Booye Jooye Moulian Ayad Hami
Yade Yar Mehraban Ayad Hami
We all came from Iran, to land of Uncle Sam.
We went from eating NIMROO, to eating eggs and ham.
Oh my, how times have changed from when we were just boys.
When life was safe and simple, no Barney among our toys.
KALEH PACHEH for breakfast, was not a weird thing.
We idolized Da'rush, and listened to Googoosh sing.
We all watched Samad's finger, go into someone's eyes.
We laughed at that so hard, no Lows and all was Highs.
We went to the Noonvaie, picking up Sangak.
Now it's going to Megamarket, and picking from the rack.
We all did open our fists, and played lili lili hozak.
Now our kids play Nintendo, with a little boy named Jack.
Grandma's house was so cute, and doors were open wide.
We crawled into her baghcheh, and found a place to hide.
How she told us stories of Rostam and Zaha'k.
Now we tell our kids stories, about Bugs and Daffy duck.
Sport we loved was soccer, playing the round ball.
Not this funny looking oblong, thing they call football.
We used to enjoy Fardin, and Beyk Imanverdi.
Now it's going to Cineplex, watching Bone Collector, Hasti?
We jumped into a taxi, to go from A to B.
The greatest ride in whole world, was drive to Caspian Sea
We drive on super highways, and watch for a radar gun.
We forget we all used to be driving a PEYKA'AN.
Our vacations are spent, somewhere on a beach.
Far from Rasht and Ra'msar, where we smell but can't reach.
Koloocheh eating in shoma'l, we all can still taste.
How we hold onto memories, not let them go to waste.
How we used to be comfy, in that entourage.
Now we fake our way through life, and try to camolflaughe.
We left that country behind, and came to a new world.
When our King went down, tripping on his sword.
We watched Saddam attack our country in a pop.
We hated them Iraqis, without bleeding a single drop.
We don't know how to let go, or hang on to our past.
We know something for sure though, nothing will ever last.
These people amongst we live, who show that they are kind.
What do they really think of us, in back of their mind?
No one but us knows SOMAGH, and how good is TAHHDIG.
They see us eating burned rice, and think we've flipped our wig.
We chop up cucumbers, and put it in our MAST.
They look at us eating that, and think that we are lost.
These patriotic songs that, they always sing 'em.
Does anybody wonder, what's our national anthem?
Do we belong to here, or do we belong there?
Does anybody knows us, does anybody care?
They ask us about fanatics, they ask us how we feel.
We give 'em our stock answer, they sure can't help us heal.
We all are so much at odds, with where we're living now.
We all can be writing books, on adopting and how.
The Iranian gene that, we carry in our mind.
Has made us all to look for, our very own kind.
So much of what that makes us, it's made from the same mold.
The Iranian in us, that we treasure like gold.
I say "alef, beh, peh, teh, seh..." and you know what I mean.
I ask for seven 'S'es, and you know I mean haft sin.
I say something is not SHOL, and you know it is SEFT.
You tell them something like that, & they look at you left left.
There must be hundred thousand, species on this Rock.
We must be 100th and one, that do on this Earth walk.
Solution to our problems, is one we can not solve.
In this melting pot someday, may all of us dissolve.
So hold on to the 'SHa'hna'meh'and hang on to 'KHaya'm',
And do not let those memories, get buried under time.
We are all from one country, with borders like a cat.
Now that all of us are out, let's not just forget that.
And if anyone ever told you, that Irooni must die.
You sharpen your big finger, and stick it in their eye!
Yade Yar Mehraban Ayad Hami
We all came from Iran, to land of Uncle Sam.
We went from eating NIMROO, to eating eggs and ham.
Oh my, how times have changed from when we were just boys.
When life was safe and simple, no Barney among our toys.
KALEH PACHEH for breakfast, was not a weird thing.
We idolized Da'rush, and listened to Googoosh sing.
We all watched Samad's finger, go into someone's eyes.
