Charls:Cause and EffectThe best often die by their own handjust to get away,and those left behindcan never quite understandwhy anybodywould ever want toget awayfromthem------------------------J. WRIGHT:Bolero 9Nomadic hearts know there is no rosewaiting at every door, that often a threshold'satmosphere can be worth your life.Even so, memory must have led us here.After Perote, the old bus gathers its wingsand swings us through the happyundulations of fog- and cloud-bound hills,toward Xalapa, with the cross in its name.I expect a familiar sand, pillowed againstwalls gone red and grainy with heat,and a muezzin's bellknitting the loose cloth of evening.But the heart is a fraudulent voice, a wily ear,and memory can be too staunchly evangelic.So the bell goes, in the whisper of matins and vespers,and the constant idiot's rain dresses the wallsin filmy gray.I should be grateful that memory has leftan anteroom, where I can stockthe cobbled street that leads me to tortillasand the nuns' diabolic chiles,or watch the blue-serged licenciadoparade his cane along the Avenida Zamora.Perhaps I should reserve another roomfor the Pérgola's alambres,and the surpliced children(hand in hand through the park to school)and the violet insistence of late afternoonwith coffee and pan on the terrace.Looking forward, I see the momentI will choose to leave this garden,when, on a cloistered morning in April,I stand in the post office's tiled vestibuleand unlock the rage that youwill understandand a nomadic heart will carry away.--------------------------------------------------Specially Iranian:Fazel Nazari::بی قرار توام ودر دل تنگم گله هاستآه بی تاب شدن عادت کم حوصله هاستمثل عکس رخ مهتاب که افتاده در آبدر دلم هستی وبین من وتو فاصله هاستآسمان با قفس تنگ چه فرقی داردبال وقتی قفس پر زدن چلچله هاستبی هر لحضه مرا بیم فرو ریختن استمثل شهری که به روی گسل زلزله هاستباز می پرسمت از مسئله دوری وعشقوسکوت تو جواب همه مسئله هاست
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