I walk through the pillars of the temple of the earth, an unknown feeling comes to me, fear and trembling, and a wonder of the great power of nature comes over me, the morning breeze brings the fragrance of wild flowers from the small window which opens on me as I enter this sacred temple...
The sun is shining down on me from the towering branches of the trees, butterflies are flying…
The song of birds in the heart of the forest promises life, in a distant place in the heart of the forest, someone keeps repeating: Cuckoo, Cuckoo, Cuckoo, Cuckoo….
Life and death are born of our words and our gaze…
There is still an excuse to survive, this morning someone wrote to me: Hello...
I am amazed by literature and the French language, this little word has a greatness that no greatness reaches its greatness…
With the voice of everyone who utters this word, I fly back to my childhood.
The problems are always renewed, the distractions have always been, nature calls man to himself… In the heart of the forest, a madman had drawn a heart on a tree trunk…
In the shade of the trees, I listened with astonishment to the moans of a tree that had a dagger wrapped around its body…
Once again, the hands of an executioner had written ‘war’ on the body of “peace”.
Humans dying of poverty and starvation and trees being cut down to become coffins.
The trees speak to me, I breathe. One day a prostitute told me that my heart was the great capital of misery in the world.
Bright shadows, familiar strangers, women who sell their bodies to feed a child’s belly, which is the result of a stranger’s moment of pleasure.
Hossein Hajizadeh Siboni
