HELEN HAMZAVI-ZHARGHANI
SINGER, WRITER, ACTRESS, POET, etc.
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A Tale of Afghani Women |
Love Lost |
© by Helen Hamzavi-Zharghani
You are the place I can hide in,
A place where there are no more fears,
no more tears.
You are the place I can abide in,
No more darkness,
No more pain,
Loneliness gone
All that is wrong melted away
And I rest secure
In the safety of the shadow of your wings
© by Helen Hamzavi-Zharghani
Coincidence of Memory
I seek the answer in a montage of colorless forms,
mangled shadows swoop and weave
constantly in motion
hidden messages encoded,
intrusive, disturbing, puzzling.
Suddenly, unbidden
a deluge of scattered images explode,
whizzing and crackling like a Roman Candle.
a burst of light
illuminating unlocked memories,
secret even to myself.
Among the tombs, marble mannequins,
carved alabaster figures of a bygone age,
stand witness.
a tiny bird, hurled from its mother breast,
the flickering glow of life extinguished from its black glass eyes.
lies cold upon the ancient stone,
marking the spot
where the cord was severed,
and my mother's love slipped away.
Her eyes skewered me with jagged slivers of indifference,
I undertook a lifelong quest
and for forty years I labored
to penetrate the bricks and mortar of her silence,
and storm the barricades of rejection,
Locked in a fervid room of resentment,
bowed beneath the weight of my longing
still no answer rises to meet me
the vision lingers then vanishes like a vapor
my quest is over
the lifeless bird remains.
© by Helen Hamzavi-Zharghani
You crouch in your subterranean lair,
Malingerer, liar, a skulking ambuscade, poised to pounce
Ready to blaze my soul,
To sear through my veins,
To pervade the lonely, murky places within, that has no end.
You emerge from your ebon world,
Breathing your lies, a harbinger of death
Caging my heart in an impenetrable shell
Confined in a dark and barren fortress of pain,
Groping and lost.
He who is the light of the world lifts me from the shadows,
His radiance banishes the darkness
My hearts casing pierced by His glory.
Liberated, joy bursts forth,
Purging the pain, cleansing the soul
You are routed,
Vanquished by Grace,
Swept from my being by the healing breath of Him who loves me.
© by Helen Hamzavi-Zharghani
Motionless, I stand upon the stage
concealed behind a false face,
swaddled in the disguise I wore
when I left home
to stray from path to path
and journey down a reckless road,
wandering in arid lands,
feeding on paltry husks,
stunted and starved,
unsatisfied.
I cast off my mask,
lifting my face
to absorb the brilliance of the spot light.
returned to the womb,
I bask in the stillness shrouding me
as I search the bowels of the theatre,
a vacuous unseen world,
hushed now in anticipation.
Music canopies me,
I sing,
giving voice to what is buried within.
suffused with a radiant energy,
my voice rises in a crescendo of boundless joy
time is suspended.
applause explodes like a summer rain squall
it thunders and swells
drenching my parched heart
in an outpouring of love
embracing the prodigal
welcoming me home.
© by Helen Hamzavi-Zharghani
I held fast to your love,
like a small child,
chubby fingers clutching
a treasured balloon,
determined never to release it
fearful it would be lost forever.
But it slipped from grasp
carried off by a powerful gust of wind,
bobbing and weaving,
it floated overhead
desperately I pursued it
until I fell exhausted to my knees
it soared higher and higher,
ascending
up into the limitless blue sky
then slowly drifting out of sight.
© by Helen Hamzavi-Zharghani
Driven by a deep and nameless yearning,
I embarked upon a pilgrimage,
to trace a path
through mist soaked mountains
and scale the highest peak.
Unsure of my course,
I lingered in the lowlands.
camping beside pools of water,
basking in the warmth of sunlight,
afraid to climb the mountains.
then, step by faltering step,
I journeyed uphill, over rocky terrain
and dead -end trails
until I reached a sunless valley.
besieged by a storm,
wind shrieking around me,
I traversed through blinding sleet
and blizzard, to stand at the edge of a precipice
and stare down into a sprawling canyon
swept dry, desolate, blighted.
