Happy Birthday my love.

  

 

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.

  

 

And you are gone...


My youngest of the two brothers and I arrived around the same time. We drove to the hospital to see Maman. My youngest brother didn't know Maman had passed away.


At 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 and 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.

People come. People call.

Today with three other women I washed Maman. I washed her hair with the shampoo she liked most. I brushed her hair, dried her body, dressed her in white. 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 brought some of her hair for the little brother and myself, Maman. I didn't cut it. It fell off your head.


Dad looks old. Dad cries a lot. The little brother is in pain.

We drove to the graveyard Maman. 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.

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 & under all the whites you remained in your white clothing to have all the white dreams.

Maman, I miss you.

  

 

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 matter. 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.

  

 

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 it is for me mother.

  

 

I called Maman at 6.a.m. today. Dad took the phone and said she is in a coma now.

  

 

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.

  

 

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 know what to do or where to go.

  

 

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...

  

 

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...

  

 

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...

  

 

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.

  

 

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."

  

 

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."

  

 

Those of you who read Mr. Hossein Derakhshan's blog know of his plans for running in upcoming parliamentary election in Iran. Well, hear, hear! Mr. Khatami has spoken to you dear Hoder. It seems one has to believe in the Islamic Republic of Iran's (Criminal) government before running for the parliament, something you are far too honest and moderate for in my opinion. 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!