I have tried to the best of my ability to write letters sincere and transcendent emotions. And sometimes so I am immersed in letters that content becomes discontented with me and sometimes both of them become so.

I take them to the beauties symposium, they rest calmly and joyously there beside each other and then it is my turn to be a guest of them. In this way, I will become overwhelmed with divine inspiration; I watch their glorious symphony and become full of fine sentiments...

I whisper in my scripts' ears who are dancing and springing. A whisper about the oriental dawns murmur...

That day, on which I intend to write, I become overwhelmed with an ethereal and benevolent kindness and gentleness, and a sense of blossoming and limpidity seethes in me .I am quiet and silent but my writings are speaking and roaring, The dancing lines are looking for their safe nest and the love which has illuminated their life is shinning like the sun.

I have never been after innovation, but whatever I write is novel and new. I hate obsoleteness and fadedness that is why the garden of my calligraphy is not a wasteland.

And now after passing so many years of my artistic life and after presenting my works all over the world, I look back at my weaknesses and successes. I am still on the quest for learning experiences from Iran's and other country's rich artistic and cultural heritages, and repeating to myself that:"It is just the beginning, choose a new outfit so that you can probably harvest love flowers from the vast plain of art in the coming years".

When my scripts fly to museums and people's houses, an ineffable joy comes upon me. I say farewell to them warmly and they embrace me tightly; they know well that I will come around them. I try to have a heart-to-heart talk with them , and let them be blessed with succulence; profundity, kindness and beauty.

When my scripts sleep at nights, I look at them with a sense of love and affection, as that of a father to his children. Even those thoughts who are sound  asleep may have their own effects. Iranian Nastaliq and shekasteh Nastaliq scripts are full of kindness ,love and gentleness; this sweetness only can be grasped bay those who have a keen eye for beauty.

I and my scripts stay awake until dawn and look at the works of great past and present masters. What a joy is there in looking at curves and routes of dancing letters and works of those scripts by Mir-Emad, Mirza Gholamreza and Darvish Abdolmajid,and how great is the spiritual value of these works who murmur history and affection. Scripts who has narrated and recorded the hearts of people in different ages.

I and my scripts deeply and heartily understand and appreciate Rumis mur mur ,hafizs odes,khayyams theosophy , Plato's ideal state, and symphonies of  ancient Orient, Bach and Beethoven's glorious music and so many other charming symphonies.

I bestow a spirit of beauty upon my scripts and they do the same to my heart and eyes...

I and my scripts praise the blue waterfalls of the mountains that tumble down from the sky like a Siah-Mashgh and repeatedly bestow love on people.

My scripts cascade along with love waterfalls and find their domain somewhere in the plain of existence, and dance and sing the song of love.

Sometimes I and my scripts become so upset that only tears can wash away the gray color of our ennui and sorrow. We pour a handful of Siah-mashghs(exercises in black)over the roses. Then the words gain a new sprits and their Nastealiqian sense is reneved again.

I rest easy beside my scripts, forget about the misery of hard times and write a Sar-mashgh(writing model)in black ink.

Sometimes I and  my scripts take trips and they will be bright luminous whenever they are reminiscing about me and whenever they are.And also whenever on the earth I will be,I will read the poems of my scripts. Their poems are the loveliest poetry of the world.I try to scent the name of my God, the Merciful, with my kind reed pen and I let Allah's Name dance Sama with my confidant reed, and fly those dancing and springing scripts gloriously to the infinite plain of beauty. What a great glory reflect these ancient loves.

There after ,I came to the conclusion that this sense is nothing but an escape from  penance.

Everyday , I keep my solicitude for practice and exercise alive and increasingly write mashghs more devotedly from my heart , with my hand. And so great and holy is the value of the hand.

Everyday ,I have a soliloquy and shed some tear , I shift up and down my thoughts who have not caught sun so that they bask and prosper.

I frame my scripts, go to culture and art enthusiasts and tell my heart that:"what if these people can read between those lines which I write, and understand that how deep and speculative they are". hats why the calligraphers are the heirs to the written history.

These days some of  culture and art enthusiasts are struggling for their daily life and are not murmuring tranquility. Some Sar-Mashghs should be written so that the rain of tranquility will be bestowed upon them.

I try to be the calmest and modest of the people so that I should not be disconsolate by daily life.I should be disconsolate by the tresses of my honey not  by the shortage of my money this is just an attempt for me to be a clear and blessing fountain of my time.

I and my scripts speak  about the growth of reed pens. They claim that the mature and excellent reed pens are enlivened by the shinning sunlight of the south of Iran and are called Dezfoolian reed pen .These are brown , mature, straight and burnish pens whose texture are made of love.

These reed pens sing the songs of Babel,Crete,Medes and Achaemenids;and have preserved the scent of friendship, love, faith and loyalty in each of their joints.

I choose my reed pens from the best and purest love farms, I water and enliven them with my own tears. I trim the tip of my pens so the pick of my script be harmonized and so just begins the creation of love.my dancing and  springing scripts sing the song of kindness and the tones of their symphonies reach the heaven.

I and my scripts listen to the rain music and become as fresh as a leaf of a grass in April. We dance Sama together and repeat love again and again. We become crystalline and clean like the rain of love, then sit down somewhere quietly and wait for the shining sun.