Sometimes I wish I never had to sleep. Sometimes I think that if I stay very, very still, if I never move at all, things will change. I think if I freeze myself I can freeze the pain. Sometimes I won’t move for hours. I will not move an inch. If time stands still nothing… Continue reading Tahereh Mafi
I eat my heart out alone. — Azar Nafisi, Reading Lolita in Tehran. (Random House; Reprint edition, December 30, 2003)
I hear crickets chirp and think of my weaker heart, the tiny one sewn behind the one that beats. It lives there made entirely of watery pink light, flapping at dawn like a baby’s cheek. —Kaveh Akbar, from “Exciting the Canvas,” Calling a Wolf a Wolf (Alice James Book, 2017)
The poets stand in the rain. They wear no raincoats. They have no umbrellas. They are discussing the shadow of a shadow of a shadow. But their poetry is already soaking wet— They have not developed their reality muscles So they walk with a limp while admiring the color of a vein in a leaf.… Continue reading Mahvash Mossaed
The Vale of Soul-Making 