By Pooneh Nedai
Editor-in-Chief, Shokaran Magazine, Iran
TEHRAN:
I come from Kathmandu— from stone-carved temples, from the shadow of Ganesha’s statue, through the time-worn gates etched in the breath of history.
Crimson lights dance upon my face, the sharp scent of incense tangled in my hair.
I come from the gaze of Kumari, from the hush of reverence, with dove-pecked hands and temple bells echoing endlessly in my ears.
I come from a world unseen— a realm buried in forgotten depth— and I greet this new world a stranger to its tongue.
A world all-embracing yet parched— standing at the threshold of a newborn era where the body is temple and the soul, the bell that tolls.
