The faces behind the blood mask

The faces behind the blood mask

In the history of history, two names are heavier than others.

Donald Trump and Benjamin Netanyahu.

Not because they were thoughtful, not because they brought peace;

But because every time the fire was extinguished

Their hands had matches in Austin.

They are the butchers of the century.

Every day, with a new map,

They move a line, kill the border, change the name of the lake.

But what never changes,

This is the point where the bomb must land.

With the dawn of any sun,

In a corner of the planet, the sound of the explosion is wrapped.

And those two are sitting behind their tables,

With smiles made of human skin,

And eyes that are not to pain,

Rather, they are sensitive to blood on the soil.

They feed on war.

From smoke, from the cry of mothers, from the bones under the rubble.

Their faces were once human.

But with any command of murder,

A line broke in their face.

With every false smile,

Something collapsed from their human face.

What is left now,

There are two bodies in the power outfit.

With prominent jaws, teeth that are still warm

From the fresh meat of their victims.

They say freedom,

But the words are pulled out of the wounded throat of the world.

With hands that are no longer made for caressing

But only to squeeze the trigger.

Mirrors, when they are honest,

They show their true face:

Humanistic masks

Whose back is the cruel look of the animal

With thirst for blood,

For death,

To show.

And the world,

Tired of seeing the repetition of crime in new frames,

It is only silent.

Not from ignorance,

But from this bitter truth:

Butchers are still alive.

And they are still thirsty.

#Behnam_mohtarami#History#

World peace prize

World Peace Prize

Trump again shouted, "Human beings!

I want peace, neither bomb nor danger! "

In his hand. But, the rocket was new,

He smiles with a full -fledged face!

"I am transparent," Benjamin said.

I make love with the bomb every property! "

Fired fire, then shook hands,

Which: "I'm just looking for peace, not shock!"

Both volunteer pure peace,

With a history of war and blood and ruined,

The World Council you are looking for, you thought,

That's the body of this fascinating prize?!

The baby smiled from under the rubble,

"Peace? In the style of slaughter? ”

The world was watching and laughing

To this reverse story, with a taste of denial!

One gave a medal, that one foamed,

One sat down and lined up on the corpse,

Saying peace with pride,

But the earth just sighs a bitter sigh ...

#Behnam_mohtarami__Poz_Photo_Nobel_Tramp_Track_NTanayahu_#

Policy Human Rights

Policy Human Rights

(Political Political Poetry with Classic Style)

One said to save the world,

I bring human rights to the essence!

To the laughing lips, in the fist of gunpowder,

The tail of peace, but it was killed and left!

To the lips of freedom and justice and gave

To the sub -tongue, the poison bite of the institution,

Not the sword in the fist, which signature to the floor,

But behind each letter, hundreds of dignity!

Sitting down to a crown out of blood,

Under her lip laughter,

To history, hot from those shadows,

That is thrown at the homeless people.

One over the covenant, cut the world,

To the scream of peace, the new fire,

One with a pen, the death version,

And in the name of the law, it was terror!

In the name of human rights, the razor bladed,

To his hand gun and to the lip of bad peace,

The world has taken to play open,

The slogan is rights, his job needs!

Two in the world, the storyteller of the Shorand,

Gunpowder, but well -being,

One tongue of pride is sharp,

One is two eyes because it is bearded!

Chu saw blood, laughing hard,

That is the image of peace from the tree,

Showed this art to the people,

That is liberalization means throat!

In this bitter scene, the game still

In the name of slow justice, bullying,

But the earth understands this, the story,

That is their smile on the razor ...

