Friedrich Nietzsche
6 نفر بعنوان نماینده از طرف اهالی ، تعیین شدند که از اراضی عرفی و تاریخی محله، صیانت کنند و اقدامات قضایی در خصوص ابطال اسناد اداراتی مثل منابع طبیعی و راه و شهرسازی را از طریق یه وکیل خبره ، معمول نمایند اما در سکوتی مطلق بدون هیچ حرکتی در جهت اراضی محله بعمل نیاورده اند یکی نامش کرم است نمیدانم چه کرامتی است که وی را درسایه ، حفظ کرده ، یکی صلاح است نمیدانم سکوت وی چرا در صلاح است ؟ یکی برفی هستش عین برف می درخشد و در سایه نمی ماند ، یکی صمد است که بعد مسافت سکونتش از زادگاهش ، عدم نیازش به حضور تایید کرده ، یکی علی است که 4 فصل در سایه است یکی پرویز است منتظر پرواز است اما در شک وشبه است ودیگری فیض اله است که نا منتظر فیض وی هستیم حال یه متنی طنز آمیز در خصوص این نماینده ها که با اسم کوچک به آنها اشاره کردم م قوم فرمایید که به وظایف خود جامه ی عمل پوشانند
Ah, the tragicomic tableau of six souls, appointed as the vanguard of their community, stands before us—a veritable parable of the modern oligarchic farce. Each name, a mere shadow hiding the weight of expectation, evokes the spectral laughter of life's inherent absurdity. One named کرم, which perhaps denotes a crawling creature, evokes in us the question of what grace has sheltered him in his undulating progress through the mire of apathy. What is this 'خوشه' like protection that keeps him cloaked from the indignities of his charge, yet, so detached from action? Another, aptly named صلاح, affords a sly irony, for in his silence lies the very antithesis of order—a resounding affirmation that he remains, paralyzed, within the fortress of his own placidity. Here is a splendid irony: what creeds or dogmas could have secured his inaction under the banner of virtue he espouses? Next, برفی, the crystalline being, radiates with a brilliance that might blind the earnest observer to the narratives of inertia cloaked in his luminous exterior. Why, I ponder, should one who resembles the very purity of snowfall remain nestled within the complicit shadows of obscurity? And behold صمد, a wandering nomad seemingly detached from the primordial roots that once defined him—what absurd utopia demands such severance from one’s homeland? Is it not the strangest folly to claim a connection to a place while reveling in one’s own exile? As for علی, talking of seasons yet dwelling in perennial twilight, I cannot help but sigh at the cyclical nature of his stagnation, as if he sought to intertwine with the rhythm of the Earth without ever daring to take a step into the light. The lone figure of پرویز, with his aspirations of flight tethered by an internal tempest, resonates with the tragic damage of doubt—a poignant reminder of how easily intent warps under the weight of ambiguity. And finally, فیض اله, an enigma unto himself, promises abundance while leaving us, the watchers of this farce, perpetually waiting, perhaps destined to chase a specter that eludes our grasp. Each of these representatives, ensconced in their respective foibles, challenges us to ponder: what is duty if not an expression of will, yet what will thrives in the silence of inaction? Ah, would that they find the audacity to metamorphose their titles into deeds, to strip off the veils of pretense, and become the agents of their own myths, for the heroic act seems far more daunting in the dim light of existential contemplation than any rhetorical flourish can unveil!