Hadi Khojinian
Just another WordPress.com weblogMarcia
I puffed the table top glass to clear it from my night’s remaining pieces
of bread.
I didn’t want a piece of night to remain on the glass surface of
my little table for my today.
I inhaled fresh air into my chest to let the stale air out of my body.
I opened the window of the Hotel Blue room in the middle of the sea
To hear Marcia who was sitting on the back of Gustav.
She was grasping the air between her black hair to get quicker
To the door of the hotel whose air I was breathing from the top of its
Window. Today I wanted to make love to Marcia as her scent had filled
My entire night’s dream. I missed her big brown nipples very much.
I wanted to cover her from the top of her head down to her toe tip with
My tongue to maybe forget this desire in her absence. Above me, seagulls
Caught pieces of bread I threw at them to taste its good smell and flavour
On the roof top of the Hotel Blue. From nearby I saw Marcia who had
Undressed and her large breasts were splitting the air for the scent of
Desire to fill everywhere. From a distance, the air around her tall body
Filled my desire to embrace her. I took the pale brown bed-cover off the bed,
Held it over my head to throw out the window so that if Gustav
Has no flying wings, it would become his wings that take me to Marcia.
The high and low tides of the sea were changing the hotel’s height and
My distance from meeting Marcia was changing the same way. Northern
Clouds strayed from their path to let the rain fall as Marcia reached the window,
They wanted to watch our kiss under the rain. I pounded my fist
Into the duck feather pillows to air them out, as I wanted Marcia to be
Comfortable and have not one bit of anxiety penetrate her hair.
Today I want to be with her and I do not let pieces of whimsical sense
Shake my body. Today I will surely make love to Marcia.
Hadi Khojinian
Translated by: Azadeh Azad
I puffed the table top glass to clear it from my night’s remaining pieces
of bread.
I didn’t want a piece of night to remain on the glass surface of
my little table for my today.
I inhaled fresh air into my chest to let the stale air out of my body.
I opened the window of the Hotel Blue room in the middle of the sea
To hear Marcia who was sitting on the back of Gustav.
She was grasping the air between her black hair to get quicker
To the door of the hotel whose air I was breathing from the top of its
Window. Today I wanted to make love to Marcia as her scent had filled
My entire night’s dream. I missed her big brown nipples very much.
I wanted to cover her from the top of her head down to her toe tip with
My tongue to maybe forget this desire in her absence. Above me, seagulls
Caught pieces of bread I threw at them to taste its good smell and flavour
On the roof top of the Hotel Blue. From nearby I saw Marcia who had
Undressed and her large breasts were splitting the air for the scent of
Desire to fill everywhere. From a distance, the air around her tall body
Filled my desire to embrace her. I took the pale brown bed-cover off the bed,
Held it over my head to throw out the window so that if Gustav
Has no flying wings, it would become his wings that take me to Marcia.
The high and low tides of the sea were changing the hotel’s height and
My distance from meeting Marcia was changing the same way. Northern
Clouds strayed from their path to let the rain fall as Marcia reached the window,
They wanted to watch our kiss under the rain. I pounded my fist
Into the duck feather pillows to air them out, as I wanted Marcia to be
Comfortable and have not one bit of anxiety penetrate her hair.
Today I want to be with her and I do not let pieces of whimsical sense
Shake my body. Today I will surely make love to Marcia.
Hadi Khojinian
Translated by: Azadeh Azad
Maggie Brighton on the Island
Softness
How easy you become mine And How irresistible you be missed Do you remember? You vanished between two kissing You appeared during love making You went to quench your thirst But Your scent perfumed my milky bed I was overwhelmed of your dancing melody Room is touching woman’s scent Wooden wall is sweating smoothly Water is spreading tranquilly on the floor And changing to soft clouds Softness is dripping Through the air I pour water on the floor Maybe You shed through my life Hadi Khojinian
Invitation
When you invite a Lover
to your room
be careful
Watch her calmly and
breath slowly
Be aware of her movements
Dont talk so much
she will be bored
Be aware of her eyes
Dont forget melody
when you name her love
Train to Brussels
I am in the cottage / I am a prisoner of a dumb and strange feeling without any hesitation / I feel prison , no way to run / I go to bath, fill bathtub, and dip to the water. when I come out it is me somebody new An old man comes out of the cottage, passes village and bridge and takes a train to Brussels Nobody checks my ticket Everybody cries for me Next station An old lady enters the cabin I ask her: Please Madam can you tell me Who am I? She takes a rose from her basket and tells me: Take it and in Brussels Schuman station Give it to the first person you see She knows your Name and takes you Home…..
