Kamand Kojouri

We are told that in translation there is no such thing as equivalence. Many times the translator reaches a fork in the translating road where they must make a choice in the interpretation of a word. And each time they make one of these choices, they are taken further from the truth. But what we aren__ told is that this isn__ a shortcoming of translation; it__ a shortcoming of language itself. As soon as we try to put reality into words, we limit it. Words are not reality, they are the cause of reality, and thus reality is always more. Writers aren't alchemists who transmute words into the aurous essence of the human experience. No, they are glassmakers. They create a work of art that enables us to see inside to help us understand. And if they are really good, we can see our own reflections staring back at us.

Art doesn__ give rise to anything in us that isn__ already there. It simply stirs our curious consciousness and sparks a fire that illuminates who we have always wanted to be.

Listen.Do you see that you can__ hear snowfall?Look.Do you sensethat you can__ see love?Touch.Do you graspthat you can__ catch poems?Try.Smell this glass. Go on taste this cloud.These material senses won__ get you far untilyou feelthe velvet glove caress your soul.

Love, the exotic bird, came and went.Heart forgot love.Joy, the majestic willow, wept and died.Mind forgot joy.Hope, the basement lamp, fell and broke.Soul forgot hope.Self, the anxious caterpillar, took flight and dropped.Self forgot self.You, my all, became all my reasons.Reasons left.You left.I never forgot.

My mind is being consumed by you.My body is longing for you. Just one touch or a kiss, And I shall be satiated for a thousand years.

Mist to mist, drops to drops. For water thou art, and unto water shalt thou return.

I open my eyes. I want to know:what is in the abyss of a kiss? Are stars born in these black caves that house bated breaths and unspoken words? Do our souls crawl on these tender cheeks to greet one another by ivory gates? What happens when we kiss?Where do you go?Don__ tell me. For I have lost my desire to know. Kiss me so that I forget myself. I close my eyes and fall in the abyss.

Maybe love at first sight isn__ what we think it is. Maybe it__ recognising a soul we loved in a past life and falling in love with them again.

Why this candle?Why this cake?The day of my birth is not today.I was born when you said, 'Hey.

Everything I have become,everything I will ever accomplishcannot compare to my mostimpressive feat:I have loved youfiercelyand assiduouslywith the very marrowinside my bones. So that when I die, they can crack them to findyou there. So that when I die, they can open me upand see your name tattooed on the wall of my heart.So that when I die, my epitaph will neither commemoratewho I wasnor what I did, but will read:__he loved.And loved. And loved.__nd so, I smile now,because that is no small thing.

You just wait.Soon, lovers all over the worldwill be reciting poems dedicated to you.This is my promise.

Work. Good, honest work, whether it__ working with your hands to create an artwork, or manual labour, brings forth a sense of divinity at play. The only prerequisite is that whatever the work is, it is done sincerely and in congruence with the soul__ true origin and intent, then, without any effort, one experiences a flow, wherein one feels a part of the plan of the entire universe.

By loving you, I learn everything because your soul contains the entire universe.

The first music I ever heard was only one hundred and sixty days after I was conceived. Da dum Da dum Da dum Have you ever heard the sound a blessing makes? This is it. The first thing I ever saw was only one hundred and eighty days after I was conceived. It was a bright light soft like clouds warm like candles. Have you ever seen the colour of a blessing? This is it. The first time I ever suffered was in the three thousand and sixty seconds after I was born. I listened for her heartbeat. I searched for her light. I cried for the first time until she was born. Have you ever known a blessing? A twin is it.

Beauty is the manifestation of love.

I think falling in love is like discovering the magic of books. You think to yourself, 'how was I living before this?

Make no mistake about it. We are born blind, deaf, and mute. It is neither these eyes that give us sight, nor these ears that give us sound. It is not even these lips that give us voice. It is only love. Love makes us seek beauty and truth. Love yearns to connect. To experience. To understand. So close your eyes at once. Don__ utter a word. Perk up your ears and listen to that silent sound inside you where all this is found.

Come into my world. I will show you the phenomenon that Stendhal experienced. I will help you feel the cascading arpeggios of Wagner's overture. I will dance to Doga__ waltzes with you. A day spent without appreciating the beauty surrounding us is a waste. Let me appreciate you