#behnammohtarami #

Frome the nile to the euphrates ...r

From the Nile to the Euphrates In September 2022, a curtain was drawn back at the United Nations, and behind it emerged a golden map. Not a map of the present, but of a distant past; a past that the Israeli Prime Minister spoke of with pride: This is the land promised in the Torah. From the Nile to the Euphrates. We are not new conquerors, but ancient heirs. There was a map showing Israel's borders from northern Lebanon to the Sinai Desert, from Baghdad to Amman, from Damascus to Riyadh. An old man in the corner of the room was quietly shedding tears. No one knew his name. But in his eyes was another map—a map of pain. It was not the prime minister who drew the map. Documents showed that it had come from sealed archives, a drawing by Ben-Gurion, Israel's founder, who had said years earlier: Zionism will only be complete when we return to the land God promised. In a small room in Beirut, Youssef, a history professor at American University, stared at a map. His students waited for him to speak. He said: This is not just a map. This is a rewriting of truth. This map turns religious belief into a title deed. A young student asked: But if their religious documents say this, does it also have a historical justification? Joseph paused. Then he said in a quiet voice: The Torah is a holy book, not a plotter. But politics often plays with holy books. In Amman, Riyadh, Damascus, Baghdad and Cairo, the news of the plan was on the front pages. Governments reacted. But the people… People looked in silence, at the walls, at the televisions, at the memories of their fathers. Could it really be that what "belongs to us" could one day be recorded in a book belonging to others? But the map wasn't just a border. The map was a dream. And dreams are sometimes more dangerous than reality. In Tel Aviv, a young girl named Leah was poring over Ben-Gurion's papers at the National Archives of Israel. Her grandfather was one of the early founders of the Zionist army. But unlike before, she was finding something new: In the margin of one of the maps, written in shaky handwriting: If we take the earth from the fire, will we find faith from the ashes? Leah didn't sleep that night until morning. At the end of the story, there was a world staring at a map; a map full of claims, but empty of peace. And a voice echoed in the heart of the night: God may have given the land, but has he also given the hearts? Explanation: This story attempts to portray, from a literary and political perspective, without explicit judgment, a picture of the clash between “religious beliefs” and “geographical claims.” The reference is to September 2022, Ben Gurion, and the Arab countries are real,

#behnammohtarami#

Love frome looking to hugs

Love from looking to hugs

Saw you on you, the heart of the place, from the place,

Because the wind came to the air, the air was in the air.

Your look was the sun and I butterfly,

That I hit you, unassuming and impatient.

Your lips kissed the thirsty life,

Because soft rain, on the desert dry soil.

Hand in your hand, the world became soft and soft,

Every moment our love flowed into the hearts.

I was in your arms, suture and sleepless,

My body was melted in the song of those kisses.

The whole world is off, only our voice,

The hearts patrol, in our garden.

#behnammohtarami#

Love from looking to hugs

Love from looking to hugs

At first glance the heart was full of passion,

Because a light blossom became the spring of light.

Your eyes had the magic of aroma and color,

That every breath has taken me to you slowly.

Your steps were a cute whisper and Nova,

In my life, thousands of passion and sacrifice.

A kiss on your lips like the rain,

The thumb for every sadness from the heart, the blue.

Hand in your hand, warm and soft and simple,

He took John to the height of the dream.

In your arms, the world turned off,

It was the only sound of heartbeat and enough.

Every moment was the most beautiful poem with you,

Our love became the story of the infinite, silver.

#behnammohtarami#

Look poetry

Look poetry

In the eyes of the hundreds of the world of sonnets.

The beginning of love is the end of every invisible.

Every breath, drunken song and restlessness,

Because the smell of mud, in the air of the heart.

Nine months to your jam, not the sun,

That you are the secret of creation and the secret of awakening.

Hand in your hand, we see the infinite,

In every soul, your role in the life of the signs.

The heart in the air of your connection always burnt,

Blacking like a tulip full of cute and chanting.

Until I reached your visit, the light came and turned,

At night, the day was illuminated in my heart.

In the mirror of the right, I was the soil

By connecting you every moment, I was out of myself.

The one who did not see the jamal you never,

He does not know what love is and where the heart was flying.

#behnammohtarami#

Frome the glannce to the joiner

From the glance to the joiner

See one day, in the rose season,

The heart of your laughter like the sun

In my eyes a flame fell and went,

My cold mind was forgotten

Love came, quiet, unintentional,

Because the soft breeze, in my heart

Morning smiles in the sun,

Night, kissed my sleeping fantasy

Unaware of me, with cute,

The heart went through the alleys

Every step away, the disaster of my life,

Tears on the cheek, my guest

I wrote the letters of the joiner's enthusiasm,

With a hearty heart

It rained up until one night and it walked the door oh,

Come with the smell of jasmine and the moon

The eyes in your eyes, the world was lost,

It was a moment of my life, people became

You said: John, late but I came

I said: I will give you eternal

#behnammohtarami#

a little that the world thougt the world was in his hand

A little that the world thought the world was in his hand

Daytime

With ears up to the open -ended.

Said to the Sunshine.

"I am a code of the world, no need for permission!

And poison hit the ground

To find out what a master he has!

Said, “The policy is required,

I make two parties,

One leftist, one right! "

And stood on a hill

And the wisers,

The law wrote:

All the bumps are equal,

But I'm a little more! "

2 years have passed,

Every morning, with smoked glasses

Woke up

And in the mirror he said:

I am a democracy itself!

