Legend of the Two Stars

Once upon a time ago legends were told of two undying stars, shining the brightest when all others hid beneath a cloak of dark clouds, stars of a color never known to mortal eyes before. People kept looking for them every time the cloudy sky left no room for any others. Some even managed to observe them once or twice; or at least believed they did. Then legends became stories, stories faded to random tales, from which mere whispers remained and they perished with the next strong wind blowing from the south. So that all what actually was left for people, were distant memories no one know weather or not to believe.

Guiding stars still shine upon the night sky, some dimmer, some bright as they used to be.  Travelers arrive soundly at their destination and explorers still discover new worlds. The sky maps have not changed, every order follows as it used to. Calculations have not been missed, roads still lead on and paths cross land and sea. Even should no one be able to tell though, something has changed; somehow, the world is not lit by the same light. Something feels different, as some souls come to wonder, souls with distant memories of brighter and warmer times.



That those two stars were not meant to guide, they were not leading anyone anywhere, they were not supposed to help choose a way out of many, neither to judge a chosen path.
It was their company, which never faded away on any chosen path. They were to watch over, a light not to fade whenever all went blur and dark.
They were ‘friendship‘.

Dipol

With every turn, every winter losing it to spring,
The enthusiasm in every seed,
The question is heard in the intention of each raindrop,
Of ‘how big a chance a lonely hand from afar stands for growth’.

The roots have long grown into every rock and stone;
The winds are well trusted messengers of lost farewells;
And the waves are supposed to bring back distant memories

                          and to wash salt off the tears.

            
Relativity of time and space all over,
As the minute white root of the fragile seed reaches deeper,
And the shiny green leaves ever higher to the skies.

Watching over seeds nesting in the fertile earth,
The answer definitely lies in your eyes.
It is the look you bear in them,
Every time you remember those hands,
Now known to be parted from yours.

Equinox

Along with the wind, across the meadows and on the well paved streets,

As long as we keep chattering with the sparrows, blooming with the tulips,

Should we flow in the narrow streams,

And if we do not forget to stop and listen to the trees,

We should be well aware that spring is a wondrously delicate concept;

The question appearing into every conscious mind.

Swords in their hands, they killed each and every man, who dared to invade their Sacred Land.

Something unexpected happened on Friday (March 12th):
Time did suddenly turn back like 10 years and I was somehow back home, some of my dearest friends were up there on the stage, we were together, we were having fun, we were happy, we were all singing together and we believed they were no less than godly on that very day. You always appear like gods to everyone else when you are in Farzanegan (my home), up on stage, about 17 and when it is THAT time of your life, after not having had a decent sleep for days, being up all night with others, putting THE show together, when only the strange feeling keeps you going on and then you are finally there, on that very famous stage, not knowing how or when the time finally came; you say all you have to say, sing all the old songs, true to the traditions and then before you know it is time for the one last song, it is time for the wheel of time to make one more turn and this time at your hands. You should take responsibility and be well aware of the heritage you are leaving for the next generations but at that moment, when suddenly everyone is up on the stage and holds hands to demonstrate a bond never broken, all you need to do is to be yourself. 

If it had been a majestic feeling, when hundreds of people were singing the songs together, it is still nothing to be compared to the moment, when the last song is sung and every one who is not on the stage is looking up to you, absorbing every note and every word with probably tears swirling up in their eyes. What made those moments epic, were the truthful hearts which believed in every word they sang, were the hands lovingly holding on to each other. 

Ten years ago, I was down there in the crowd, watching and idolizing my friends  - nine years ago I was up there myself - and I was almost the only one to sing along with them on their special moment, for I was the only one allowed to hear their song before they first sang it to every one else.
 On Friday, I was back there again; thousands of kilometers away, standing right next to another stage, watching other friends, maybe holding no one’s hand but still singing each and every song along with them and with hundreds of others, feeling home: safe, trusted, loved.  Again I felt those moments, when there is no more distance between the stage and every one else, when it feels as if all are standing there, supporting each other. On Friday, too, songs about home, about battles, about being free and about protecting this precious home were sung. I held my crest up high with great pride, fierce rage and deep agony, for the home we are trying to save for next generations, for our songs that will echo for ever: Songs of Victory, since we promised, years ago, on that stage as well as in front of it, that our hands will hold on to each other and that in our songs, we will live on eternally.

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It is not everyday that you can both be at a musically marvelous event and get all the ravishing feelings alltogether.... Enska, simply but not simple: Enska !