Item Details

Item No. M4

"The samovar is singing under the lantern light.  The city's rooftops are filled with mosquito nets raised against tired late afternoon clouds.

Father is gazing at the light that twinkles far away.  Mehri is collecting empty plates.  Mother is washing the fruits by the pond in the stream of a far away river and puts them in a bowl that is supposed to sit years later behind the liliaceous mountains of the plain.  Jalil and Khalil are sitting there, watching Father's grey hairs without him knowing about it.  Zahra gets the two band radio from me and laughs mutely.  Now it is the sound of Mother's footsteps.  When she takes a step, the wooden stairs of the ladder begin to transcend.  The wind dances in her chador and the light raising from around the fruits lights Father's hands.  Mother looks at the pupil of Father's eyes and pours down into the bowl of his eyes all of the words she has brought from the river.

We are left breathless.  No one blinks; even the moon that has wrapped itself in the blanket of clouds up there.  Mother puts down the fruit bowl.  Heaven has come and the poetry of pomegranate has started.  The bowl is full of Mother's heavenly melodies.  Can you hear it?"