The children of zion

The children of Zion

In a world that ruled based on political and economic ideologies, two main fronts of power emerged. One on the left, with the idea of ​​promising freedom and equality, and the other on the right, with the slogan of individual freedom and the free market. In the meantime, two great names of the history of philosophy in a lost shadow continued to fight power: Carl Marx and Isaa Berlin.

They were known not only as thinkers, but also the (architects of history), whose ideas became the hands of a group of specific individuals, economic and political manuscripts that controlled the world.

Marx created an idea called (Communism) in the forefront of history, an idea that apparently benefited from the poor and suffering. But in the end, the idea became a tool that fell into the hands of great powers to form social and economic structures to their advantage. The Communist governments not only did not fall into the hands of the poor, but also became centralized and corrupt dictatorships.

Isaya Berlin, with his views in defense of individual freedom, has actually sowed the seeds of ideologies that promoted liberalism around the world. Although he stood freedom, with the creation of free market -based economic systems, he was able to build a global structure in which a few of the rich and market power were far more benefited from others.

As these ideas expanded, a group of Jews, with a clever understanding of politics and economics, held two different fronts. A group of them appeared as supporters of communism and sought to socialize the world, while others supported liberalism and sought economic freedoms. But in the end, they had only one common goal: the establishment of world domination.

With the expansion of these two ideologies, the economy and politics of the world were controlled by groups that stood behind the scenes. The powers that rewritten history, not by the people, but through changing economic and social ideas and theories at the macro levels.

(The children of Zion), those who brought these two ideas to the world were able to divide nations into two categories through complex ideas and plans. One category, those caught in industrial factories and financial markets, and the other, the elites and the rich on which they stood over them.

In the shadow of these developments, World War II became a compulsory strategy. But not a war for the land, but a war for resources, markets, and the will of domination. In this new world, geographical boundaries were slowly losing their meaning, and the only thing left was the power that was in a few hands.

But in the depths of this new society, a bitter truth was hidden: the liberators and the oppressed were simultaneously in this interconnected world. While some of the children of power benefited from economic and political freedoms, many were trapped in industrial and economic wheels. And this cycle became an endless circle.

Over time, everything was dominated by invisible powers and repressive ideas. But no one dared to talk about it. Even those who had power and wealth in their hands never listened to their inner voice: Is this really freedom?

#behnammohtarami#

A lock of greed

A lock of greed

In the immortal hall of Andisheh, this time it was a thousand and one. But the lights were less strangled, the sounds were strangled, and the air was heavier than ever.

On the north, a man with a hand -held and hand -filled man came in: Carl Marx, a dream creator who was supposed to destroy the classes, but in practice he hung new chains on humanity.

In another corner, Isaiah Berlin was standing, worried and silent. The freedoms they promised became markets where man was no more than a commodity; Where the poor had the only right to choose between two kinds of misery.

And in the heart of the hall, the quiet but rich voice of anger was lifted; The voice of a woman from the east, who said:
"You said freedom, but we were hungry in the free market. You said justice, but we were crushed in the streets of Moscow and the Manhattan workshops.

Marx lowered his head. I saw a dream for Zion, not the way ... others?

"The free market is the way to salvation, if you fail, it is your fault," Mizas replied.

But the voice of another woman rose - the sound of history.
You made a world where a minority lives in the penthouses and the majority in asylum tents. You turned man into data, number, capital and tools.

And suddenly the ceiling of the hall was opened, but this time the smoke rose. And was written on the ceiling:

Those who promised freedom made new clauses; Chains of idea, and a lock of greed.

In the silence of the hall, everyone stood. There was no complete answer. And there was no one to tell who the truth was.

#behnammohtarami#

Staircase

Staircase

Khuzestan, winter

The wind was howling and knocking the sand on Joseph's face. He was sweating behind, but his legs were frozen from the cold. You still didn't understand what had led him to this mission. Perhaps the curiosity, perhaps the smell of the betrayal that had been overwhelmed by the cases in Tehran.

