Dedicated to my grandmother who just passed away.
Are you looking for me? I am looking for you.
I know where you are. Do you know where I am?
I’m behind the magic square.
Our numbers add up to the same.
You will not see me in tea houses, not in Esfahan. Nor in Kish, nor in Café Nadery.
Not in Azadi, nor in Darband, not in the winding roads of Chaloos, nor in Bandar Abbas eating nothing but dates.
When I look for you, I instantly see you.
I see you between an eye blink and the next.
My heart says: God, tell me, is this when the petals bloom?
Very few have seen where it ends.
My heart told me one thing: Your soul will shine on where your grandmothers sat in their special places, smiled and read poetry.
Just like me.
We share our stories there.
I am happiest in these stories, where it meets the fragrant wind and the wavering radiance of the sun gleaming onto the gnarled words and verses that dance on the dirt roads that cut across my being.