Amir Mobed

2013 December

There are times that we in spite of our benevolence, tend to sacrifice a beast in the manner of Prometheus, furtively take a cut in others’ name, delude the Zeus of our time, and for sure pay for our benevolence. Hence we get sentenced to be enchained and feed the despaired dark crows with our torn livers; no hatred, no vendetta, we just watch the playful crows, and ultimately we will solely take one string of the chain and hand the torch of fire to the others; for we retained the knowledge that water is to be imbibed and food to be swallowed, and thus are wound and blood. But is it not so long that we have forgotten the blood being bareness of the soul?
There are times we are aware, and there are times, we are not, that this whole scene is a self torment; torment of the self and torment of the physique. The darkness scatters down and takes over, and there is nothing to see. So we get nailed to the ground. We get to think something must be done; something must be created. Then we tend to darken the bright and demolish the darkened. And thus converting the truth into delusion, and moralizing the evil turns to be the obligation- a must. This is the torment for real. We depict our sufferance and present it to the public. We might get along with accompanies. But at the end of the day, we will get to adorn and embellish what we have to and trade it for what it has to be traded for, and hence the suffer endures. The gloomy absurd recurrence which seems ridiculous simultaneously, especially given that we are fully conscious of our presence in the scene
Zarvan Rohbakhshan