Weary and heart broken
I wept and railed at God
"Where are You?"
"Why have You forsaken me?"
but He remained silent, hidden.
Suddenly, I heard a distant cry,
a halcyon song,
far beyond the unending wasteland of scorched fields and melancholy plains,
a tiny glimpse of light,
beckoned from a distant vista.
bringing quiet to my mind and rest to my heart.
with my eyes upon the remote horizon,
I pressed on.
© by Helen Hamzavi-Zharghani
Held with chords of his sins,
Burdened with chains,
The most wretched of mortals.
Seeking, self-indulgent,
Living apart from God
Surrendering his years
Laboring for what does not satisfy.
Hope.
Satan's powers broken
A still, small voice speaking words of absolute devotion
Hope in conviction
lost is found
The past is forgiven, forgotten!
Wandered from God
Now found and embraced in the Father's arms of Love
© by Helen Hamzavi-Zharghani
I am of the living dead,
body bagged in blue,
shrouded beneath folds of cloth,
the color of the sky
I seldom see.
I peer out at my darkened world
through mesh
so that no man can see my face
and be corrupted.
Confined behind purdah walls
trembling in my home,
deprived of sunlight
segregated behind blackened windows.
I am a pariah in my own country,
an untouchable
isolated, invisible,
silent.
Smothered beneath the cloak of persecution,
disguised as Islamic law.
Denied work,
forbidden to go to school,
subject to misogynous laws
spawned by the Taliban
men, we once glorified as freedom fighters.
Now, they zealously dispense injustice,
depriving women of our basic human rights
I am chattel.
owned like oxe
forbidden to laugh, dance or sing.
Stanza break
I cannot go out unescorted,
For to do so would invite the penalty of flogging.
Shariah law demands
That blood must stain my wedding nigh.
my chastity assured,
or my life be taken in a hail of stones.
At night my dark eyed sisters walk my dreams,
hollow eyed specters who fill my room
with screams of agony,
they cry out for justice,
for me to rebuild,
and rally others to the call.
I anoint myself with freedom's ashes
march forth draped in the flag of Afghanistan
as if it were sackcloth
and one day, like a wild tulip,
red as the blood of martyrs
my petals will burst open
and the sun's rays caress my face.
A song will ring out,
I will dance and clap
while a sparrow swoops and flies up toward the sun,
laughter hovering beneath it's whirling wings
as women set out to work.
© by Helen Hamzavi-Zharghani
Fluffy white clouds drifted across the blue sky above the meadow. A warm
breeze ruffled the leaves of an old apple tree while bees hummed lazily about
the ripe fruit dangling from its branches. Sweet clover scented the air and
brilliant butterflies fluttered around the heads of ponies grazing on the
lush green grass. Shimmering in the sun, like millions of tiny crystals, a
brook gurgled its happy way through the meadow, disappearing into the valley
beyond.
In all the world there was no fairer place, nor a place more full of peace
and harmony. The most wonderful thing about the meadow however was the Great
White Stallion who lived on the other side of the mountain. The ponies lived
without fear or care for the Great White Stallion loved them and watched over
them.
Sammy, a little brown pony looked over the meadow with discontent. He didn't
appreciate the beauty of the meadow, or his friendship with the other ponies
and most of all he didn't want to love and obey the Great White Stallion.
Sammy's greatest wish was to leave the meadow and go to the village. In the
village square stood a carousel. Sammy dreamed of becoming a carousel pony
so he too could wear a brightly colored saddle and bridle, a garland of flowers
strung around his neck and vibrant ribbons entwined in his mane and tail,
just like the other ponies gliding around and around on the merry machine.
As time went on Sammy grew more and more restless and irritable. At night
he would watch the carousel lights twinkling in the darkness in the distance
and listen to the airy tinkle of music and the noisy laughter of the people.
Whenever his friends tried to draw close to him, he would toss his mane, snort,
stomp his hooves and gallop to the other side of the meadow where he would
brood for hours.
One day, as Sammy sat gloomily wishing he could escape the boredom of the
meadow for the excitement of the carousel a man approached from the direction
of the village. He greeted the pony with a broad smile and ran his hands through
Sammy's silken mane, telling him was a fine-looking pony he was and that he
was looking for a very special pony for his carousel.
