Bozorg

کَل باقر پدرِ پدرِ اوسّ مَمَّد بود.همیشه،ماهِ محرم که می شد،یه قمه به اندازه ی بگم چقدر را از تویِ صندوقِ توی گنجه ی زیر زمینِ خانه اش بر می داشت و می ذاشت تو جیبش و می رفت توی خیابان،بین دسته ها.روزِ دهم،ظهرِ عاشورا، می رفت "محله ی کَیان"،روبروی "اجاقِ امام حسین" و همین که آفتاب می رسید به وسطِ Bozorg...

Bozorg...

دخترک روز عروسی رفته بود آرایشگاه، طبیعتن محض ژیگول کردن و از قافله عقب نماندن. برگشتنه گریه کرده بود انقدر که راه به راه غش کرد در آغوش مادر. من یکی که نه امکان داشت و نه داره که با اون سر و شکل برگردم منزل. دیروز پریروز عکسی از خودم گرفتم، در حالتی کاملن طبیعی؛ همه ی عضله ها شل شد و سعی کردم هیچ Bozorg...

Rather than seeing others, he did this judgmental study on any look he pointed his eyes to. He was obsessed with every feature in everyone's face. From nice tone of their eye color, to the flawless structure of their nose. From the amount of their nice cut hair to the intriguing smile they had on their face, but not the teeth. He knew he had nice teeth and that was actually the reason he never posted a photo on any social network of his own with mouth open. So to avoid jinx. I'm sorry that I cannot disclose the attributes of his dental situation; I am not allowed to do such, as you may have guessed. But that wasn't all. Recently the condition was propagated towards other senses as well. He started to hate his own voice. Hearing things had lost its meaning to him and all that came to his ears were analyzed in the format of listening. He payed deliberate attention to any sound perceived in his brain and just couldn't get rid of the question 'Why is my voice this much out of tune?' Bozorg...

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