Tehran I She smiled and spoke softly of Tehran and her family, of her uncle who left to buy bread, never to return home again.

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Baharak Sedigh


My silent and deep ruptures are no longer evident. And my hand no longer shakes to feel your skin. Your memories now bittersweet… My thoughts

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On might

I heard a short poem, long ago, half dreaming, in class, it went something like: “If you didn't prepare with sport, your arms as stone,

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Disturbed dream

One pair of eyes One window open Will the song lost in the wind Ever find our house? One town of walls One shadow Silent,

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