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Best Poems Written by Mostafa Sarabzadeh

Below are the all-time best Mostafa Sarabzadeh poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Mostafa Sarabzadeh Poem

Father's Day Soiree

"In memory of Dr. Heshmatollah Oghazian,
dedicated to his daughter, dear Olga whom I would call Olgatarin" 19/1/2022

My writings
Are nothing more than an excuse
To fill a heart by your beats
...
My writings
Are still in its infancy
To understand where is your seat
...
My writings
Are keen walkers, but sometimes paralyzed
To give a reflection of your being
...
My writings
Are far from paper, in a lineup
To arrange our nightly virtual speech
...
My writings
Are shouting a hidden turbulence
Of reviving every sec you've been slept
...
My writings
Are nothing more than an old training drill
To learn a stand after my pen is wet
...
My writings
Are going to feed every basket of poor
who survive on ink, not only by food
...
My writings
Even if are confined to your leave
Can still be a legal kickback for your door
...
My writings
Are posting to those who judge
Not a jury, but a secret diary to address you more than more
...
My writings
Drop by drop are captured by paper
To give what the lines too long are hungry for
...
My writings
Are sometimes moving beyond the words
To give what your silence could be grateful for
...
My writings
are sucking the lines of my drafts
looking for each point your breath is rewarded for
....
My writings
is a nightly gathering of all illiterates
can heartily read but not understand you left more than more
...
My writings
are all uneducated and gotten stuck at periods
waiting a space to kiss you on a persian lore
one day a lost word come up from missing line
to smell you again one time more
............................
Researcher & poet: Mostafa Sarabzadeh

Details | Mostafa Sarabzadeh Poem

Snowy Justice

I run out of questions
When from the snow that night
Only a footprint of witness is alive.

And to realize how the time was passed
The empty footprint all
Is again filled by white.

Other colors no longer speak
White had all spoken about everything.../.

Written by Mostafa Sarabzadeh
Researcher & Poet

Details | Mostafa Sarabzadeh Poem

Special 6 Am

A day,

in a quiet place,

with four walls surrounded you,

and a half-broken window,

with many black ants who are marching behind the window,

you probably feel scared and suddenly wake up at 6 am.


I know, It’s early, but you do not know,

it is always going to be late.

Seconds by seconds go further

till you open your eyes,

and say a lot, see a lot, sense a lot, smell a lot, wish a lot, help a lot

with a new feeling of growth and sublimity

which always remind you “you were nothing”, “ you are nothing “ and “ you will be one day the same nothing”.

A real nothing as human being and our breakfast table,

but full of being as creature which will bring you another 6 am,

with an open window

and a white-dressed black ant who invite you a coffee…


and again,

you say a lot, see a lot, sense a lot, smell a lot, wish a lot, and help a lot.
....................
Written by Mostafa Sarabzadeh
Thirst of Mirage

Details | Mostafa Sarabzadeh Poem

Isolated Breakfast

I see four nurses dressed in white
Four half breaths masked in blue
Helping who lying in street
Someone who about to leave
By the last deadline is received
....
I see a rare scene in my history
Entered by window to take my seat
I've never had a breakfast like this
First swallow was taken by high beat
Separated chair knocking the door
With murmuring ' who is charged with this
My hands are again in the first role
Since author does not write by his feet
....
I see a rare scene in your history
An isolated version of your look
Owing a black-eyed glance at me
Still is floating under lined shock
Seems four-seat table all against me
With a separated seat walking up to me
Who knows what the morning's life like
If a frozen mask kisses you rather than me
....
I see four hands dressed nothing
A broken feeling saying nothing
In one of the most coldest time
All cavilling the breakfast to do nothing
Who knows what the morning's life like
If two crossed hugs sense nothing
7 am is the right time to date
Our watch has shiver and showing nothing
....
I see four nurses dressed in white
Stepped in to start an aerial fight
Four half breaths masked in blue
Begging to exhale by the last shot
Who knows what a drug feeling like
If not able to make the morning hot
Having no time in cleaning the table up
Witnesses now shows I was doing right
Take care of the three empty chairs
And say all you keep grabbing the cup
Waiting to see our breakfast released
With two cracked cups
Whose taste will be ever hot
...................
Iranian Poet and Researcher
Mostafa Sarabzadeh

Details | Mostafa Sarabzadeh Poem

Rainy Leon

This is in memory of legendary Leon Chaitow — — a piece of my 'Sasha & Leon Christmas walkabout'.
..............................

