my torso and emerge
from the layers of bed sheets
and peer out the tarnished
window. The careless rain has
soaked every crooked building,
scrubbed the dirty asphalt and
now is pouring down the broken
gutters. Its guilty claws
scratched every wall and its
fingerprints are all over this
town. The sewers are puking in
disgust. Read More
The bitter sting of tobacco
poisoned my mouth. I’m
nauseated when I sluggishly
stretch my torso and emerge
from the layers of bed sheets
and peer out the tarnished
window. The careless rain has
soaked every crooked building,
scrubbed the dirty asphalt and
now is pouring down the broken
gutters. Its guilty claws
scratched every wall and its
fingerprints are all over this
town. The sewers are puking in
disgust. Read More
Homeless
When the city ordinance
in U.S. major cities prohibited
Homeless from sleeping
under bridges, on park
benches, and on sidewalks,
the Homeless issue became
number one public concern.
Although homelessness was
the hot issue of the day,
majority of people remained
uninformed of its root causes.
Read More
When the city ordinance
in U.S. major cities prohibited
Homeless from sleeping
under bridges, on park
benches, and on sidewalks,
the Homeless issue became
number one public concern.
Although homelessness was
the hot issue of the day,
majority of people remained
uninformed of its root causes.
Read More
Warning
To the breeze I whisper
Last time you caressed my being
I whiffed an aroma
Slyly blended in oblivion
I discerned a hint of delight
Sprinkled on despair
I sensed a touch of calm
Brushed over my fear
A modest comfort
In the world of discontent
Now I’m so suspicious
Of your malicious intent
Something’s going on I don’t understand
I don’t like it, not even a bit
I’ll find out soon
What you’re up to
That’s a promise
But before I do
One word of advice for you
Listen to me you breeze
You tricky bastard
I say it only once
From now on
My heart is off limit
To the breeze I whisper
Last time you caressed my being
I whiffed an aroma
Slyly blended in oblivion
I discerned a hint of delight
Sprinkled on despair
I sensed a touch of calm
Brushed over my fear
A modest comfort
In the world of discontent
Now I’m so suspicious
Of your malicious intent
Something’s going on I don’t understand
I don’t like it, not even a bit
I’ll find out soon
What you’re up to
That’s a promise
But before I do
One word of advice for you
Listen to me you breeze
You tricky bastard
I say it only once
From now on
My heart is off limit