Ready to be published; after two long years of hard work

photo by Robert Maier

‘Once there was a time, when there was love but against it there was a reaction of hate, there was the hand of friendship but against it there was the gun of enmity. There were struggles of men versus the hands of fate on the waves of life. There were only good memories left in front of hard times with harsh truths. There was thirst for power but there was still trend for forgiveness. There was darkness of disappointment but on the other side there was still hope for the brightness of the dawn. There were wails while there was still laughter. There was war and there was peace. There were massacres and there were survivors.
But once the time changed and cruelty took over and fear began ruling on everyone’s heart. Love was replaced by hate. Nothing was seen but redness of blood, bloods of weak human beings shed by the fiercer ones of the same kind. It was then time when love, and humanity were both taken away by the wind of time, instead darkness was covering everyone’s eyes. The little boys became grown men in overnight to pick up guns and kill proudly mankind of the hostiles when hostility was expanding day by day and people went to slavery; in such a situation cruelty had no limits!
In the twilight time it was hard to distinguish cries of men from the howls of wolves. There was only thirst for blood and there was passion for revenge and it continued generation to generation until one man came to save his nation breaking the chains of slavery and tearing the ropes of Juwalis and again the sign of hope began to blink in the eyes of millions of people.’
It all happened in the era when being Hazara was a crime on a land today called Afghanistan and I brought all of it in a wonderful novel.

***

Finally these days I am sighing for having finished the first step of work; my novel is completed and is now the time to talk with a good publisher/distributor.

Completing a fiction work in a second language has never been easy for me, however nowadays after two long years of hard work I am more and more convinced to believe in success when there is faith, strong motivation, determination and self-confidence behind even a very difficult work.

I began writing the first lines of my novel in January 2008 since the basic idea was bred in my mind, but then I quit writing it for I was blogging, studying and working to afford my life expenses.

In early 2009 I found a job in a bookstore ‘as a librarian’ when I was attracted towards literature, and then in the same year while studying cinema and I could not fund my short films, it was when broken heart I was really determined first to complete my novel. Since then I tried to allocate the little spare time I had to write and wrote it bit by bit and then there was no more time for my blogs and it cost me my silence in blogging thereafter.

In spite of all its hardships with a second language when it is not one’s first one, I was familiar with English for about ten years; two years of studying, three years of teaching experience and more than three years of translation experience and writing several essays in English had all helped me advance my English level to be able to write a novel, of course it may not be the same level of a native English writer as I was not born and raised in an English speaking country, but still I did my best.

***

As the title of the novel is not finalized, neither the publisher is specified yet, I wouldn’t say much about the outline, rather I would only say what kind of book it is and why it is worth mentioning about it here and now in advance –before it is published.

First I should thank Khaled Husseini who with his “The Kite Runner” broke the long-time taboo of talking about prohibited issues, hidden truths and untold stories in Afghanistan that were for long considered as ‘against “the fake” fragile national unity’, and he opened the way for the other emerging authors on stories of such kind.

My novel completes what Khaled Husseini had not reached to, in his novel “The Kite Runner”.

“The Kite Runner” with all its success, had just touched roughly a part of the existing harsh realities in the country but not uncovered it fully and many questions remained unanswered while in mine one I crossed the red-line borders and depicted all those untouched issues for my readers; the hidden layers of the long Hazara- Pashtoon conflicts in Afghanistan based on the existing and historical realities.

In a short saying my novel is a more completed and a more- in-depth version of Khaled Husseini’s and the good point is that; it is written by a Hazara Author, a remainder of the historical mass massacre of the Hazaras in Afghanistan thus it has its originality! It is written in a first person protagonist and in English of course.

You will read how a mass massacre and slavery affected the lives of four generations of a minor ethnic ‘the Hazaras’ through passage of time in Afghanistan and how a man struggles first to survive and then stand to save his nation.

Afghanistan is still the land of contrasts and you can find different images - in -contrast in this country and it is worth knowing a country more thoroughly by a good novel.

My work is a novel, a fiction work, partly inspired by the lives of real people but is built up and mixed with fantasy elements, imaginations and is nourished by the help of historical facts, evidences and existing realities in our society.

By reading my novel ‘that doesn’t have a definite title yet’, you will be traveling to the real Afghanistan through forty years of life of the protagonist, sixty years of lives of his forefathers and will be feeling yourself a part of it, a part of the history of humanity on a part of the globe which is on the top of headlines of media of the world again these days.’
With this novel, I let you see the world through Chinese-like little eyes of a Hazara.