We laughed at that so hard, no Lows and all was Highs.
We went to the Noonvaie, picking up Sangak.
Now it's going to Megamarket, and picking from the rack.
We all did open our fists, and played lili lili hozak.
Now our kids play Nintendo, with a little boy named Jack.
Grandma's house was so cute, and doors were open wide.
We crawled into her baghcheh, and found a place to hide.
How she told us stories of Rostam and Zaha'k.
Now we tell our kids stories, about Bugs and Daffy duck.
Sport we loved was soccer, playing the round ball.
Not this funny looking oblong, thing they call football.
We used to enjoy Fardin, and Beyk Imanverdi.
Now it's going to Cineplex, watching Bone Collector, Hasti?
We jumped into a taxi, to go from A to B.
The greatest ride in whole world, was drive to Caspian Sea
We drive on super highways, and watch for a radar gun.
We forget we all used to be driving a PEYKA'AN.
Our vacations are spent, somewhere on a beach.
Far from Rasht and Ra'msar, where we smell but can't reach.
Koloocheh eating in shoma'l, we all can still taste.
How we hold onto memories, not let them go to waste.
How we used to be comfy, in that entourage.
Now we fake our way through life, and try to camolflaughe.
We left that country behind, and came to a new world.
When our King went down, tripping on his sword.
We watched Saddam attack our country in a pop.
We hated them Iraqis, without bleeding a single drop.
We don't know how to let go, or hang on to our past.
We know something for sure though, nothing will ever last.
These people amongst we live, who show that they are kind.
What do they really think of us, in back of their mind?
No one but us knows SOMAGH, and how good is TAHHDIG.
They see us eating burned rice, and think we've flipped our wig.
We chop up cucumbers, and put it in our MAST.
They look at us eating that, and think that we are lost.
These patriotic songs that, they always sing 'em.
Does anybody wonder, what's our national anthem?
Do we belong to here, or do we belong there?
Does anybody knows us, does anybody care?
They ask us about fanatics, they ask us how we feel.
We give 'em our stock answer, they sure can't help us heal.
We all are so much at odds, with where we're living now.
We all can be writing books, on adopting and how.
The Iranian gene that, we carry in our mind.
Has made us all to look for, our very own kind.
So much of what that makes us, it's made from the same mold.
The Iranian in us, that we treasure like gold.
I say "alef, beh, peh, teh, seh..." and you know what I mean.
I ask for seven 'S'es, and you know I mean haft sin.
I say something is not SHOL, and you know it is SEFT.
You tell them something like that, & they look at you left left.
There must be hundred thousand, species on this Rock.
We must be 100th and one, that do on this Earth walk.
Solution to our problems, is one we can not solve.
In this melting pot someday, may all of us dissolve.
So hold on to the 'SHa'hna'meh'and hang on to 'KHaya'm',
And do not let those memories, get buried under time.
We are all from one country, with borders like a cat.
Now that all of us are out, let's not just forget that.
And if anyone ever told you, that Irooni must die.
You sharpen your big finger, and stick it in their eye!
that was a long poem which was nothing but truth...i do agree with you
NIki(asal) salsabil on December 01, 2005 at 04:59
it was a nice poem but i dont know why u think we all from iran.
bahal_afg on January 18, 2006 at 11:30
no 1 asked u wat u thought bahal_afg....ok go 2 ur own damn websyt nd
stop trying 2 be a persian... bro be proud of hu u r... not a
wanabe....
stop trying 2 be a persian... bro be proud of hu u r... not a
wanabe....
Essy joon on December 29, 2006 at 11:04
When I saw the first line “We all came from Iran, to land of Uncle
Sam” it got my attention and I read the controversially second line
“We went from eating NIMROO, to eating eggs and ham” which I
disagree and I read the rest to see if there is any other
controversy. Per reading his poem, you could imagine Mr. Ahmad
Anvari after his second bottle of the cheap wine, of what he still had
some left at home, on a lonely Sunday afternoon at his place in
California, felt homesick and the guilt pressure made him to confess
to his conversion from a Nimroo easting Iranian to a ham eating
identity-less immigrant who didn’t left any value for himself to go
back to, nor he could fully accept the unwelcome change that he
brought on himself out of ignorance and helplessness. You could
clearly tell the mood swing that separates his second half of his so
called “poem” from his first half. If I didn’t know any better I
would probably accept that they were from two different people.