And the cake, the mass lines were lined up

To vote

To her,

Or to his copied version.

Until one day,

A strange object found,

Neither lion nor hunters,

But it smelled the truth!

And smell, for the donation of the congregation,

The worst is torture.

Gathering

With the scream of "conspiracy!"

Fled to the north,

Hidden behind the broken fences of history.

And the first donkey,

The same as the world -renowned

He stayed in the corner

And with regret,

To the poem hill

Stared at ...

#behnammohtarami#

The dawan of zebra

The dawn of a zebra

In the morning, with the first beams, the black zebra, which was always slightly different, opened his eyes. But today something had changed in his eyes. He saw himself in stagnant water next to the plain and smiled.

I'm milk!

He shouted loudly and said to the breeze with his imaginary edge. The herd of zebra looked at him with surprise. But he passed by the royal pride and kicked him to whomever he approached.

He said: This plain is my land. My government has begun.

The zebra, first, with doubt, then with surprise, and finally with fear, followed it.

He used to be a colors revolution, of the original black and white, from the law of modern nature ...

But it was not long before the plain was silent. The birds jumped. The breeze smelled hungry.

The lions came. Real, frustrated, flawless, unpopular.

The king's zebra stood first. He said: I am from you too!

But the milk just looked at her.

And when the teeth reached his neck, he realized that he was never milk.

It was only a zebra who dreamed in the morning.

And the flock?

Scattered.

And the plain, just heard the sound of the dreams.

#behnamm

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#

Wendy,the light my sky

Wendy, the Light in My Sky

Wendy—
your name floats
like a melody through my mind,
soft as summer rain
on a city that never sleeps.

Your smile—
the kind that makes clocks pause,
makes the moon lean closer,
just to catch a glimpse.

I didn’t mean to fall—
but there you were,
eyes like galaxies
pulling me in
without gravity,
without warning.

You’re not just beautiful—
you’re the poem
I didn’t know I was writing
with every breath I took
before I met you.

And now—
even silence feels like music
when you’re near.
Even the stars seem jealous
of how bright you make my world.

Wendy,
if love has a shape,
it’s your name
written across my heart.

#behnammohtarami #

Queen

The queen, I love you; What do I do?

My utterly in the fire; What do I do?

Gave your heart off and turned off

My flame in my request; What do I do?

For the girls of my land ,iran

For the girls of my land, Iran

O girls who recognize the sun from the veil of clouds

You who send your voice with the breeze and keep your smile alive from the shadows

Know: No winter will stay forever, no night is unnecessary.

You are a bright generation; The heirs of the women who stood in the heart of history built, fought, and were never off.

The world may be late, but you are sooner than you think,

You will be the scene of new days.

Iranian girls,

Remember that freedom is born out of hope.

And hope, in your heart.

Will definitely go this black,

And the whiteness of awakening, brightness, and life,

It will take place.

Keep your eyes open, don't hide your voices,

That the future of you.

#behnammohtarami#

Wolf s however

Wolf's however

The wind blows from the south, with the smell of sea salt and burnt soil. The night was darker than ever. In the heart of the silent mountains of the port, the sound of howling was drawn; The howl was not hungry from the hungry wolf, but the eyes ambushed.

The wolves had come, from the distant lands, across the seas. They were named after civilization, but their teeth smelled blood. One had a crown, the other with a three -color flag, and one in the hand and the gun in the hand.

On Yalda Night, the smiles of the smiles with a cup in the hand sent a message:
"You're a Yalda Night, Lovely ..."
And the wolves began to stir the fire, to mention.

The assassination of the shadow, the youth fell into the blood, and their laughing sound was turned off. The fire was torn under the ashes. The port remained awake, but the quiet villages sat blood.

They came, not for peace, nor for democracy. They had come for the treasure, to grab the table that the children of the soil had spread with sweat and life.
They wanted to bury Mossadegh's memory, again to put a "self" face on the throne of power, but with alien hands.

Yes, the wolf's however is not off,
Because Iran's rich resources
This land of thousands of stories and a thousand wounds,
Wolves forcing the wolves to come together
Howling.
And in the dark, strangle the children of Iran ...#

Behna mohtarami#e#

King s woman

King's woman

At a time when World War II shakes European soil, an aristocratic girl from Britain's Sweetheart, quietly and in silence, played power chess. His name was Pamela. A girl with penetrating eyes, a shrewd heart, and ambitious nature. He had come to rewrite history from the scenes of femininity and love.