The story begins in Afghanistan of 1960s and flashbacks to 1920s and then comes back and continues until 1990s all in Afghanistan. Then Pakistan is the location and then Italy and finally another Imaginary Land and then finishes back in Afghanistan of 2014 with a happy ending.


It is to add that, this novel is a strong potential for adoption into a major motion picture.

***

If you follow my blogs and my Face Book postings, you will know about it more, the soon there will be accords on its publication and distribution dates.

If you have read ‘The Kite Runner’ and liked it, I should say, definitely reading this one is a must!

The USA, Canada, the UK and Australia will be the first four countries my novel will be distributed in.


In advance,
With love,
From the core of my heart,
I send my salutes
To all my readers!

M. Amin Wahidi

CLICCA QUI per la versione italiana di questo articolo

Pronto per essere pubblicato dopo due lunghi anni di duro lavoro

foto da Cosimo Filippini

"C'era una volta un tempo in cui regnava l'amore ma contro di esso si scagliava l'odio, c'era amicizia ma contro di essa si alzavano le armi dell'inimicizia. C'erano uomini in lotta contro il destino trasportati dalle onde dell'esistenza. C'erano puri e buoni ricordi a scontrarsi con tempi difficili e verità crudeli. C'era sete di potere ma ancora si sceglieva di perdonare. C'era il buio del disinganno ma al contempo si sperava ancora in un' alba lucente. C'erano lamenti e risate, c'era la guerra e c'era la pace, c'erano massacri e sopravvissuti.

Ma un giorno tutto questo cambiò, la crudeltà prese il sopravvento e la paura si impossessò del cuore di ognuno. L'amore fu sostituito dall'odio. Non si vedeva che sangue, il sangue di essere umani che scorreva per mano di altri essere umani più feroci. Fu il momento in cui il vento del tempo spazzò via amore e umanità e un velo nero scese a coprire gli occhi di ognuno. I bambini divennero nel giro di una notte adulti capaci di brandire un'arma e uccidere con fierezza mentre l'ostilità cresceva di giorno in giorno e le persone erano ridotte in schiavitù; la crudeltà non aveva limite!

Al crepuscolo era difficile distinguere le urla degli uomini dagli ululati dei lupi. C'erano soltanto sete di potere e ansia di vendetta e questo andò avanti per generazioni, finché un uomo venne a salvare il suo paese spezzando le catene della schiavitù e strappando le corde di Juwalis; allora di nuovo un segno di speranza tornò a brillare negli occhi di milioni di persone."

Tutto successe all'epoca in cui essere un Hazara era considerato un crimine nella terra che oggi viene chiamata Afghanistan. Io ho raccolto il tutto in un meraviglioso romanzo.

***

In questi giorni sto finalmente tirando sospiri di sollievo per aver completato una prima parte del mio lavoro: il mio romanzo è finito ed è venuto il momento di parlare con un buon editore.

Portare a termine un lavoro di fiction in una lingua che non è la mia non è stato facile. Tuttavia al momento attuale dopo due anni di duro lavoro sono sempre più convinto si poter credere al successo se c'è fede, forte motivazione, determinazione e fiducia in se stessi, anche dietro a una lavoro veramente difficile.

Ho cominciato a stendere le prime righe del mio romanzo nel gennaio del 2008 non appena l'idea di base si è formata nella mia testa, ma poi ho interrotto la scrittura perché dovevo curare il mio blog, studiare e lavorare per permettermi le spese di tutti i giorni.

All'inizio del 2009 ho trovato lavoro in una libreria "come libraio" visto che ero interessato alla letteratura. Nel corso dello stesso anno studiavo cinema e non potevo finanziare i miei corti. Divenni perciò determinato a portare a termine per prima cosa il mio romanzo. Da allora gli ho dedicato tutto il mio tempo libero scrivendolo pezzo dopo pezzo: in questo modo non ho più avuto tempo per i miei blog e sono stato costretto al silenzio in quel frangente.

Malgrado tutte le difficoltà di una seconda lingua, l'inglese mi è stato familiare per circa una decina d'anni: due anni di studio, tre anni di esperienza nell'insegnamento e più di tre anni a tradurre e scrivere numerosi saggi mi hanno aiutato ad innalzare il livello del mio inglese fino ad essere in grado di scrivere un romanzo. Naturalmente non sarà mai lo stesso livello di uno scrittore madrelingua, ma ho fatto del mio meglio.

***

Poiché il titolo del romanzo non c'è ancora e non si conosce l'editore, non farò una presentazione dettagliata ma vorrei piuttosto dire di che libro si tratta e perché vale la pena di parlarne d'ora in avanti, prima che esso sia pubblicato.

