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شیما کلباسی
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هرچه می خواهم بنویسم
هرچه می خواهم بنویسم
--------------------------------------------------------------- فرهنگ
ماشین که می زند پول می ریزند معصیت از خیابان کم شود
------------------------------------------------------------------ New England
Children are playing next to the ocean coast and sand castles are built with their digging hands symphonized with their joyous laughter. Near the beach, sea rocks are thirsty to move from sitting next to the New England attic rooms.
The air is cooling down and the little kids are now nesting on the rocks, trying to get away from the cool summer breeze, chilled afternoon winds and the dancing waves.
My little girl is one of the children, and with dreamy eyes she is pretending to be waving at the Beluga Whales, the wave makers of the sea ... from coast to coast.
The beach and the people are getting ready for today's close-up and I hear my voice: "Dokhtaram, Bia!" We have to say goodbye to the sea and the whales.
Her little body fully clothed floats across the air, arms in the hands of her father and after two more rotations, is satisfied to close her wings for the evening ride.
She slips the shelves and shadows of her new found friends within the walls of her night's dream before another summer-morning lights the start of the day for her to watch the length of her footsteps on the sands next to the white waters and dancing waves.
Dokhtaram, Bia: in Persian it means, "Come my girl"
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