Sammy couldn't believe his good fortune. His friends pleaded with him, begging
him not to leave the safety and solitude of home. But he ignored their pleas
and with an arrogant toss of his head and click of his hooves, he followed
the agreeable fellow away from the meadow.
Upon arrival in the village, Sammy, eyes shinning with excitement gaped at
the carousel. It was everything he had dreamed it would be: a kaleidoscope
of color, bright flashing lights and merry music. The man told Sammy to climb
aboard the carousel and full of anticipation Sammy jumped on. The man stroked
Sammy's velvet nose and he began to rear. His legs stiffened and become rigid.
The man swung an emerald green saddle on his back, entwined multi-colored
ribbons in his mane and tail and hung a garland of red roses around his neck.
Soon shouts of laughter announced the arrival of the villagers.
Seizing a chunk of Sammy's mane, a fat man clambered aboard him. The man struck
him with a whip and kicked him with his large, heavy boots. Sammy, unable
to move could only endure the beating as the carousel began gliding around
and around, slowly at first that gathering speed,whizzing faster and faster.
After what seemed an eternity, the ride finally slowed and stopped. Sammy
sighed with relief as the man climbed off but to his horror another rider
climbed abroad and in an instant the carousel began spinning again. Sammy
was terrified. He cried out to his friend to rescue him and the man stepped
from the shadows. The bright lights illuminated his face and where once there
had been a benevolent smile there was now a cruel grin, ghastly and grotesque.
An evil cackle rang out as the ride picked up speed and Sammy knew that he
was trapped on the hideous machine forever.
Poor Sammy suffered for a long time. Finally when his mane and tail were dull
and matted, the ribbons faded and worn, the garland drooping and decaying,
his unyielding limbs bruised and battered, Sammy was taken and cast into a
corner.
The little pony wept. He thought his poor heart would explode with grief and
loneliness. The merry-go-round was ugly to him now, not colorful but garish
and tawdry. The music was no longer melodious but clamorous and discordant.
Sammy understood how foolish he had been and hungered for the days he'd spent
with his friends, basking in the love and security of the Great White Stallion's
care. He closed his eyes and in his agony, Sammy cried out, begging the Great
White Stallion to forgive him. Then, he felt something gently brush his cheek
and he opened his eyes. To the pony's great joy, there stood the Great White
Stallion, radiant and shinning, with a magnificent crown on his head.
Softly, with a voice filled with love and compassion, he told Sammy that he
knew Sammy's pain and sorrow and that he forgave his disobedience. He told
him that he loved him and would never leave him. As the Great White Stallion
words flowed over him like gentle rain, Sammy felt a rush of warmth and comfort
so tender that it almost left him breathless and his body began to relax and
he found he could move his limbs again. The Great White Stallion helped him
remove the tattered vestiges of his carousel life and to Sammy's amazement,
he found that he was no longer a plain little brown pony but that he too was
white and dazzling. The Great White Stallion whispered that it was time to
return to meadow and his friends who had never lost hope for his return.
So, Sammy followed the Great White Stallion away from the village. Careful
to follow his master closely, he returned home, home to peace, love and safety,
never to yearn for the empty life of the carousel again.
© by Helen Hamzavi-Zharghani
Mother of Israel
Sarah,
childless,
bereft and lost
whose laughter burst forth
and resounded to the heavens
upon God's promise.
she would bear a son in old age
a special child,
Abraham's seed
to carry forward God's plan,
of a new people
a chosen nation
as plentiful as the stars.
impatient, demanding,
doubting her shriveled womb could open,
that her sagging breasts could nurse
appoints a dark eyed, barefoot slave
daughter of Pharaoh
to lie with her husband
and deliver of Ishmael
child of Sarah's folly.
Sarah,
princess,
chosen vessel for God's promised child,
belly round as a ripe melon
crouched upon the birthing stool
to deliver a small red screaming bundle
"laughter" her long awaited son,
Isaac, miracle child
forefather to the tribe of Israel
God's covenant fulfilled
suckles at her swollen, overflowing breasts.