Per prima cosa devo ringraziare Khaled Husseini che con il suo "The kite runner" (tradotto in Italia "Il cacciatore di aquiloni", n.d.t.) ha rotto un tabù che per anni aveva impedito di parlare di argomenti proibiti, verità nascoste e storie non dette che in Afghanistan sono state a lungo considerate "nemiche della (finta) fragile unità nazionale". Egli ha spianato la strada ad altri autori emergenti con storie di tal genere.

Il mio romanzo completa "Il cacciatore di aquiloni" dicendo cose che Khaled Husseini non aveva detto.

"Il cacciatore di aquiloni", che ha avuto tanto successo, è arrivato a sfiorare le dure realtà del nostro paese senza però metterle a nudo completamente e lasciando molte questioni senza risposta. Con il mio romanzo invece io ho oltrepassato i confini della linea rossa tratteggiando per i miei lettori argomenti mai ancora descritti: gli strati nascosti del lungo conflitto Hazara-Pashtoon. Tutto si basa su realtà storiche esistenti.

Per dirla brevemente, il mio romanzo è una versione più completa e approfondita di quello di Husseini. Il punto a suo favore è questo: esso è scritto da un autore Hazara, un testimone diretto del massacro di massa degli Hazara in Afghanistan, ecco in cosa consiste la sua originalità! E' scritto da un protagonista in prima persona e naturalmente in inglese.

Leggerete di come un massacro di massa e le schiavitù hanno colpito le esistenze di quattro generazioni della minoranza etnica degli "Hazara" in Afghanistan e di come un uomo lotta per sopravvivere e in seguito si propone di salvare la propria nazione.

L'Afghanistan è tuttora una terra piena di contraddizioni dove si ritrovano immagini in contrasto tra loro. E' buona cosa fare la conoscenza approfondita di un paese attraverso un buon romanzo.

Il mio lavoro è un romanzo, una fiction in parte ispirata alla vita di persone reali ma costruita mescolandovi elementi di fantasia. E' arricchita dalla presenza di fatti storici e realtà esistenti nella nostra società.

Leggendo il mio romanzo (che non ha ancora un titolo) viaggerete attraverso l'Afghanistan nei quarant'anni di vita del protagonista e nei sessant'anni dei suoi antenati e sentirete anche voi di far parte di queste esistenze, parte della storia di un'umanità in una regione del globo che in questo periodo è sempre sulle prime pagine dei giornali di tutto il mondo. Con questo romanzo, vi mostrerò il mondo attraverso gli occhi a mandorla di un Hazara.

La storia ha inizio nell'Afghanistan degli anni '60 del Novecento, con dei flashback negli anni '20 e continua a partire dagli anni '90, sempre in Afghanistan. Poi la scena si sposta in Pakistan e in Italia e infine in una Terra Immaginaria per poi tornare nell'Afghanistan del 2014 con un lieto fine.

Bisogna aggiungere che il romanzo si presta fortemente a essere d'ispirazione per un film lungo.

***

Se seguirete il mio blog e i miei commenti su Facebook potrete saperne di più non appena ci saranno accordi per la pubblicazione e date di distribuzione.

Se avete letto "Il cacciatore di aquiloni" e vi è piaciuto, posso dirvi che leggere il mio romanzo è quasi un obbligo!

Il mio romanzo sarà distribuito per prima cosa negli Usa, in Gran Bretagna e in Australia.

In anticipo, con amore, dal profondo del mio cuore un saluto a tutti i miei lettori!

Amin Wahidi

CLICK HERE for English Version of this post

I am going to hate the city

When someone screams and finds no one hears, he is lost in the grandeur of his surroundings, the big city full of attractions and no hearts in them.

As big as the city gets that small the human beings become, he thinks then.

The big the city gets that small the hearts of human beings become. A city, a big city with its all attractions can easily isolate a man throwing him on a little part of it.

For long I did not have time to sit aside with my heart and talk for a while until today, when I had allocated sometime for it.

It was all because of the city that makes me run in it, here there so I got distant from my heart. So far running, rushing I have lived for the city but from now on, I would reduce the running hours to let me live for myself, for my heart, not for the city and its attractions, in order not to leave my heart but to live with it.

I woke up from a long sleep when I saw something on the road among the crowd. Just it was that day when I found a piece of heart on the road.

Yeah, I dreamed it, but as it was something real.

It was when an object shined on the road, in the middle of crowds, for me it seemed like a red apple, and for a while, for a short time I thought to have found my lost red apple, the one I was looking for to obtain it back, but when I approached it, I found it a piece of heart being thrown, but still throbbing slightly on the rocky stony road where being mashed under the feet of men, the uncaring creatures crossing the road.

