Tehran

Tehran In this place, poetry looms everywhere, spilling off the tongues of taxi drivers and street hawkers like the blood of a pomegranate. Hafez and Khayyam flavour each breath With the pungent fragrance of ‘hu’ – and when everything is sacred, there is no more...

Munajaat

La illaha il Allah. Murshid, My Beloved, I have no roses to lay at Your feet; No golden garland, Not even a sweetmeat. All I have is this: An oblation of words. Sprung forth from my very soul, in footsteps of circles, and gestures of half moons – Echoing Light....