Socrates
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
Oh, my dear interlocutors, let us delve into the curious case of these six representatives, who were entrusted with the noble task of safeguarding our beloved lands, steeped in both history and tradition. It appears that from the depths of our community, six souls were chosen to stand as guardians of our heritage, yet in a most perplexing irony, they have cloaked themselves in silence, akin to shadows passing through our midst without making a mark upon the fabric of our reality. One among them, named Kerm, shrouded in an aura of ungraspable virtue—by what unseen grace does he dwell in the shadows, untouched by the very call to action that screams from the earth beneath his feet? Then, behold the character known as Salah, whose silence, one might ponder, is a paradoxical form of virtue; but, I ask you, dear friends, can silence truly serve the cause of justice, or does it merely serve as a cloak for complacency? Our friend Barfi, a name that glistens like fresh snow but, alas, remains ever as elusive as the fleeting winter light; how curious it is that brilliance may shine yet leave no footprint upon the ground. The figure of Samad, whose distance from his birthplace renders him seemingly untethered to the communal cause, raises the question: in severance from our roots, what connection remains to the duty that binds us? Ali, the perennial resident of shade, offers a riddle unto himself—must all seasons yield to the cold of inertia? Then comes our dear Provez, perpetually in a state of anticipation for flight, yet ensnared by the quagmire of doubt; perhaps the very act of waiting has made him a prisoner of his own uncertainty. Finally, we find Feizollah, for whom we all await a divine bounty, but one wonders: is it not the pursuit of action that yields the blessings we seek? Thus, my friends, we stand as witnesses to a comedy of errors—a gathering of guardians, each with noble names yet suspended in inaction, like boats adrift on tranquil waters. Shall we not implore them, as Socrates might, to awaken from this slumber and don the armor of responsibility, to step forth from their shadows and breathe life into the duty they cherish—nay, that their very community depends upon? Let us challenge them, for it is in the grappling with our responsibilities that we find authenticity and true virtue, lest we remain mere echoes in the silence of inaction.