And then I confess that I tortured the dress that you wore for the world to look through.

To be honest; I must thank MIKE STEEDEN for his wonderful works which mostly have a touch of Leonard Cohen, to learn me, learn me to remember one of my favourite songwriters and poet of my youth. He came to us; my brother and me, in the early seventies when we were in our most melancholic time in Tehran, Iran those days and were trying to separate us from the society, the society in which you’ve got the feeling that you’ve never belonged and it’s sad! and the only way to escape was the help with drugs. one friend, a professional bassist, came in an evening of a cold winter day and showed us his new discovery which was “the songs of love and hate” by L. Cohen.

I’ve put the vinyl record on the gramophone and it began with the song; Avalanche

Well, I stepped into an avalanche,
It covered up my soul;
When I am not this hunchback that you see,
I sleep beneath the golden hill.
You who wish to conquer pain,
You must learn, learn to serve me well.

Anyway, it was the beginning of a long friendship. But now I wanted to tell about a song by him which is not so current by some people who know Cohen but not aware of this of: “One of Us Cannot Be Wrong”

it is the last song of the album; New Skin for the Old Ceremony if I do not mistake 😉 and when one listens to it, can find a universe inside of it! I mean that’s Poem, you can fly in throughout the whole universe with never-ending. { oh please let me come into the storm }

I suppose that he froze when the wind took your clothes and I guess he just never got warm. But you stand there so nice, in your blizzard of ice, oh please let me come into the storm.

It is a fascinating art to write a poem, and make a song; I hope you’d enjoy it.
just lets your soul fly with. ❤

I lit a thin green candle, to make you jealous of me. But the room just filled up with mosquitos, they heard that my body was free. Then I took the dust of a long sleepless night and I put it in your little shoe. And then I confess that I tortured the dress that you wore for the world to look through. I showed my heart to the doctor: he said I just have to quit. Then he wrote himself a prescription, and your name was mentioned in it! Then he locked himself in a library shelf with the details of our honeymoon, and I hear from the nurse that he’s gotten much worse and his practice is all in a ruin. I heard of a saint who had loved you, so I studied all night in his school. He taught that the duty of lovers is to tarnish the golden rule. And just when I was sure that his teachings were pure he drowned himself in the pool. His body is gone but back here on the lawn his spirit continues to drool. An Eskimo showed me a movie he’d recently taken of you: the poor man could hardly stop shivering, his lips and his fingers were blue. I suppose that he froze when the wind took your clothes and I guess he just never got warm. But you stand there so nice, in your blizzard of ice, oh please let me come into the storm.

And here is the Avalanche;

Well, I stepped into an avalanche,
It covered up my soul;
When I am not this hunchback that you see,
I sleep beneath the golden hill.
You who wish to conquer pain,
You must learn, learn to serve me well. You strike my side by accident
As you go down for your gold.
The cripple here that you clothe and feed
Is neither starved nor cold;
He does not ask for your company,
Not at the centre, the centre of the world.When I am on a pedestal,
You did not raise me there.
Your laws do not compel me
To kneel grotesque and bare.
I myself am the pedestal
For this ugly hump at which you stare. You who wish to conquer pain,
You must learn what makes me kind;
The crumbs of love that you offer me,
They’re the crumbs I’ve left behind.
Your pain is no credential here,
It’s just the shadow, shadow of my wound. I have begun to long for you,
I who have no greed
I have begun to ask for you,
I who have no need.
You say you’ve gone away from me,
But I can feel you when you breathe. Do not dress in those rags for me,
I know you are not poor
You don’t love me quite so fiercely now
When you know that you are not sure,
It is your turn, beloved,
It is your flesh that I wear.

Thank you again
MIKE STEEDEN 🙏🙏

PS: You, the dear friends and followers who might look at my posting, may wonder why I post mostly in the weekend, it is because of my hard working all through the week, it is a kind of working in which you’d not have to use your brain, the job itself does not need any, but I can not without, therefore, I must suffer, but at the weekend I’m alive again!!

If you really want to know my kind of job, you might watch Woody Allen’s Radio Days, then you can find the solution 🤣🤣