He was a mapping engineer, neither a spy nor a politician. But when the Ministry of Education's development plan, he saw the construction of several cultural buildings in cities from Khuzestan, all of which were under construction with strange angles and precise coordinates.

Until one of the maps he touched and hanged on the wall of his hut in Abadan. The aim of pursuing the lines was undoubtedly to see something suddenly ...
Two triangles. One of the Izeh to Khorramshahr, from there to Dezful and open to Izeh. The second triangle from Jerusalem to Haifa, to al -Khalil.
When they put both on the map together, a plan was formed. Familiar. Old. David Star.

Cairo, a few months ago

General McKinley, behind the old wooden table, looked at Reza Khan.
- "It's time for Iran to be united. Khazal is also ready. You just have to stamp the final design. "
Reza Khan, who still did not have a royal crown, said:
- United or obedient?
McKinley smiled.
- It determines its difference.

In the same room, a Jewish man was sitting with a white Abi. Simon Levi, representative of the Middle East Jewish Association. Said.
- "We just draw the map. It is up to you. The triangle must be complete. The star begins, the new age begins.

Khuzestan, tonight

Joseph found an old box in a ruin next to the Karun River. Within it, the documents of the correspondence of Khazal were with the British authorities. The documents that confirmed everything was calculated: building schools, cultural centers, and even military bases - all on triangles.

But what shook him was a letter from Simon Levi:

If the star is completed on the ground, Solomon will be established. From Khuzestan to Quds, it will draw a line that will again divide the world.

Joseph imprisoned his breath. Outside the storm, but there was a bigger storm in his heart.
Should it reveal this secret? Or buried it in the heart of the soil, like the star who fell on the temple stone many years ago?

The end ... or the beginning?

#behnammohtarami#

Silence

In the silence that was like the breath of rain, Hands listened to my heartbeat. Not verbally, No need… Just an open embrace, And two eyes that saw me without judgment. My skin, For a moment, he was freed from the cold of the world, Between the hot lines of someone's fingers Who was not a conqueror, Not forgetful; Just shelter. Every kiss, He untied the bonds of a memory, And I, In his silent mouth, I took a breath.

#bèhnammohtarami #

Life

Life for me is neither in the calendar of days nor in the bustle of the world; Life means your arms. The shelter that is the only safe point in the relentless storms of the day. When you embrace my arms, it is as if the world is back for a moment, and all the meanings are defined again. Where I am in peace, as if life has reached its peak.

Your lips not only have the sweet taste of love, but they are more than the body and the feeling. When I hold your lips, my soul is polished; Like a mirror where the dust has been removed from its face. At those moments, all the pains are colored, and only your brightness and gentleness remain.

You are not just a woman but all the seasons of life. Every smile is spring and every hot and passionate summer look. Being next to you, the touch of immortality in a short moment. That is, breathing in the air that is just filled with your love.

If they ask me what life is, I will say immediately: Life, you. That is, the touch of your kindness, seeing your eyes, and arrogant. You are life itself, and I am lucky to find it in you.

#behnammohtarami#

O haji

O Haji

O Haji, your soul is ruler
To go to the altar, it's time to be separated

The Kaaba is not out of you, O restless
The Kaaba is hidden in your heart

If you will be clean and abandoned
Hearts

Ismail is your hidden request
Believe blade, it's time to sacrifice

Because Abraham, if a man of the way
Make it, my leave and we deserve

Lip if says "Lubik or Paste"
Ask heart, is it with God or not, is it?

Sacrifice, not the sheep, here
The breath should be cut, not the sound

Love

Sometimes I shake my heart for no reason ... maybe the breeze is on your side, or maybe your name, which is whispered in my memory.

I want you, not out of desire, nor habit ... I want you because you are not like anyone, because your resemblance is just my dream.

All my nostalgias make your name out of your name; Every disorder I break will be out of your heart.

The world is full of man, full of sound, full of color ... but my eyes only have a house in your eyes.

