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For the sake of flying, which is the realization of the dream for freedom as much as two wings can embrace; and for the sake of the eagle—the Eagle as illustrated in a poem by Dr. Parviz Natell-Khanlari, who did not live but with the melancholy of flying in the distant clouds, and nothing else …
There, in the distant heights where the Eagle flies, the Earth looked like worthless cone of soil. Exhausted by the springs passed on, weary, the old eagle was thinking about its eventual ending. The azure arches of the heavens looked pale to him; he had to turn towards the other side.
It started hovering above the clouds. The earth humbly bowed under its wings. The cattle was petrified; the snake, the partridge and the deer each fled somewhere, without knowing that this time, the Hunter sought but a different ambition. From above the skies, the eagle saw a little crow; descended and started chatting with it.
Gloomy, it addressed the crow, ‘My life now is like that of a bubble at the shore. Indeed, why despite my magnificence and glory, should I have such a short life, while yours is so elongated?’ The crow said, ‘You always fly up high and never descend from the clouds. And “Carrion has a special benefit, I should add, It elongates life, and I don't mean by a tad” The crow invited the eagle to its feast, saying : “There is a garden, behind it my house, Therein lies, if you will, cheese for the mouse.
A tablecloth brimming with food and drink, Repasts from every clime that you can think.” As they arrived at the crow’s nest, the eagle found it horrendously stench, disgusting and stinky, over which the flies and insects ruled. The eagle thought about the heights of the skies he used to fly in with clouds under its wings, closed its eyes and reflected on the azure heavens in which all he had seen was freedom, pride, glory and splendor.
It opened its eyes and found nothing but horror, stench and abjection. Flapped its wings impatiently, it started off immediately, while saying: “This delicious-looking fare I’d rather pass, As I have passed to the animals the grass. Death, immediate, in the firmament today, Is worth a hundred lives enmeshed in decay.
He then rose into the air, gained altitude, on and on, With the crow watching in amazement, there upon. He reached his own abode, passed even that, To the abode of light, where the firmament's at. He became a point that had existed a while, Then turned into a dot that was not servile…”
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