Hadi Khojinian July 2007
Solitary life
What difference does it make if I am in the pain threshold or not! What difference does it make if I would be high up there or down in the restless fields. No it doesn’t matter to me anymore. Nothing takes my desire to high up or down below. What is important is that I know very well what I am doing. Over these past years I have well come to the understanding that I know where I stand. Sex, politics and thousands other turbulent don’t bother me anymore. Opposite sex and uproars don’t move me anymore. It doesn’t make a difference whether I have a gun in my hand or get naked and make love. It has been months that I have only observed. Years have gone by and during all these minutes, months and years I lost and forgot myself immersed in the dust of amnesia, but these days I realised that I have not wasted my life. I have not wasted my time in vain and have not passed roads without a reason. All and all, these have been priceless experiences. Making love, jail and solitude, I have no fear and regret from the past. All have been reserved in my soul to save me in my rainy days. I have held my heart in the palm of my hand with all my fears and anxieties. I have left everything behind to find myself. It has been a long time that I have cleared my memory archive from all the dust and soil. It has been a long time that I don’t think about anything hollow anymore. It has been long months that I have drowned myself in the everyday life incidents. I have become an ordinary person. I laugh at daily joys and challenge useless anxieties. I think about every single values of my life and handpick them without obsession! What is important is me and my thoughts. It doesn’t matter if they are out of stupid selfishness or maturity and pride . When it gets dark, I turn on the light, when sun sets I turn the light off. I drink water when I’m really thirsty; I use anything in order when I need them. I observe every tool in my life carefully and clear the rust off them. I have become disciplined. I put everything back in their place after using them. The first rule in my solitary life is discipline and it calms me down. I am not frightened of anything or anyone. I have become extremely conservative. The solitary life has taught me not to bother anyone or anything, not to make enemies, live my life peacefully and spend the rest of my life smoothly and softly. Simplicity has filled my life with all its volume and I have my heart to it. I am neither after any cage nor a castle. I want a small cottage beside a calm and quiet lake and a fishing boat, one credit card and a lovely job. That’s all and if possible a love-making without expectation and nothing else.
Translated By Bahar Nasiri
Read more: http://hadikhojinian.blogspot.com/2010/06/solitary-life.html#ixzz1Sp5hi9AK
The newspaper Of Sky
As I opened my hands, Marcia pealed the moon from a page of the sky and placed it between my palm and the curves of my fingers. With the purple napkin on the desk next to me, I dried my palm of the water drops that fell from the eyes of the moon, so that Marcia would not see what she had done. I saw how the wingless birds in the sky ripped through the clouds’ misty eyes to feast on the small pieces of bread that Marcia had picked from the table top to throw at them.
I could closely hear the sound of the sky being torn up, as if someone in a rage was ripping the large evening newspaper. The migrating birds were trying to hold onto flight, with webbed feet, and there was nothing anyone could do. After a half broken yawn, Marcia, who was sitting on Gustav’s beak, got up only to open her arms and caress my bird’s soft feathers.
The sky’s newspaper had no fresh news, except the recurrent news of murders, tortures and rapes. I wanted to put the half-read newspaper away; or, to be honest, I desired to shred it to pieces! Politeness prevented me from doing so that early in the morning. When Marcia looked into the ocean of my eyes, she was fully aware of what she had to do next. With her long nail, she scarred the evening newspaper from one corner to the other, pushing the passing birds towards the centre of the paper through printed words. This relieved me from the anxiety of the sky’s newspaper being pierced. The wingless birds passed effortlessly, drawing my attention to the end of a lifetimes amour between the moon and the sky, between the falling of the moon into a black hole on the right corner of the paper.
Hadi Khojinian
Fog in the north sea
Some fog and the sun in the north sea sky, were busy doing their main task, bridging a rainbow between the continental and the Island, and I was thinking of my own way with the pack I’d borrowed from the local’s, put on my back, didn’t mind my foot track backwards and was walking the path blithely yet slowly on
I’d almost arrived
Maggie Spock, well-known beer brewer and domestic partner to the owner of Dorchester Motel, was pushing barrels down towards the wine cellar, when her eldest son was busy on his flat tire and his dad was nervously struggling fire and his damp matchsticks, which so happily crushed one by one, as if mocking the old guy’s shaking hands and his frosted eyes
Till I pass the scenes to get by the doorway, an unexpected gust of wind blew all through my coat over the jersey I’d worn and made me shiver of the sudden cold shock,
We were almost into the tenth month and the eastern wind was sneaking within my exposed body
some cop’s bike leant against the yard’s wall caught my eyes for a while and reminded me of the other night’s story, a well known poet had committed suicide in the room number “6”
“Concede” odor of the 46-year old was fairly confused with the permanent life of the seashells’ and the nostalgia scenting up through me by the sea
As soon as the old guy’s match was at last lit up, I cautiously stepped into the temporary residence, emptied my backpack from notes and briefs, my book and pockets of smoke, brought the ash tray from the kitchen off to the small table and sat with Maggie who was pouring my glass now, and tensely narrating me of the “frozen” night:
“she would never get out of her room, you know, except for the toilet and some beer, I’d give her the tray and cook all her favorite dish on my own, can’t still believe it”
Maggie paused, stood by the window as though looking for something special outdoors and continued “we had never had such experience for all years hosting here, I’m in such a shock now, she hang herself , you should know”
“you did know it?” she asked again
Line had been engaged for thirty minutes now; the officer was talking to the headquarters; it took no more than a while really for a black hearse to arrive; two chilly crews got it off very quickly as if the poet’s book was supposed to be very quickly wrapped up, as soon as possible
They zipped the tarp, locked out the corpse within her share of darkness, and soon left…
Till the bed time, I had the ash tray full with fags, and the tray of 6 bottles on it, filled of beer to the brim, with heavy, violent, swollen and punctured foam covering the mix of poignant alcohol and vivid malt’s light
Written By: Hadi Khojinian
Hadi Khojinian 
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