The more I write, the less. The words are short of your description, lacking in the fragrance.

Sometimes I think, maybe God also wanted to create something like poetry ... and created you.

If the heart is a mirror, you are an immediate image. If John is a garden, you are his usual blossom.

Your smile sometimes looks like rain; It is unaware, you are quiet, calm down.

I want you not like others, but like prayer, like prayer, like good dreams.

You are the quiet sound of my sleepless nights, a light that shows me the way in the dark.

Come unaware, like spring, and no reason, like love ... without asking it or not.

All these moments, all of these words, are the only excuse to say one thing: to miss you, even when you sit in front of me.

If anyone asked why I didn't go, why did I stay, why did I fall in love?
I say: Can he miss the light that warms John?

And now that with you ... has no reason to be except for yourself;
You are the love itself, you are calm, you are the reason for me ...

#behnammohtarami#

Love , nuclear, escape

Love, nuclear escape

Love is not reaching;
The alliance is dual -nucleus
Who have been in the waiting circuit for years,
To collide for a moment ...
Neither calm, nor simple,
But with such energy
That shakes the world.

In the arms of,
The borders of "I" and "you" collapse
The atom of separation breaks,
And in a romantic explosion,
A new "name" is born ...
Not just one word,
Rather, a new existence that did not exist before.

This is not love ...
This is nuclear escape;
Liberty of force that
Burn everything,
Up to the heart of the ashes,
Born a new truth:
Us.

The moon whith night hair

The moon with night hair

You
Like a cracked night,
With your hay -shaped black hair,
That the moon loves the moon,
And the stars are forced to regret.

Tattoos on your hand
They say ...
Not for all,
Only for the one who is bold
Read with their eyes.

Look
There is an unwritten poem
That only ends with your smile,
And your voices
Barrow's voice,
When he wants to come in calm, but he is ...

You are beautiful,
Not just because of your eyes or that particular tattoo,
Because of your boldness in "being self"
And the softness of your heart,
Behind all the colorful and painful.

You are the one that when you are rejected
The hearts of the moments are ...

#behnammohtarami#

Haji poetry

Haji Poetry

See the boy and the girl they don't have
You get a profit every day.

You see a mother who sells her capital
In your home you are a golden and ornament

You see a woman who borrows the streets
You are comfortable, comfortable, painless

Looking at the worker who sleeps on the street of Tar
You are unaware of the heat of the house

A young man's vision to do anything
You add money, empty of evil

You see a child who is hungry.
You're going to the shrine, cold and unattractive heart

A vision of an old woman who is cold and restless
You are doing Tawaf but cruel and proud

You see the poor who has been bread
You are a lot of and full of snakes and snakes

A vision of a neighbor who is overwhelmed
You're pushing a heart, a heart

The camel's vision in the shrine sick
His message wakes up the heart of every human being

Did you see the house of God in the hearts of kindness
So before you go, knot out of work

#behnammohtarami#

Endles dance in the heart of the sky

Endless dance In the heart of the sky lies a story; the story of an endless dance between light and shadow, between the sun, the moon, and the earth. The sun, that infinite source of light and life, shines with all its being, like the absolute truth, giving its light to the world. It is the beacon of light for all beings; the source of energy, love, and consciousness. The moon, however, is a traveler who never has her own light. She takes from the sun its golden rays and, with humility and respect, shines that light into the darkness of the night. On this path, the moon revolves around the earth; not out of compulsion, but in a spiritual hymn of loyalty and service. The moon reminds us that whatever light we have comes from somewhere, from a higher truth, from a source beyond ourselves. And so it is that the moon humbly accepts the light of the sun, revolves around the Earth, and teaches us the meaning of acceptance, service, and movement on the divine path. So every time you look up at the sky and see the moon shining, remember that this light is a gift from the sun, and the moon's dance is a song of servitude and connection to the Absolute Truth. In the heart of the sky, the moon is alive, present, revolving. Loves sunlight, bright and shining. The moon said to the sun: "O eternal love!" My light comes from you, you are kind. You shine ceaselessly on the vast world. I have come around the earth, in your circle. I circle the earth, remembering you every night. With the light that comes from you, I shine without myself. You are my sun, I am the anthem of loyalty. I am searching for you, without any regrets. I embrace the earth tenderly. To say that love is open at every step Our cycle is a never-ending love story. The moon is in love and fond of your light. You gave me light and life. I circle the earth with hope. O shining sun, O incomparable soul! My love for you is endless, forever.