Then the next day, after that dream I really found one the same type that I had dreamed, on a real road when rushing in the city. First I didn’t, but then I cared about it. I stopped to see it better.

As I opened my eyes better, there around me I saw more of them, as if growing one after the other on the road, but the people around, no one cared about, as if they were all blind, mad or senseless or as if no one had seen something as important as a piece of heart.

Therefore, after that incident of finding pieces of hearts everywhere on the road, I then decided to get as far from the city as possible.

Since then I feel that I hate the city, I really hate it, I have to run away, escape from it. I should come out of its abdomen.

Yeah, it is true, I wanna refugee to a village, to a country side, to an open place where the purity of the stream would feel me, embrace me and would give me the flow, a place where my voice would reach to the canyons, thought I have never been to, except for short times.

Oh my dears, I should rather half me into two parts my be, like the red apple, yeah just like the red apple I had a few months ago, and keep one half here in the city with its all memories and remembrances and take my other half to the country side to an open nature, where I could shout and my voice would echo in the canyons and all living beings would hear it, and it would reflect back to me, as if some talking to me.

I would keep the second half here within the city, to remain in the grandeur of the city, in the city abdomen, being imprisoned by the rocks and careless people.

The remaining piece in the city would guard the pieces of heart on the ground being trampled by the men without any one cares or cries for them.

This remaining half of me would witness the juncture of pieces of heart on the ground under the feet of men that could happen one day soon.

Within the glorious city these days as higher the buildings are made that deeper the voices are suffocated, as more crowded the city gets that careless get the pedestrians about the pieces of heart being thrown on the roads.

Oh my God help me out! it seems as if the time has come for me to come out of abdomen of the city but I have to half me into two parts; take one with myself, and leave one in the city with the pieces of hearts, but the question here is; Which half would be myself, the one going to hear the echo of my voice in the canyons or the one remaining with the pieces of hearts under the shadows of the skyscrapers?!!

I, the Red Apple and the Doctress

Keep going on Qais, Do not give up!

Photo from Kabul Press

As September came, a cold autumnal breeze entered into and touched inside my bones signaling me of the autumn, a season for separation; first the season themselves one goes and the next one comes,then begins the separation of leaves from trees and the separation of friends from friends. It got colder when November came then December is on its way with witness of snow and other occasions.

This November, actually these days, feeling so solely I remembered of a friend I never was friend of him neither he was of mine but I got to know him, after he was no more on this dusty ball, a friend I knew after he died, better to say after he embraced death by his own wish.

His name was Qais or is Qais, Qais Dehzad. Two years back, he did a suicide, one early morning of the same kind, perhaps a cold morning in November he was found dead leaving behind a letter as his will for his friends and beloved ones.

It is horrible though to remind of a sad happening, flying of a soul, but sometimes life pushes us to touch even up to the border of life and death or just to peep into the other world, that is when we remind of the ones who left us behind some days or years earlier than us.

When reminding such stories, sometimes fear takes over, but if we see the end of the story, there is no way, soon or later every one has to depart for the same destination to join their ancestors though the routs differ one from the other, remembering this fact, then fears fly away instead of soul flies.

People like Qais, may have been so much aware of facts on this dusty ball that we are unable to see and feel them or perhaps they have darken their world by their own hands, no one really knows except God.

The reality is that life is hard in itself thus every one may have his own problems and difficulties of any type and the only way to experience it is to live, have more patience, breath to keep going on and to fight with the difficulties until you reach to the last moments.

Last year, I translated his "Will" and wrote some lines about him that comes in the following.

24/1/2008

How poetic he flew and left all his friends alone!

How difficult was it for him, but he did it. How disappointed he was in this world, but he succeeded to fly up happily and by his own wish.

Hearing about Qais e Dehzad, I assume every one's heart would throb for him who knew him and who was familiar with his characteristics and his activities for the youth of his society.

I assume it might be late although to write about him now, but I couldn't take it easy when I know more about him even though very late.

It was once in mid August last year, I saw him in an event but yet we were not friends.

****

Some three months after that event, when I had already left my home country, suddenly one day, I saw somewhere in the internet a very sad news headline" Eventually Qais e Dehazd has left us as well! " seeing the photo, I knew it was him but I didn't know how and why this young poet died and nothing else I could do except praying for him to Allah, that was some two and half months ago.

****

Again these days I was searching in the internet, when I found that his death was a suicide. A willingly suicide that he did to be free as said by in his will! How horrible it is when someone commits a suicide I thought, sometimes it confuses us when some body does a suicide and it may seem totally fool or nonsense for us but he might have reached to the end I assumed.

