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Joy Aug 2018
Start something with no desire and without much intention embedded
Like knitting fabric without thread
Collect the strands after the silk from the worm that hangs on the sleeve of the tree
Self-exploit
Seek capital and foster determination as much as possible

A moment of consciousness
What I am doing this time is not something easy
Some time to come will feel heavy and not for a moment
Dictate education and learning that must be boring
It is not easy to deepen what I have decided
But in other words
Choosing is a path that must be taken by anyone
Regardless of what and how the choice is made
Of course the greatest consequence is to accept and run everything with the best treatment

Choosing does not mean losing one thing to another
But choosing is the form and attitude in determining the way to achieve something
Although there will be a lot of opposition and even rejection within
It is not the end
Make every difficult thing a whip
And what feels easy
Becomes the power to fulfill the difficult

For what will happen in the future
All attitudes and treatment must be embedded from this moment
Having chosen is courageous
Ready to live and wrestle all the races and obstacles ahead
So far
All new preparations have been collected
While walking slowly
Follow the directions and learn to read nature

What I have started
One day
I have to reap
If you're help. Im a hope.
Hasan Aspahani Aug 2017
I a m hungry, therefore I am -  Garfield



IN prayer he will never utter
    it waits for the rain of milk,
       a heavy rain, because of him

the cat with thirsty tongue, see with
      its own eye, when mother was disappear.

In prayer he never dared to ask
     it wants a fishy fish neck,
         the smell of a fisherman,

no care about salt salinity, or its own sweat.

In prayers he will never say
       it expected the lap, the fire on that stove
                warm, and maybe also sear.
Hasan Aspahani Aug 2017
WHAT is the color deserted? He hides from the eye catch, over time, blooming orange gerbera, we plant it in the wounded land.

What is the scent of lonely? Blood that does not drip, the sap that does not flow from gerbera stalk wound, when we pick it.

What is the taste of lonely? Leaves fall not brewed, imagined what is dissolved in our cups, which once did not get to the petals gerbera.
Hasan Aspahani Aug 2017
HE stroked a white cat. The cat slowly turns into a cloud. He was about to cup the cloud but the whole cloud came into his eyes. She became sleepy and fell asleep.

The cloud that had entered his eyes became cloudy outside his eyelids. He dreams about a sheet of sky that will rain. Then woke up with slightly wet eyelashes. But it was not the tears.

HE:
Who cried in my eyes last night?


He did not see, the cat or the cloud wanted to answer but they were stuck in a holy book that on one page of inserted a brochure course an easy way to reach the paradise that has been long past the date of its operation.
Hasan Aspahani Jul 2017
HE took me
To the dirt road
Along the creek
The flow of time.

We met a child
Who can not swim strongly
But good at fishing.

He took me to the cemetery.
We saw
A child and his father pray
Visiting women
They are very dear

He pulled my hand
To the banana garden
Which bear fruit on long bunches,
And it knows
Will soon be cut down by a machete.

He was lying with me
On a night
And awakened by various things
The scramble wants to be a dream
In a rush sleep.
Hasan Aspahani Jul 2017
LET'S stop by, just take off the tired helmet, and
Put a weary suitcase, year and year in the age line,

Then we stand up at the height of the tower,
"That," I said, "a ***** cloud, will there's a mud rain,"
you shook your head and stared on the motor lock.

"Chevolution, chevolution," I heard

Like that word you hissed over and over again.

You reach for the handlebars of the motorbike,
slamming in the direction.

Which far refuse comfortable cage and shady wells.

I plucked a banyan branch, for a pointer to
read again, a Book that we can never finish ...

The air is lagging after you step on the gas,
Drove in the far direction, I knew it was perfume,

A man who leaves no trace, except
Spilled coffee on the tablecloth, and dried cauliflower.
Hasan Aspahani Jul 2017
JUNE hid from me, on a forgotten calendar sheet on the kitchen wall. In vain, I shied away from the dust. Dust did not care about June on that calendar I'd never had.

Me and June, almost did not know each other again. Me and dust still greet each other just as a matter of praise. Dust and June as usual, still deceiving each other, yellowing on the paper.
Hasan Aspahani Jul 2017
MY HOUSE is Your home. Your house is my home. Now, if I'm going in, I do not have to pry Your window anymore.

But, last night I tried to steal again in my own home. Silently sneak into Your heart, and hope You catch me.
Hasan Aspahani Jul 2017
I am a leaf and you are a voracious caterpillar. I'm gone, when you turn into a butterfly, develop the color of your wings.

I'm late night and you're polite dew. I was not there when on the leaf, morning and the sun brilliant you.
Hasan Aspahani Jul 2017
THE remembrance upon you is a ****, I pluck it, then you grow again with the patience of time. With perseverance you endure, to me who can not stand it.

The memory upon you is the spider's thread, the never-ending nest, knitting itself, I'm trapped in it, helplessly, can not be free, and can never be cleared clearly.
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