#behnammohtarami #

Syed of the century

Syed of the Century
Realistic, philosophical, politically and secular

Paris, the most foggy day of spring. The sound of the slap wrapped up alert than any political speech on Elysee Street. Hand Brigitte, the first woman of France, not out of personal wrath, but as if from the depths of history, from the heart of an old and dusty device on Macron's species; It is as if thousands of forgotten codes were opened in the sound of this multiplication.

No one knew, or pretended to know, that behind this show was a sophisticated and mysterious structure; A security apparatus formed by Napoleon with a special motivation: the use of hidden relationships, heterosexuality, transgender, and subjects whose love was not in the heart, but in power maps.

In the early 19th century, a group at Napoleon's court had come to the conclusion that failed love and forbidden desires would be a tool for influence, decoding, and control. The basis of this system was based on what Jacques Lacan later theorized: desire always belongs to another, and the subject will never be united with his lover; Rather, it means a desire through the "other".

In this device, men and women such as Brigitte and Macron were not based on love, but to create an appearance of cohesion and tradition. Their hidden relationships with the "other" - people of transgender, binoculars, or incapable within the traditional framework of gender - were part of the map. These people, with multilayer identities and special life experiences, became sensitive beads in the security game: spies with human faces, sacrificial influences, but steel minds.

But that day ...
That slap ...
There was a line between the old order and the truth it was erupting under the ashes. Not jealousy, but of role -playing fatigue.
Not from betrayal, but from the passion of suppressed desire.
Brigitte, a subject that had been buried in another for many years, now slammed his anger at the "big" manifestation of the president.

"Love is a way to give something we don't want to," says Lacan.
And perhaps this slap was the last attempt to return to the truth that both had fled:
They were never a couple.
Only two actors were a long -standing theory.

End.

#Behnammohtarami#

EVerything in love and poetry is fair

Everything in love and poetry is fair

In a world where justice is lost in stone and iron,

In a world where the scales of the broken truth on the shoulder of time,

Is the only love that gives u unknowingly

And it is the only poem that will undoubtedly judge.

Love is the lawmaker

And poetry is a scream that creates justice with whispering.

If a sword falls on the heart but is out of the head of love,

Is it except justice?

If a word, though bitter, wakes up,

Is it except poetry?

In love, the error is sometimes worship;

In poetry, silence is also poetry.

So in these two lands,

Right is feeling, not with logic.

And the referee is the heart; Not reason.

Yes ...

Everything in love and poetry,

Is fair.

#behnammohtarami#

The heart is the house of god

The heart is the house of God

In a warm and Zarandud land, one day the camel cough.
Not because the other camels, who smelled this cough; It was a warning, not illness.
Doctors gathered, wrote medicine, masked, but an old man got out of the desert and said:

«This camel is not carrying the disease; It carries the message. "
"He's like a camel who took the Prophet to the poor house,
"He has now come to take us from the palace to Copper."

Pilgrims came from afar and close, tawaf,
They prayed in high hotels, but their hearts were empty.
They poured the coins on the Kaaba, but they passed by a hunger.

On the same night, a man heard in sleep:

«O my servant,
No I am in the stone and marble of my house,
Not on the golden roof and mirror.
I am in the broken heart of the orphan
I am in the old tent of the homeless mother,
I am in the tears of workers who don't have bread for her baby ... "

The morning, the man, did not go to the Kaaba;
Went to the south, to the burnt land,
Where a child with burnt skin and living eyes said:

"O man! Have you brought your God with you? "

The man cried out and said.