He was a young poet, writer, human rights activist and vice president of a cultural Foundation in Kabul called Bonyad e Arman Shahr "The Ideal City Foundation".

I was more curious to read more about this recently deceased* young Afghan poet- writer and reading some pages about him written by his colleagues, friends, lovers and some other poets and writers I then recognized him better what kind of person he was, but unfortunately it was too late.

There are three things that make me interested to write these lines about him; first to let the people of the world know why a young Afghan poet committed suicide and finished his life, the second reason is the difference between his Ideology for a suicide and the ideology of the other suicide bombers who kill many innocents along with them through terrorist attacks and the third thing is some of the similarities of my own ambitions with his which he didn't succeed in his life regarding what we can contribute to our generation, to our country and then to the world.

****

His "will" that describes his reasons for a suicide, was published in some blogs and websites in Dari Language then I thought the only thing I could do for him was to translate his "will" into English and post it in my blog for the readers of my blog.

Quoted by his close friends, he was partly palsy after receiving a apoplexy* just one week before he does the suicide.

****

Below is the translation of Qais e Dehzad's "Will", the young Afghan poet, writer and cultural activist who did suicide in November 25 2007 with open eyes and very thoughtfully after he thought that he is not going to be very useful for his people, but not ignorantly like the blind Taliban who do suicide and take the lives of other innocents too.

His "Will"

Minutes before walking towards his death, he picked a pen and wrote all these:

“Crying is Haram (prohibited) on my death. Any one wants that my soul* would be peaceful should take a pen and fulfill* the goals I had. I do suicide and kill myself to criticize all those who do suicide to take the lives of the others and thus I want my family to bury me with the same cloths I am wearing just right on the way of the latest innocent who is martyred by the suicide attackers.

I ask them to bury me very late at night so there should not be traffic jams and problems for other people, so that my death would put a full stop for the people who do suicide ignorantly to kill the other innocent human beings.

I do suicide to defend the poor and to tell the international community to take care of them and that there should be no borders in the world in between the men of different lands. I ask the most expensive or the richest football player of the world to help the poor of Afghanistan, India, Pakistan, Iraq and Palestine.

I do suicide to shake the world of Islam and to criticize on its people that why they do not fight against ignorance, illiteracy and poverty.

I want Saudi Arabia to allocate all of the benefits of this years "Haj program" for a bank that would feed the poor of Afghanistan and makes them houses and shelters, and I want all the Afghans not to go to the Hajj until there is no poverty in their vicinity, until they do not demolish injustice and brought social justice welfare in their country.

I hang me doing a suicide to show my solidarity with the women movements and to tell the world to stop hanging executions.

To tell the world to stop torturing in the prisons, I do suicide.

I hang myself to show my correlation to the people who have been oppressed and no one have ever rescued them.

I am fed up with injustice, administrative corruption, oppression, discrimination, racism and NGOism* I hang myself and through this way, not humbly but proudly give my message to the whole world that it is enough, no more fights, no more killing of human beings ,stop all these bloodshed!

By hanging myself, I want to tell Bush, Condoleezza Rice, Ahmadi Nejaat and other leaders of the world to stop investment on nuclear weapons that takes the lives of humans instead invest on the culture of peaceful living, eliminating the borders in between countries and eliminating the illiteracy and poverty in the world.

To criticize the forced marriages, paying BAD* (BAD*:a tribal tradition of enforcing a girls to get married with a person in exchange of blood, when someone kill some a person, his daughter or sister will be forced to get married to close relative of the victim) superstitious traditions and thousands of other pains I have about the human beings with me, and to show my sympathy to the people who beg in India, who die of hunger in Africa, who are born partly disabled in Hiroshima*, who are born palsy in Shelimcha* and who beg in Kabul streets, which I can not tolerate anymore I hang myself.

And I hope my friends continue my works and my activities in Bonyad e Arman Shahr. ( The Ideal City Foundation) I want Ms. Zhelaa Bani Yaqoob and Mr. Jaadi Merani my best friends to assist my other best friend Guesu Jahangeri and I want all other firends and collegues while I can not write their names as grudge and my emotions enables me to do so, to fight against injustice, ignorance and illiteracy.

I want my brother Sayed Merwais Dehzad to follow the Shahnaama reading programs with instruction of Ms. Jahangeri and cooperation of Qadeem, Shoala,Ms Diana Saqib,and Ms Veda Saghari.

