Maryam

“اشک رازي ست
لبخند رازي ست
عشق رازي ست
اشک آن شب لبخند عشقم بود.
قصه نيستم که بگويي
نغمه نيستم که بخواني
صدا نيستم که بشنوي
يا چيزي چنان که ببيني
يا چيزي چنان که بداني...
من درد مشترکم
مرا فرياد کن.
درخت با جنگل سخن مي گويد
علف با صحرا
ستاره با کهکشان
و من با تو سخن مي گويم
نامت را به من بگو
دستت را به من بده
حرفت را به من بگو
قلبت را به من بده
من ريشه هاي تُرا در يافته ام
با لبانت براي همه لب ها سخن گفته ام
و دست هايت با دستان من آشناست.
در خلوت روشن با تو گريسته ام
براي خاطر زندگان؛
و در گورستان تاريک با تو خوانده ام
زيباترين سرود ها را
و تُرا که مردگان اين سال
عاشق ترين زندگان بوده اند.
دستت را به من بده
دست هاي تو با من آشناست
اي دير يافته با تو سخن مي گويم
بسان ابر که با طوفان
بسان علف که با صحرا
بسان باران که با بهار
بسان درخت که با جنگل سخن مي گويد
زيرا که من
ريشه هاي تُرا دريافته ام
زيرا که صداي من
با صداي تو آشناست”
― احمد شاملو_ahmad shamlou

“Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:
The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star,
Hath had elsewhere its setting,
And cometh from afar:
Not in entire forgetfulness,
And not in utter nakedness,
But trailing clouds of glory do we come”
― William Wordsworth

“We shed as we pick up, like travellers who must carry everything in their arms, and what we let fall will be picked up by those behind. The procession is very long and life is very short. We die on the march. But there is nothing outside the march so nothing can be lost to it. The missing plays of Sophocles will turn up piece by piece, or be written again in another language. Ancient cures for diseases will reveal themselves once more. Mathematical discoveries glimpsed and lost to view will have their time again. You do not suppose, my lady, that if all of Archimedes had been hiding in the great library of Alexandria, we would be at a loss for a corkscrew?”
― Tom Stoppard, Arcadia

“I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed--and gazed--but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.”
― William Wordsworth, I Wander'd Lonely as a Cloud