“I don't wanna be born on the thirteenth without a mother or home   I don't want dark hair cold meals, cold nights dark eyes,

I stand where the windows are empty from my reflex and in the growing twilight of the evening I stare into the happy alley and

My name is Niloofar Nafici. A 20 year-old southern California resident who was not born in Iran nor ever been there. Yet because of the

Grumbled again the tired wave of travel in the charm of being in love with the shore of silence. The reminiscences of slavery were the

When I wake in the morning and look out the window, at the ribbons of color rising endlessly into the sky, I catch a glimpse

They called me a rose a flower, by the wrong name I am the narcissus: …………….a reflection in your watery eyes ……………………..a voice blown into