And I don't want that many mullahs attend on my funeral prayer and I don't want any Holly Quran reading ceremony for me, they should not put me shroud on and they should not make types of food on the funeral ceremony so that my death would create a new page of a new culture so that on one's death ceremony there should not be many kinds of food while there are many hungry and poor people begging on the streets.

I don't want to make traffic because of my funeral, because I want to finish the luxe* and fashionable funeral ceremonies that has become a part of our daily culture of nowadays.

The person who did the funeral prayer for Mr. Alemi in Qom, I want him to do my funeral prayer, whether at home or any where he prefers.

I hope other scholars would struggle against, illiteracy, ignorance, superstitions, nonsense traditions, forced marriages, suicides and self burnings and would work and invest their time on instructive lessons for the people.

I do suicide to show my sympathy to the Dolphins* that did suicide in group because of the oppression of the human beings.

I do suicide to say no need for World War 3!

I do suicide that my family, relatives and my people stand against all those problems that force a human being to hang himself.

I suicide so that no mother would quit her daughter as Zohra* did to her innocent daughter, and no father would witness his daughter without mother, as I did.

I hope my death will finish the culture of divorce* in Islam so that there should be a never ending commitment in between the married spouses.

I ask Ms Jahangeri* to say my words to the people of my land and then to the world and tell to my mother that crying is Haram (prohibited) on my death.

I ask Guesu Jan to take the responsibility of Nastaran (my 6 years old daughter) and bring her up as you, a brave, intellectual, hardworking and struggling woman to fight for human rights

I kiss the hands of my mother and my father, the hands of my brother and the face of Nastaran Jan to forgive me for what I am doing, and I wish they do not cry after me at all, that is it.

I just want every member of my family to live as the men of the history as always they did up to now, they should avoid fighting, instead they should try more and more for education, knowledge, professionalism and fulfill my goals so to make my soul happy.

I want my friends in KASHANA* to establish their student movement as soon as they can and some one should be my successor to speak instead of me.

I correlation with* those who do not have a shelter, who have been oppressed with, who have been discriminated ethnically or racially I hang myself.

I want my friends in Bonyad e Arman Shar to assist Ms Bakhtari with her programs about Maulana (The great Rumi), and send her the list we (I, Mr. Amini and Ms Jahangeri) made.

I have written the programs which are all in my computer and I hope you will all give hand to each other to conduct them. I hope Kaka Noor, would train good researchers for the Afghan society by conducting his research methods trainings in Bonyad e Arman Shahr.

I thank Guesu Jan for all she has done for me and I have learnt many things form her.

I thank Zhela Jan, who has assisted me a lot and hope that she keeps cooperating with Bonyad e Arman Shahr, and I do defend your women movement this way.

I thank Mr. Ibrahim Yazdi who promised to give me some books. I hope Ms Jahangeri follow it up and built the library I had in mind, with the help of my brother Merwais Jan, this way they can make me happy.

Just deliver my letter to Shiekh Tavasol. My father is my proxy/advocate. I request him to allocate my land property of Behsood to Nastaran (daughter) and Zohra (separated wife). The other piece of land property I have from Mosavi Gul Tapa my father should give it to Nastaran. I wish my father tries a lot to nurture and train Nastaran and to keep my mom happy. I again emphasize that crying is Haram in my death.

Regarding Nastaran talk with Guesu how she can bring her up.

Oh, I forgot to say that I hang myself to criticize the predator private sector system.

I hang myself to show my sympathy to my dear daughter who is suffering without mother and to say that I can not tolerate that someone dies in Africa, in India or in Iraq how would I tolerate to see my dearest ones dies before my eyes.

Yes, I am a man who hasn’t slept for three day and nights and has been thinking about all these. I wanted to write a letter to President Karzai to tell him about all these problems, to tell him that an advocate has received seven hundred dollars as bribe from us in order to release my brothers*, I hope my suicide would end bribery, oppression, suicide bombings, forced marriages, self burnings, discrimination against women, homelessness, The New Liberal Capitalism, the ethnic, religious and sectarian wars, superstitions, executions, torturing and all such problems.

My brother, Merwais Jan, you and dad both should take the responsibility of the children and keep working for Bonyad e Arman Shahr so that to fulfill my goals.

I kiss your hands, my mother Gulali Habib that you cried for me from the core of your heart, I respect you a lot Mrs. Habib!

I should not forget that I hang my self to object on turning off the microphones of women in the parliament.

I do suicide to struggle against injustice and inequality that exist in this world while I want to say that we have not been able to introduce Islam correctly to the world and we did not do enough for it.

I want to say we need justice, brotherhood, not crusade and the geographic, religious and sectarian wars.

I wish some one would reach my voice to the world and let the world know that one person hanged himself for humanity, and defending the human rights.