"God is here ... in your heart, in your eyes,
And I had lost his house to this day. "

In the same year, the camel Nazir, a man rose from the north.
Zarr on the shoulder, white Abbas, and an eye on the camera.
Not to meet a friend, but for his picture.
His suitcase was full of fragrance, garment, and talk for the networks.

Said at the airport.

"I became a Haji, happy!"
And her heart whispered:
"Happy? For that? For your bag or your heart? "

He arrived in Mecca, gave it in the Golden Tower.
He went to Tawaf, but his heart was on the 30th floor of the Suite.
He passed by a blind man, and his nose grabbed:

"The smell of poverty comes ..."

The same night, the camels of a reason that had been off for years,
He woke up.
Foot in the alleyways of Riyadh, unbounded, unpublished.
Neither had a golden panel, nor a magical Seraj.
His eyes like the night without the night, and his mouth full of scandalous silence.

Received to the hotel, standing by the tower.
The pilgrim saw the hypocritical asleep, he said.

"O Haji! I am the same camel that the Prophet sat down on me,
But she sat down on the ground, u on gold;
He became a poor guest, you are the guest of the king. "

"He won the heart of the weak,
You gave up photos and Salafi. "

The pilgrim woke up, sweaty and regret.
He asked, "Who are you?!"
The camel said.

“I have a prosecution, I have returned,
Not for riding, but for judgment. "

Pilgrims, the night with the chills, asleep,
Not of illness, nor of fever,
From the shake of the heart, which had been silent for many years ...

Before dawn, he got up from the bed.
Saw the mirror, the tidy beard, the expensive aroma,
But in his eyes, he found a stranger.
Said in the heart.

"That's me?
Or a shadow of me that has been running and empty? "

Went to the alley, idle, unbounded,
And the camel of the reason was slowly standing in the shadow of the wall.
The eyes sewn in his eyes, and the camel said in the heart of the heart.

«The heart of my house is not the shrine of Zarrin;
The broken heart is the wall of the Kaaba. "
"Come on, this time not a ride, but I want a wake."

The pilgrims fell on the knees, and the tears shed.
Not because the prayers learned in the mosque,
That is because you have lost the way home.

Neda came to her heart:

"My house is not in the tower's tall,
That is in the bending of the poor old woman.
My house, not in the coins of the vow,
That is in the bread that you have forgiven. "

Light, slowly rising from his chest,
Neither seen nor touched,
But at that moment, he understood:

«I never came to
Because my heart didn't come ...
Now. But, I haven't gone to the Kaaba;
The Kaaba has come to my heart. "

Pilgrims whose hearts had been bright on that night,
He traveled and went home.
But not with the same tightness and hypocrisy,
Rather with a heart full of light and repentance.

On the way back, he said to himself:

"What did I do?
The money I was going to spend the Kaaba's gold
What was better to go to the poor heart,
Instead of the intention of hypocrisy, I served intentions. "

Reached his village, where the kids had old shoes,
And the mothers were forced to bring bread to the table.

The pilgrim, the hand in the pocket,
The money that takes to the house of God,
He is now heading to homeless houses.

Making a well, send medicine, buy hot clothing,
And said with a smile.

"God is not there that I thought,
God is in the hearts, in the service,
In the quiet tears, in the kind hearts. "

The morning that woke up,
Vision nine Kaaba is only in Mecca,
That is the Ka'bah in the heart of every prophet who holds his hand.

Mystical Short Poetry

The house of God is not in stone and mud,
It is your heart that is clear,
The Ka'bah is where the love is current,
Wherever the seal and service are universal.

Mystical prayer

O Lord of Mercy,
Make our hearts home,
As long as we are
Be calm in the shadow of your seal.
Let us serve, your way of your way,
And the love of your servants, our endless worship.

Amen.

Amen!
honest
trustworthy
loyal
trusty
single-hearted
single-minded
verily

#behnammohtarami#