Pamela chose her first bead carefully: Randolph Churchill, son of Winston Churchill. Not only entered the family of the Great Prime Minister, but from the beginning he showed that he was not only a "lady of the house". She was a woman with a larger plan: becoming a woman who made world decisions in her arms.

When Randolph plunged into the gambling and irresponsible swamp, Pamela separated. But not for loneliness, but for entering the ring of men who were key to the gates of power.

She abducted the heart of Gianni Annie; The heir to the Fiat Empire, the man who rotates the Italian economy. Then it came Prince Ali Khan's turn; A princess with aristocracy in the veins and global influence. Eli Rothschild, the heir to the Jewish banking family, was also caught in the game's strands. Every relationship was a step towards more influence.

He was called "mistress", but in fact, he was a blessed politician, unattractive but passionate. Those who were with him made world decisions. Even the Greek billionaire Aristotle Onassis, who had only a few women in the world were able to conquer their minds and wealth, fell into Pamela.

Pamela was not a woman of stories; She was a woman who wrote stories.

Liland Hayd, a producer of Broadway, married to enter the media world. And finally, he married the man who opened the gates of American politics, Airl Harman, the governor and powerful US diplomat.

She was now a woman with an American passport, an English heart and global influence.

During the presidency of Bill Clinton, he received the reward of all years: became the US ambassador to France. Not because of the evidence, not because of the party, but because she was a woman who knew how to force men in the world to obey. He was no longer a mistress, he was a monarch woman.

When the world died in Paris in year 2, the world lost one of its clever beads. Pamela was buried in the tomb of his wife, but his name will remain in the history of politics as a female king.

#behnammohtarami#

The blacke shorts you wear

The black shorts you wear

The black shorts you wear,
At night, you were breathing slower.
The moon wouldn't go through the window,
So as not to make the eye
To that silent curvature of your temptation.

Remember?
With your smile, the coffee does not stay bitter,
And your hands
Like my unfinished poems
There was always a place between dream and reality.

Black shorts
Not just a fabric
Rather, the flag of peace after my wars.
Dressed and I gave up,
Unnecessary from words,
No excuses.

Now,
Years of years,
But when I found it in the last drawer
Breathe
It was as if the smell was still left.
And your laughter, which brightened the night.

The black shorts you wear,
The world was as if it were a better place.
Where love
It was still possible.

#Behnammohtarami#

Allahu AKbar

"Allahu Akbar"

Allahu Akbar, the dawn's fierce cry,
A sword of truth, beneath the sky.
From golden domes to desert sand,
This cry shakes empires, takes a stand.

Trump in his tower, trembling tight,
The echo of faith, a deadly might.
He felt the rumble deep within,
A quake of justice, burning sin.

No bomb, no coin, nor army’s might,
But Allah’s name brings forth the fight.
In every heart, in every prayer,
His power grows, the tyrants fear.

الله‌اکبر

الله‌اکبر، فریاد صبح‌گاه،
شمشیری از حق، بر سر هر چاه.
از گنبد زرین تا دشت بیابان،
این بانگ، لرزانَد کاخ‌های شیطان.

ترامپ در برجش لرزید از ترس،
صدای ایمان، سلاحی ز مرس.
دلش لرزید از تکان‌های زمین،
گواهی بر ظلم، بر آتش و کین.

نه بمب، نه زر، نه ارتشِ جنگ،
بلکه نام خداست که می‌شکند سنگ.
در هر دل، در هر نماز و دعا،
قدرتش می‌روید، ترس از خدا.

#behnammohtarami#
وبلاگ پیشخوان۱۰۶۷

الله‌اکبر

الله‌اکبر، فریاد صبح است،
تیغی‌ست بر ظلم، همچون سرب داغ است.
از گنبد زرّین تا خاک بیابان،
این بانگ حق، لرزانَد هر شیطان.

آمد صدایی از دل مؤمن،
لرزید عالم، خاموش شد دشمن.
در کاخ سفید، سایه فتاد،
ترس از دل کفر، چون آذر بر باد.

ترامپ، آن مغرور زمان،
دید ارتعاشی در استخوان.
چشمش به شرق افتاد، هراسان،
چون شیر خشمگین از ایرانستان!

الله‌اکبر، فتح دلیران،
بر سنگ می‌کوبد نام ستمگران.
نه بمب، نه زر، نه ارتش کین،
بلکه فریادی‌ست از دل زمین.

#بهنام_محترمی#در پی الله اکبر حضار در کنفرانس ترامپ وافتادن لرزه وفرارش#سروده شده است#وبلاگ پیشخوان ۱۰۶۷#