Guesu jan, Ms Zhela jan, Ms Bada Paima, doctor sahib, Mr. Nadir Jahangeri and Ms. Safi nia jan, Maryam Atta Khorrami, Mr. Dawood Naji, Mr. Amini, Negah jan, Masoud jan Qiam and all other friends of mine, please tell every one in the world why I did this.

I wish I lived longer but sometimes non existence is necessary for a long existence. If I have fulfilled one of my goals this way, with this decision, I am sure my soul will be with you for ever.

While thanking I apologize all those who proposed to marry me. I apologize all of those who I promised to do something for or to find jobs for but could not do so for. I thank all those who had helped me and seek pardon from all those who may have been offended or somehow hurt by me or if I made a mistake to and I hope they will pray for me to God.

I wish Hiroshima takes three seconds for silence for my death because my heart has throbbed a lot for all disabled people, I wish people in Shalamcha* would pray for me because all nights I cried for the those who are born disabled. I want all the rich in the world would help the poor and I want the entire world be friends with each other.

I want there would not be any suicide attacks in the human’s history. I want every one would wake up and I want to shout that all what I was going to say is left, but my goals will not be buried along with my body, I am going to save the life of someone in this world.

I want all the Muslims pray to Allah for me, and when my grand parents Zahra and Ali (daughter and son in law of the holy prophet) welcome me in he paradise, it is enough for me.

I am to cry and I have sob in my throat, I wish I had time to tell you all my pains.

I am with you and I did this for humanity, for love and welfare of the humans.

I wish they forgive me whose names I forgot to write, Oh, I want Ms Sabarina Saqeb to take my message to the parliament to work hard and to do their responsibilities better.

I want to say to all the organizations or individuals who we asked for humanitarian assistance for our organization, no to give up your support to Bonyad Arman Shahr (The Ideal City Foundation) which is one of my ideals, I believe this organization works to bring positive changes not only in Afghanistan but world wide.

Merwais Jan, first of all contact my friends; Dawood Naji, Ruhulamin Amini, Diana Saqib and Malik Shafii to inform them about my death and then they would let the media know about it.

Take the car of Mohaqiq Zada and take me over night to the place I have recommended, only with a few number of people and bury me with the clothes I am wearing. I am again repeating that crying is Haram in my death.

I recommend not taking any funeral ceremony for me and only the person who has prayed on Alemi in Qom should read my funeral prayer, and there is no need for any Holly Quran chanting or additional fortieth day ceremony of my death.

Actually I did not renovate extend the expiration date my passport so that I was going toward the real Arman Shahr or The Real Ideal City.

My greetings and good bye to all humans in the world

Sayed Qais Dehzad

Click to read more about Qais Dehzad
Qais Dehzad 1
Qais Dehzad 2
Qais Dehzad 3
Qais Dehzad 4
Qais Dehzad 5
Qais Dehzad 6

Life is full of forks and crossroads

The fragile life is very tender and sensible. This sensibility is easily seen when are on a fork, or on a crossroad on its map, especially when we are to make a decision to chose one of the ways.

Here one “YES” or a “NO” can change the whole direction of life; if this fragility is not seen carefully the outcome of a “YES” or a “NO” could be full of regrets.

Here you see, just a little word with three letters or two, could change the whole life sometime.

There are always forks and crossroads ahead of you on the map of life and it is you to be genius enough to choose the right path; in work, in love, in travel, in friendship, in studies and in any parts of life there are two ways to choose one.

Throughout your life, it may have been very hard for you to observe the real meaning of life as everyone has his own definition of it; the same is as everyone leaves for his own purpose though there might be many people who just live to take their share of oxygen that is it.

Not yet, you understand the real meaning of life, one said one thing the other said another thing, made you so confused, but as you many times faced the forks and crossroads of life, you have easily noticed only this point; you don’t know what life is but you know it is very tender, fragile and sensitive, that is it.

There are always times when you arrive in a fork where there are two ways in front of you to choose one, there is where you are two careful to play with your cards of “YES” and “NO” with it. Here a little word of two or three letters is worth a lot for you, for your destination and direction you are going to move towards.

Saying “YES” or “NO” how far you could go for instance or how different you could be then by either of the words. In fact there you play a gamble with these little words, you may win or lose.

Sometime it comes to your mind that the fragility of life is just a matter of time that one can be brought to an exam, where a word could play an enormous role in his life, what a fragility you think, how weak you are, you feel when you are a loser in this gamble on the fork of life and you may find you too far distant from what you expected you to be because of using a word inappropriately or not thinking about it carefully.