Unfortunately his limited mind quickly generalized his taught and
personal experience to others and that was when the idea of a poem was
born. But if the poem was titled “My Life” instead of “Our
Life”, it wouldn’t bother me as much. I am not sure who gave him
the right to falsify the term “our” and speak for all
Iranians! I like poetry and I enjoy reading poems and this is
another reason I read this one. But, not only I didn’t enjoy reading
this, but also I was offended by it and all these contained
allegations and worthless generalizations. In his “Sunday
Afternoon California Poem” I would to called it, (if you call it a
poem at all) he has managed to reduce the Iranian legacy and reach
culture of many centuries to a weird KALEH PACHEH eating sector who
has been modernized (By coming to America) and replaced that with ham
for breakfast. This assault on such a wonderful culture that is
responsible for a great deal of today’s world’s cultural and
scientific evolution is not taken lightly and must be responded
to. Poem in our Iranian culture has a special meaning as Iran is
designated as the world’s poetry culture and the French language is
World’s second best language in poetry only after the Persian
language. So we set standard to name a piece poem and our standards
are high. At the end, let’s all help and hope we don’t allow
someone to portray himself as a poet (Iranian Poet) on any given
Sunday afternoon and without shame assault on our beloved culture and
history. Please let’s protect our heritage as our parents have, and
teach our children to do the same.
Sam” it got my attention and I read the controversially second line
“We went from eating NIMROO, to eating eggs and ham” which I
disagree and I read the rest to see if there is any other
controversy. Per reading his poem, you could imagine Mr. Ahmad
Anvari after his second bottle of the cheap wine, of what he still had
some left at home, on a lonely Sunday afternoon at his place in
California, felt homesick and the guilt pressure made him to confess
to his conversion from a Nimroo easting Iranian to a ham eating
identity-less immigrant who didn’t left any value for himself to go
back to, nor he could fully accept the unwelcome change that he
brought on himself out of ignorance and helplessness. You could
clearly tell the mood swing that separates his second half of his so
called “poem” from his first half. If I didn’t know any better I
would probably accept that they were from two different people.
Unfortunately his limited mind quickly generalized his taught and
personal experience to others and that was when the idea of a poem was
born. But if the poem was titled “My Life” instead of “Our
Life”, it wouldn’t bother me as much. I am not sure who gave him
the right to falsify the term “our” and speak for all
Iranians! I like poetry and I enjoy reading poems and this is
another reason I read this one. But, not only I didn’t enjoy reading
this, but also I was offended by it and all these contained
allegations and worthless generalizations. In his “Sunday
Afternoon California Poem” I would to called it, (if you call it a
poem at all) he has managed to reduce the Iranian legacy and reach
culture of many centuries to a weird KALEH PACHEH eating sector who
has been modernized (By coming to America) and replaced that with ham
for breakfast. This assault on such a wonderful culture that is
responsible for a great deal of today’s world’s cultural and
scientific evolution is not taken lightly and must be responded
to. Poem in our Iranian culture has a special meaning as Iran is
designated as the world’s poetry culture and the French language is
World’s second best language in poetry only after the Persian
language. So we set standard to name a piece poem and our standards
are high. At the end, let’s all help and hope we don’t allow
someone to portray himself as a poet (Iranian Poet) on any given
Sunday afternoon and without shame assault on our beloved culture and
history. Please let’s protect our heritage as our parents have, and
teach our children to do the same.
Babak Eskandari on January 28, 2007 at 04:18
fuck u
bahbah on May 01, 2009 at 10:14
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