There are always people who feel rain

And others who only easily become wet, whether they feel or not.

But there are extremely few people whom you have to be all eye to see, who not only feel the rain, nor become easily wet.

They have a full-black jacket with an yellow umbrella in hand and are aware of how to get wet gently and drop-by-drop to make their footprint singled out in every rainy Christmas walkabout, whether they are really there or not.

They should be the most slowest rain-stricken people in history, whose path, guaranteed by the last drop, smells like an unending rain for all the flowers to grow
And all the lovers to walk.

They are themselves, one of the kind,
Still follow the same path, whether we walk on or not
Still a guest cloud is the proof of their presence,
whether we feel or not,
And
whether we get wet early or late
or not.
..............................

Researcher & poet, INEF

Mostafa Sarabzadeh

Details | Mostafa Sarabzadeh Poem

Hourly Illusion

To acknowledge the memory of a loving couple, Mrs. Izaura Martins Cunha & Sir. Albertino Sabino da cunha — -
Dedicated to their daughter, my dear friend, Dr. Cristiane Martins Cunha.

...................

I wished you be in my wall clock

To be an extension of my passing,

Sometimes by seconds

Sometime by minutes

And sometimes

Be early and a late

By the time I am all running.

…

I wished you, in the mornings

When I search my being,

To be my waking at 6 o'clock

Sometimes softly

Sometimes loudly

And sometimes

Be early and a late

By the time I am all dreaming.

…

I wished you be all the tic tac's

My body could go with on the time

Sometimes counted

But irregular

Sometimes listened

But unclear

And sometimes,

Be early and a late

By the time I am getting repaired.

…

I wished you move circularly

To shelter all the angles of my look

Why not to be a third clock hand

Sometimes forward

Sometimes backward

sometimes really stopped

Not to be an early and a late

By the time I was all watching.

…

I wished you to be inside

As like my wall clock in the mirror

Nobody knows who is all shown there

Sometimes it is a mirror

Sometimes it is a wall clock

And sometimes, it is only you in me

Are again an early and a late

By the time we are drinking tea (Mate) .

…

I wished you be again filled with me

Sometimes my early double-sit gathering

Sometimes my wall clock

Sometimes my mirror

And, sometimes be my morning passing look

Early and a late

By the time I am all you and on calling.

………………

Researcher and poet, INEF

Mostafa Sarabzadeh

Details | Mostafa Sarabzadeh Poem

Fighting of Prouds

In the market with full of people, 
there are many decorative ones figuring at the back of the vitrine in the front of thousands random eyes. 

As my pant coloured with alley dust of humble, I have never been back of the vitrine along with thousands random shots.

When you go with them to an italian restaurant you could proud of them that restaurant lord know you, eagerly welcome you, and considering special sits for you - seems a worthy moment to happen. 

But if you came with me, 
you could be proud of an real open embrace, strongly runs, comes and hugs us from a fortune teller child beside the restaurant.

This has always been a fighting of prouds - between me and figurative people, as long as opened stores become closed and blind closed eyes become opened .../.
..................
From: 
Thirst of Mirage
Mostafa Sarabzadeh

Details | Mostafa Sarabzadeh Poem

A New Kitchen Table and Psychology

I would always tell people “If you want to change the line of your life and re-write all the stories behind, do not go to visit psychologists anymore, just try to buy a new Kitchen Table instead”.

When it comes with a refreshing waking up at the most earliest morning time, that’s exactly where the new story begins to give you a warm dish even if that’s not much on the table, two unconditional hottest hands on even if nobody have taken other seats, a real sense of sublimity to see whatever of positivity even if your eyes are half-opened and a white reborn version of your new being even if what you had worn so far has been all black-colored memories.

So please just sit and feel taking the first sip of the coffee while your window blue sky rewards you a new image that the new kitchen table write your new being with.

Written by Mostafa Sarabzadeh,
Researcher and Poet

Details | Mostafa Sarabzadeh Poem

Todays' Today

At the end,

I will be the actor,

the same as promised by Masoud Kimiai.


It started with a sequence

where someone was dead beside the door,

But a festival-awarded poem finally confirmed

which one was an actor and which one was not.

The script attached to the movie scenario shows the first sequence was not part of the movie at all. It was just wet and bloody, and its start was where as if it was not there.

Even the main actor himself did not understand
Was it his main role or

the main role of the one who really died…/.

A piece of poem “Todays’ today”
by Mostafa Sarabzadeh