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Roya Monajem


From time immemorial, Norouz has been seen as the birthday of our Blue Planet Earth on this land

Which together with the blooming white and pink blossoms, green grass and red poppies

Once again passes through another year of human history on her bosom

In the hope of a true rebirth for all

 Gustav Klimt, Cherry Garden 

Accompanying the renewal of the Earth and Time in this coming Spring,

Let us first read Forough Farokhzad’s poem, Rebirth like a soliloquy

In the memory of all those innocents lives driven out of their homes or killed on her bosom as the result of human Inhumanities in the Middle East and elsewhere on her seven continents

With the light of hope in our own rebirth with love: 


Gustav Klimt, Tree of Life  

My life is a dark holy verse

In which, on every dawn of eternal blooming and burgeoning

I called you over and over with a sigh


In this holy verse I tied you

To Trees, Water and Fire


Life is perhaps

A long street where everyday

A woman with a basket in her hand passes

Life is perhaps

A rope with which a man hangs himself from a tree

Life is perhaps

A schoolchild coming back home from school

Life is perhaps

Lighting a cigarette

Between two languor []

Or the passage of a dazed pedestrian

Who raises his hat

Smiling for no reason

Bidding another passerby:

“Good Morning!”


Life is perhaps that obstructed moment when

My glance ruins itself in the pupil of your eyes

And there is a sensation in that which

I will blend with the conception of Moon and perception of Darkness


In a room, which is as big as Loneliness

My heart, which is as big as Love

Looks at its simple excuses for happiness

At the beautiful withering of flowers in the vase

At the seedling which you planted in our garden, and

At the song of canaries

Which sing as high as a window



This is my share of lot

This is my share of lot

My share is the sky that hanging a curtain

Will deprive me of

My share is going down an abandoned stairway

And to something amid the decay, homesickness and the principle of searching

My share is a sorrowful strolling in the Garden of Memories

And dying in the grief of a voice telling me

“I love your Hands”


 Gustav Klimt, A Path in the Garden


I plant my hands in the Garden

They will germinate, I know, I know, I know

And sparrows will lay eggs in the furrow of my inky fingers


I hang a pair of earrings

Of twin cherries from my ears

And stick Dahlia’s petals on my nails

There is an alleyway where

The boys who were in-love with me

Are still wondering with the same entangled hairs, thin necks, skinny legs

About the innocent smiles of a girl whom

The wind took away one night


There is an alleyway which my heart

Has stolen from my childhood’s quarter


A three dimensional trip on the Line of Time

Impregnating three dimensionally the sterile Line of Time

A three dimensional view of a conscious reflection

Returning from a mirror’s party


And that’s how

Somebody dies and somebody remains

No hunter will catch a pearl

From a pitiable brook which falls into a hole


I know a little sad nymph

Who lives in an ocean

And plays her heart in a shepherd’s pipe

Piece by piece

A little sad nymph

Who dies at night with a kiss

And is reborn at dawn with a kiss 


Mermaids, Gustav Klimt

Let us take this little sad nymph as our Mother-Earth,

And instead of breaking her heart with our unkindness to each other

Revive it with a kiss of Hope in the coming New Year

And play her shepherd’s pipe together singing

My whole life is a holy verse of Light

In which on every dawn of eternal blooming and burgeoning

I joyously embrace you over and over

To remember my humanity

And Feel Responsible



Spendarmaz, Gaia, Earth

Rises the morning wind and the scent of Norouz

For the happiness of friends and good fortune

Felicitous be your New Year and all your coming years

Propitious be your today and all your coming days

 Saadi Shirazi (1210-1291)

Tavoos will be closed from 20 March 7 to 4 April 2017