Tonight, I wrote something that blends literary and poetic thoughts, and I felt it was worth sharing. It’s in my native language, but I’ve also included the English translation right after the Persian version.
It was hard to choose a title for it but at the end I called it "Invisible Days".
(This is my photo in Tehran)
Persian:
تمرکز کردن سخت شده
با حجم عظیمی از امواج
که هی می آیند و هی محو میشن
من که بودم و که هستم؟
از کودکی چه می خواستم؟
چه تصویری از آینده داشتم؟
آینده ای که امروز مرا دربرگرفته
بی حس، در چرخه های هزارتو
شاید تنها خودم می فهمم
شاید هم اینجا کسی همراهم است
همراهی که خود گم شده
و من در این مسیرهای نا معلوم
به دنبال هدفی که از من فراری است
بعضی وقتها تلاش می کنم
و فریاد میزنم این منم و این هدفم
ولی بعدش مدتی ناپدید میشم
انگار مدتی خودم رو ندیدم
در شلوغی های همیشگی
انگار من اینجا نیستم
و اینجا نبودم، هر کجا که باشد
گاهی کسی را به مقصودش رساندم
گاهی ابزار شدم برای ساختن
ساختن چیزی که نمی‌شناختم
چیزی که هدف من نبود
چندین بار این کار را کردم؟
نمی دانم، چون همیشه روزها تعطیلن
تعطیلی های غیر رسمی
وقتی داخل محورها حرکت نمی کنم
مورد قبول نیستم، اما کاربردی ام
بعضی شبها از ماورا کمک می خوام
تا منو از این چرخه های تکرار رها کنه
تا رنج اینگونه بودن کمتر بشه
کسی مرا ندیده و لمس نکرده
در اعماق این کالبد
هنوز هم بهوش می آیم
و بخاطر می آورم ...
If you could read its Persian version, it would be better, cause it is more poetic than its English translation.
English translation:
Focusing has become hard
under the massive waves
that keep coming
and fading away.
Who was I, and who am I now?
What did I want as a child?
What image did I have of the future?
A future that now surrounds me—
numb, trapped in endless mazes.
Maybe only I understand.
Or maybe someone is here with me,
a companion who is lost too.
And I,
in these unknown paths,
chase a goal that keeps running from me.
Sometimes I try,
I shout,
“This is me, and this is my goal!”
But then I disappear for a while—
As if I haven’t seen myself
in the endless rush of everyday life
As if I’m not here.
As if I was never here,
wherever here is.
Sometimes I’ve helped others reach their goals.
Sometimes I’ve been a tool
for building something I didn’t know—
something that wasn’t my purpose.
How many times have I done this?
I don’t know.
Because the days are always off—
unofficial holidays.
When I don’t move along their axes,
I’m not accepted.
But I’m still useful.
Some nights, I ask the beyond for help—
to free me from these repeating cycles,
to lessen the pain of being like this.
No one has seen me.
No one has touched me.
But deep within this body,
I still awaken—
and I remember once more ....
Goodnight my friends
This reminds me of something very serious that I even forgot. I recommend that you make an effort to write this down seriously; it's not easy. Thank you.
Thank you. The English translation may seem simple, but the original Persian version carries more depth.
I often leave the ending open to invite personal interpretation—like waking from a dream and catching a glimpse of reality, only to be pulled back into the illusion. That cycle itself is part of the message.
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