Growing up I was a prolific writer. During my primary education, I was the favorite spoken-word/author in literature classes. In my last visit home my old friends revealed to me letters and poetic texts that they had saved from those years; written by me as if manipulating their mood with those words was a given! My mother tongue, Farsi, allows for an endless complex of metaphors and symbolism to merge with material representations and realism in writing.
I began writing poem-like texts in English in 2013. I have participated in T.O and Ottawa's Capital Poetry Slams for about a year. Nonetheless I consider myself far from being a poet. The following texts are only humble narrations of love, loss and suffering.
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When they were taking pictures on their phones
I paddled the muddy waters
When they were cutting your heads off with cotton
I gathered the sacred fires
When they were cuddling inside
I stood the snowstorms
When they were colonizing you gently
I carried your torch
The storm has passed now,
Rest in peace
Sleepy revolution!