I always wanted to be a writer. Here I pretend.
Didn’t we learn?
It’s past 3 in the afternoon
and I’m wandering in tehroon.
In Search of Fifteen Years
Fifteen years on, the same narrow street, leads to the same set of stairs, up to the same terrace overlooking the same rice…
Drop of Rain
Her name, lightens up and ascends above the waves. Soars the clouds and absorbs their weight; lingering there to tempt a fate.