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

“The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon,
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers,
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not.—Great God! I'd rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.”
― William Wordsworth, The Major Works

“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

“Poetry is the first and last of all knowledge - it is as immortal as the heart of man.”
― William Wordsworth