Maryam Ala Amjadi was born in Tehran on the 1st of January in the year 1984 (the year of George Orwell's chilling depiction) and she was named Maryam 
(Persian for Mary or Maria) by her mother for the very reason. 

When she grew up she questioned her name. What did it mean? She found out that it was originally a Hebrew word and the prefix (Mar) meant bitter. 
Later a friend told her that Maryam meant bitter sorrow or bitter wisdom, but she could not make out which she was.

She was just seven when she went to in India with her parents for a 7 year stay. There she spent her childhood studying the English language in the Kendra 
Vidiyala School and then the Sophia High School in Bangalore.

She was almost eight when she wrote her first poem. It was a short childish and rhymed one about her nails: Why did one have them at all if one was to cut 
and trim them all the time? Why did they keep growing only shortly afterwards?

The funny poem made her parents laugh in approval and the next thing she knew was that she was standing in the middle of the crowd at parties and family 
gatherings and they would make her recite poetry. And she would tell them how she would go to see the world, to lie down in the shadow of the Pyramids in 
Egypt, eat Chinese food and see the paintings in Rome.

"And when I come home
I'll write a book
Just like the stories
Of Capitan Cook"

The applause would tell her that she would write more and more. She returned with her family to Iran after 7 years with nostalgic blood in her veins for 
her beloved India.
She started publishing her poems in Tehran Times.
She published the first volume of her poetry in 2003 in a bilingual  book titled “Me, I, Myself". 
Maryam  writes her poems in English and  here is her reason:

            Why I write is another story. But why I write in English it isn't because I am competent in the language, on the contrary it is due to my 
incompetence. My first language and mother tongue is Persian. English is my second language. Writing in this language quenches my thirst for adventure, 
because when you write in a language that you are not fully aware of all of its capabilities, then along with thirst for unknown lands you can venture to 
walk infinitely on its most dangerous paths again and again. On the other hand the inert familiarity with ones first language and the isolated peace it 
brings, makes such a thing impossible. To me writing in such a language is a challenge. One where Me, I and Myself entangle. We  strive and strive or it is 
better to say we are entangled in a big circle of dilemma and this entanglement is one good opportunity to get more colors on our faces.  

She graduated with a B.A in English Literature from the Allameh Taba Tabaei University of Persian Literature and Foreign Languages in Tehran, in May 2006.



 

Cross

And Mary didn't stay a virgin
And so won't this paper
Now 
Go get me a cross
And a crusade 
For the 
            Critics




Mission
 
I don’t want to be a saint
nor a tourist of useless thoughts
not even an artist
hanged by his own reputation
I only wish to be a luny
for he laughs at no other than himself
and weeps for no other
than those who laugh at him
My laughter would pour out
my recorded silence
and my sorrow
should paint my soul blue
the moon would be my anger
the oceans my restless body
and when strangers
nod pityingly at me
I would stare at them
with my eyes closed
and my mouth half opened
my hands, reaching out for nobody
 
so at dinner
at their sick parties
in their funny love making and weird courtships
they could have something to talk about
something a little more rainy
than any stupid talk about the weather
and a little less selfish
than any “I love you” ever whispered
 
Ah!
mock me
pity me
and throw at me
everything that you all dislike
and take away all that you like
my silence
my face
even my voice
I’ve nothing to lose
I’m the prophet of all the clowns of the world!
 
 

MISUNDERSTANDING

It's not your fault
If you miss the understanding 
That lurks between 
The simple curves of etc
We are taken out of context

 

SILENCE

Close your eyes to see me
Standing seated beside the fire
And let go of all that may come
When one yields to desire

Dream my wake and my silence sing
The soundless bells of nothing
Toll the lonely chaos of a ring 
In a labyrinth of everything

And when the dark fades into black
Remember once the wind did blow
To woo woo hoo a laity light
On myths we forgot we know

That I am no one but "me"
The sum of all that around
Blind your sight to insight 
The melody of no sound
 


For  Farideh  

I feel sinful before you,
For, you have kids and a husband 
and a stove and a fridge and a cat
and a heart and a loneliness to look after
and yet that doesn't stop you to scream 
and rebel and shake the rules
and a lot of trees around you.
It doesn't make you give into mediocrity 
or the bitch-god-of-success
 or to succumb to things
 that in the end leave you
with all they could ever give you:
 Knee Ache!

 
Everytime I talk to you
 I feel that and regret having
 wasted the days I could have bloomed in, 
my heart glows with your mental gaze
 on me and it stirs me so
 in a way no man could ever do,
 as you bridge my time
 with my dreams.