Iran Poetry Quotes

Do you know what you are? You are a manuscript oƒ a divine letter. You are a mirror reflecting a noble face. This universe is not outside of you. Look inside yourself; everything that you want, you are already that.

You think of yourself as a citizen of the universe. You think you belong to this world of dust and matter. Out of this dust you have created a personal image, and have forgotten about the essence of your true origin

My whole being is a dark chant that will carry you perpetuating you to the dawn of eternal growths and blossomings in this chant I sighed you, oh in this chant, I grafted you to the tree, to the water, to the fire.

walking towards freedom is impossible let your soul fly!

you’re already naked in this world in this time in this life beacause your next love your next hunger you next laughter and even your next tear may never come

The white butterly slowly sinks into the wine of your age.

I have heard that in the day of Hope and Fear the Merciful One will pardon the evil for the sake of the good. If you see evil in my words, do the same.

Newspaper letters review the deserted cities & drowse at the windows in pale sun & the evening breeze’s rales. The train has stopped. ("Anna Karenina / October 18, 1910," Translated by Kayvan Tahmasebian and Rebecca Ruth Gould )

When I was a kid, I had a passion too. It was poetry but I knew becoming a poet wouldn’t put food on the table. The fact that I couldn’t do anything about it made me miserable. It made me despise the world. It made me despise life.

Part of Darya had always felt ashamed of her homesickness for Iran. How could she be homesick for a place filled with cruel laws and bottomless sadness? Because it was filled with so much more than that. Because her father was still there. Because her sister was too. Because the lemon trees and pomegranates were still there. Because the poetry was still there. Because her ancestors had cultivated a life and a legacy there. Because that place was home. Her home.

I dreamed of that red star when I wasn’t asleep

The familiar song of a night-singing nightingale rises from somewhere in the garden. A nightingale that in this season of cold should not be in the garden, a nightingale that in a thousand verses of Iranian poetry, in the hours of darkness, for the love of a red rose and in sorrow of its separation from it, has forever sung and will forever sing.

I’d noticed that in Britain and America the word Persian is generally used for the ‘nice’ things: Persian carpets, Persian food and restaurants, poetry and art, that kind of thing. But when it comes to talking about politics, and say, the nuclear programme or human rights, anything that the western media considers intimidating or distasteful, then it’s ‘Iran’ and ‘Iranian’.

Iran was the glamour and glitz of Tehran, Shiraz, Esfahan. (...) she was struck by the high fashion and opulence of the cities. Parties overflowing with champagne. Women dressed in the latest Paris haute couture. But when Louise left Iran in search of horses, the landscape quickly changed from high rises to the high peaks of the Alborz Mountains, and overflowing rice paddies replaced champagne parties. (...) This was Persia. Roads that ended in orchards. Mountains rising and rivers tumbling in white and blue. All shades of green contouring farming fields and jagged peaks. (...) Iran was politics; Persia was poetry.

Timeworn, so I spin and spin. Reborn, for I am once again.

Love is a common theme in the poetry of Iran...While love is highly promoted in poetry, the concept of marriage is not.

Beyond the headlines about war and death, the region is alive with music, art, books, theater, social entrepreneurship, advocacy, libraries, cafes, bookshops, poetry, and so much more, as old and young push to reclaim space for cultural expression and freedom of expression.

Sanctions levied Sanctions heavy Break my back But you will not end me Many have assailed
 Many have failed Pack after pack Blood shed but to no avail Had my share of years Had my share of tears SAVAK to crack A century of polluted atmosphere This is my land This is my clan Turn the clock back I'm as old as the history of man Gone are the golden days Gone are the golden ways Stopped in my tracks Time will lead me out of this maze Keep my people in pain Keep my people in chains Wrapped in my flag The end welcomes tyranny's campaign Levy your sanctions Heavy my reaction From The Burnt City to Ganzak I, Simurgh, will rise from the ashes History will go round History will go down Evil, domestic and foreign Will burn to the ground Time bears witness Time bears justice
Our mystic misfortune A lingering dark nimbus Rise up my wings
Rise up my kings
This majestic sovereign Will be reborn once again

Sanctions levied Sanctions heavy
Break my back
But you will not end me Many have assailed
Many have failed
Pack after pack
Blood shed but to no avail Had my share of years
Had my share of tears
SAVAK to crack
A century of polluted atmosphere This is my land
This is my clan
Turn the clock back
I'm as old as the history of man Gone are the golden days
Gone are the golden ways Stopped in my tracks
Time will lead me out of this maze Keep my people in pain
Keep my people in chains
Wrapped in my flag
The end welcomes tyranny's campaign Levy your sanctions
Heavy my reaction
From The Burnt City to Ganzak
I, Simurgh, will rise from the ashes History will go round History will go down
Evil, domestic and foreign Will burn to the ground Time bears witness Time bears justice
Our mystic misfortune A lingering dark nimbus Rise up my wings
Rise up my kings
This majestic sovereign Will be reborn once again

Sanctions levied Sanctions heavy Break my back But you will not end me Many have assailed
 Many have failed Pack after pack Blood shed but to no avail Had my share of years Had my share of tears SAVAK to crack A century of polluted atmosphere This is my land This is my clan Turn the clock back I'm as old as the history of man Gone are the golden days Gone are the golden ways Stopped in my tracks Time will lead me out of this maze Keep my people in pain Keep my people in chains Wrapped in my flag The end welcomes tyranny's campaign Levy your sanctions Heavy my reaction From The Burnt City to Ganzak I, Simurgh, will rise from the ashes History will go round History will go down Evil, domestic and foreign Will burn to the ground Time bears witness Time bears justice Our mystic misfortune A lingering dark nimbus Rise up my wings Rise up my kings This majestic sovereign Will be reborn once again

Another female star of the pre-modern age was “Mulla Fatemeh” Naghai, a performer of music and poetry for the Zand dynasty court in Shiraz during the 1700s. This woman gave public concerts outside the Vakil bazaar, playing the lute, harp, tambourine, and reed pipe, and she could recite over 20,000 verses of classical or contemporary poetry from memory. She was an outspoken critic of clerical hypocrisy and of bigotry in general, demanding justice for the powerless both in the court and on stage.

As Fatemeh Keshavarz explains, “It would take an entire book to name and briefly describe the women who have made their mark on Persian poetry and fiction, painting, cinema, photography, hiking, biking, car racing, horse riding, music, scholarship, and more.