People are in streets in Iran, they are getting hit and shot, they are fighting for freedom.
They are looking for their votes. I am born in Tehran, Iran and just by the time these things are going on in Iran, I take a bus to Stockholm but not to demonstrate or join others who want to shout for Iranian nation whose voice can not be broadcasted easily, I want to take the bus to go to a cheap airport called Skavsta. I fly to Bratislava, take the bus to the city, have a turn in the center of the city and some memories from Ebi and Farideh and our Vienna trip gets a second life, I get the bus to Budapest and visit my old friend Zita there. She is standing in the bus terminal at 11 pm in not a very good part of the city with a beautiful rose in her hands and a beautiful tired smile in her face.
She brings me to her home in Budpest suburb, we drink a glass of fine Champagne and sleep.
I go around in this beautiful city. She does not let me pay a single penny. I get the bus in the early morning go to Prague. There are some old good doods waiting for me. tired real smiles on their faces. I hugs David, Tomas and Petr and I feel, damn, I had missed these guys.
We go, drink and eat and go to my survival trip of 100 km in 24 hours and I fail in 92.5 km and on the 22nd hour of the trip. I spend the night by the fire in an old typical Zcech in Bohemian Paradise in an old village in my sleeping bag but before we have some beer and sit by the fire and listen to the rock climber who plays guitar and sings Czech folk songs.
I take the train back to the city after eating a typical Czech food in a small town by the railways. The bus brings me to Wroclaw through lots of ups and downs in the mountains in south border of Poland and I can see nothing from the big window beside me not because it is dark but because it is dirty and foggy. I go to the centrum in the nicest hostel ever near the main market square and listen to loud laugh of lovers and wonder about the roses Polish gentlemen give to their lovers when they meet in fine clothes in teh main square while I am in my shorts and old slippers. I get the train to Poznan the other day and remind lots of good memories in Frolic Goats and the day after a short girly visit to the tourist information office in that nice old square and then the bus to the airport and flying back to Vasteras.
Finished? no! from the airport in Vasteras I walk down to the island named Bjorno and swim and rest and enjoy the late sunset at 10 pm and walk back home: sundinska!
And after all these, now I think I know what should I do for Iran. I don't need to buy a ticket and run back home and shoudl stop repeating to myself: "Why shoudl Neda get shot? Why not me? What if I was there and she was still alive?"
I know what should I do and I feel good about it.
May peace flow all around the world.
You could see war's effect in all these cities I have travelled through and it is not pleasant at all.
They are looking for their votes. I am born in Tehran, Iran and just by the time these things are going on in Iran, I take a bus to Stockholm but not to demonstrate or join others who want to shout for Iranian nation whose voice can not be broadcasted easily, I want to take the bus to go to a cheap airport called Skavsta. I fly to Bratislava, take the bus to the city, have a turn in the center of the city and some memories from Ebi and Farideh and our Vienna trip gets a second life, I get the bus to Budapest and visit my old friend Zita there. She is standing in the bus terminal at 11 pm in not a very good part of the city with a beautiful rose in her hands and a beautiful tired smile in her face.
She brings me to her home in Budpest suburb, we drink a glass of fine Champagne and sleep.
I go around in this beautiful city. She does not let me pay a single penny. I get the bus in the early morning go to Prague. There are some old good doods waiting for me. tired real smiles on their faces. I hugs David, Tomas and Petr and I feel, damn, I had missed these guys.
We go, drink and eat and go to my survival trip of 100 km in 24 hours and I fail in 92.5 km and on the 22nd hour of the trip. I spend the night by the fire in an old typical Zcech in Bohemian Paradise in an old village in my sleeping bag but before we have some beer and sit by the fire and listen to the rock climber who plays guitar and sings Czech folk songs.
I take the train back to the city after eating a typical Czech food in a small town by the railways. The bus brings me to Wroclaw through lots of ups and downs in the mountains in south border of Poland and I can see nothing from the big window beside me not because it is dark but because it is dirty and foggy. I go to the centrum in the nicest hostel ever near the main market square and listen to loud laugh of lovers and wonder about the roses Polish gentlemen give to their lovers when they meet in fine clothes in teh main square while I am in my shorts and old slippers. I get the train to Poznan the other day and remind lots of good memories in Frolic Goats and the day after a short girly visit to the tourist information office in that nice old square and then the bus to the airport and flying back to Vasteras.
Finished? no! from the airport in Vasteras I walk down to the island named Bjorno and swim and rest and enjoy the late sunset at 10 pm and walk back home: sundinska!
And after all these, now I think I know what should I do for Iran. I don't need to buy a ticket and run back home and shoudl stop repeating to myself: "Why shoudl Neda get shot? Why not me? What if I was there and she was still alive?"
I know what should I do and I feel good about it.
May peace flow all around the world.
You could see war's effect in all these cities I have travelled through and it is not pleasant at all.
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