© by Helen Hamzavi-Zharghani
Kid siren,
parading the concrete catwalk
yellow curls, dimples and puppy fat
brittle smile inviting,
pandering to the carnal appetites of strangers
she plies her trade
Once, she set upon an odyssey
in search of her Daddy's love
she hunted through the desolate streets
stalking her dreams,
down blind alleys and along shadowed paths
looking for him
in the eyes of the men
that plunder her innocence,
but he is not to be found
so she's on the stroll again.
© by Helen Hamzavi-Zharghani
Were You There when They Crucified My Lord?
Mary Mother of Jesus
James burst through the door and flung himself at my feet burying his face in his hands. "Jesus has been arrested," he groaned. My heart began to pound in my chest and the room began to swirl, my legs giving way beneath me. What I had been dreading for so long had finally come to pass.
When Jesus had prepared to make the trip to Jerusalem, a heavy air of foreboding had descended over me. I could sense in him a deep melancholy, a brooding. As he said goodbye I clung to him, begging him to stay longer. I feared that it would be the last time I would hold my son in my arms. But Jesus was determined. "It is time," he said. And as I watched him till he was out of sight I knew…
We rushed to the city. James had tried to convince me to stay at home, afraid of what I would find. But Jesus needed me. I guess I harbored a false hope that if I reasoned with the Pharisees I could convince them to free him but as we neared the city I knew it was but the foolishness of a desperate mother. They were determined to destroy him. It was then that I understood what Jesus had known all along. This was what he had come to do and he could not, would not be released from it.
The city was deserted but I could see a large crowd far off in the distance
and as we drew near I could hear the roaring of the crowd. Terror engulfed
me as we pushed and shoved forcing our way through the swarming mob. And there
he was my son… my Jesus.
I thought I would surely die at that moment, so great was my grief. What had
they done to him? What had they done to my child? He looked half-dead, his
face a bloody pulp, his eyes swollen almost shut, and his nose smashed. They
had crowned him with thorns, ramming the sharp spikes deep into his skull.
Blood oozed from the wounds, rivulets trickling down to mingle with the bloody
lacerations on his back made from the scourge of bone and leather they had
used to slice through sinew and muscle.
The howling rabble spat on him as he hobbled along, mocking him, reveling
in his suffering. They chanted louder and louder "crucify him, crucify
him." I clamped my hands over my ears. And in my torment, I screamed
his name.
He could not have heard me above the clamor of the crowd but as he stumbled
and fell he lifted his head and looked directly at me. And as our eyes met,
for a brief tender moment, there was no roaring crowd…just Jesus and
I. The years fell away and once again I was looking into the eyes of my baby…my
baby that I had held to my breast, my precious son born in a stable.
A soldier hauled Jesus to his feet. Cursing, he shoved him forward and Jesus bearing his cross staggered up the hill to Golgotha. I followed. Steeling myself I stood in silent despair, as they stretched his arms against the cross beams. I watched as the soldier swung the mallet, the hammer strokes ringing in my ears as the iron spikes were driven into his hands and feet. Blood spurted from his torn skin as the cross was raised upright. He groaned and twisted in agony. When he cried out "I am thirsty" and I could no longer contain my anguish. I tore at my clothes, wailing in torment. How many times had I brought him water to cool his thirst in the heat of his father's shop? But now I could not assuage his thirst. I was helpless to offer him comfort. He was alone.
He gave his final breath and all was quiet. They took his body down and
laid him in my arms. I rocked and crooned to him just as I had when he was
little. I brushed the blood soaked hair from his brow and gazed upon his face
one last time. Joseph knelt and tried to take him from me but I held on tightly
no wanting to let him go. Finally, Joseph gently drew him away. I could not
draw breath for the pain of it.
I was there when he was a little baby sleeping in the manger. I was there
when he was a young man working in his father's carpentry shop. I was there
when he died a glorious, victorious death. I was his mother I was with him
till the end.
TRAINING, EXPERIENCE & BACKGROUND
Located in Langley, BC, Canada
Helen Hamzavi-Zharghani
Langley, B.C.
Contact Helen Hamzavi-Zharghani - click on link to email