Mostafa Sarabzadeh

Mostafa Sarabzadeh Poems

I see four nurses dressed in white
Four half breaths masked in blue
Helping who lying in street
Someone who about to leave
...

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

My writings
...

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

There are always people who feel rain

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

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

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.
...

At the end,
I will be the actor,
the same as promised by Masoud Kimiai.
...

It's a shame again in a bomb party
the tablecloth dances with boots
A sevage memory is again captured
by a historical flash of cameras
...

Mostafa Sarabzadeh Biography

Mostafa Sarabzadeh was born in Sep.1989, Mashhad, Iran. He is a research associate in Exercise Physiology / Neural rehabilitation and has been a member of Iran's National Elites Foundation since 2016, followed by some national and international honorary awards and research grants in the field of rehabilitation and public health. As like his main profession, he has published two collections of poetry, named ' Thirst of a Mirage and Meteorological report of Heart ', which both as like all his handwritings are based on critical look to real stories driven by human being' negligence within every day life. A philosophical point of view retrieved from an word-play between uncertain self-knowledge and universe perception.)

The Best Poem Of Mostafa Sarabzadeh

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'v 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 auhtor 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

Mostafa Sarabzadeh Comments

Mostafa Sarabzadeh Quotes

At the end, all the bad humans died. But the good ones, have the space to reborn again and over again in an endless numbers and in endless places. They are endless people indeed, but the other ones, are still lost in a box. Written by Mostafa Sarabzadeh

Close
Error Success