When you don’t know how to decide about it, which way out of the fork you have to choose, you may tend to take help of anything or anyone you can think of; here is when your mind is blocked and you refer to your head, scrolling your memory back and forth, refer to your heart, that is sometimes as big as Caravan Sara, and sometimes as hard as stone, you refer to the eyes and looks of the person you loved the most to take help choosing the right path on the fork, you refer to the blinks of the stars in the dark sky, the ones once you marked them to be your friends at nights of loneliness, you refer to what so ever you think of to help you make the right decision and finally you decide; you may be right or wrong then, but it is done already and something would happen then.

Latter after it, you may blame yourself for why you did it, why you made a blind decision to move on a path of life if you had mistaken, but better would it be to keep going on with what so ever has happened. Even if wrong, you did right, even if making a mistake, still you proved your existence; that you still exist to decide no matter if right or wrong.

Or you may come to blame the world, or to make fun of it, what a funny world it is, only a little word could change the entire life of a human being?! What a game it is being played with the humans?!

May be here you come to know the importance of you, and you come to know there is no need to blame you for making a wrong decision, but you also come to know that the whole life is ahead of you to make mistakes and learn, and another secret you get to know is that, there is a proportion between you and the world outside of you. As you get nearer to the world, you may get distant from yourself, then again you would be on another fork to choose which one; as a result not to lose yourself, not to give up, you choose to get distant from the world to be yourself and since then although you may seem to be moving to the opposite side of the normal stream, but you remain happy to remain yourself then.

It is the loneliness that gives you time to study yourself and think deeply.

At the end you may have fear of the unknowingly happenings, but then only liberation is to save you, and you already liberated yourself from uncertainty and you can bear the consequences as well, that is it.

Keep smiling!

How much it costs you to smile once?

“Nothing.”

And how much it is worth when you smile?

“A lot, even a world, even a life.”

Then why don’t you begin each day with smile to profit with the deal of “with no costs is worth a lot.”

So let’s smile for ourselves and for the others and let’s let the others smile, this way, with a smile let’s blossom like flowers and define the world differently.

Let’s forget that for long we had forgotten to smile.

With a smile, let’s grow up once again with a smile let’s plant the seed of hope into the heart of the others.

With a smile let’s cover our sadness and not transfer to the others the burden of the pains and sorrows each of us carry in our own hearts.

With a smile let’s make a silence full of unspoken words through which only hearts are put in contact via the links of dazzling looks of eyes.

With a smile let’s surround our world with tenderness and protect us from aggressiveness.

With a smile let’s alter badness into goodness, with a smile let’s transfer energy to the others.

With a smile let’s open a path for the ray of light, with a smile let’s open a window into another ideal world for each other.

With a smile let’s transfer sense and warmness into the other. With a smile let’s reflect the inner beauty we believe in.

Over all, when you smile you look nicer, and more important, when you smile you give me a new life, so please keep smiling so I would live longer with it.

Yeah, I am talking to you, keep smiling always this way at least for me if possible.

Funny people, funny world!

There was sometime that hardly people asked for Alda Merini’s books but once the other day many people came one after the other and asking for Merini’s poems which were among the other poem books in a corner in the poetry section.

The night before that day, we heard that the seventy eight years old famous female Italian poet died on November 1st 2009, and thus the day after many people came to ask for her books hearing about her death on television.

In the library "bookstore", there is a section, that is filled with books or works of the recently deceased literary figures such as writers and poets as well as famous artists and celebrities of cinema, television, theater or music and as a joke we called that place the table of the dead.

Until a few months ago I didn’t know that it was a table for the occasions because no one had told me about it, then I discovered after Michael Jackson died on 25th June, then died Fernanda Pivano a famous Italian writer, journalist, translator and the table was filled with her works, then on September 8th died Mike Bongiorno and there were all books on him on this table and this time Alda Merini but not known who else will be died so the people would come to ask for his books?!

Here, on this piece of land, where I live, people asking for the titles of the books by the recently deceased authors, seems a bit funny for me, but I don’t know if the other parts of the world is the same or not.

The writers, novelists, poets live with hardships, in their own designed world to live longer after going under earth, but how funny the people are; not knowing the values of their works until they are dead. And when they are dead, bluff begins and every one cries after them, and then their remnants gets worthy.

As the death of an artist, an author calls people’s attention, towards him and they will begin to search to know him which in reality is crying for the spilled milk.

Wow, seeing this I thought, what a business it would be for a bookstore, “Let’s suffocate the writers to get their books quickly sold. It is totally a new idea in this funny world with funny people!!”

Read more about Alda Merini here