Where the Water Rests
There is a weight to silence that only water understands. When the wind dies, the surface becomes a mirror, holding the sky as if it were a secret. We spend our lives trying to leave a mark, to carve our names into the stone or the earth, yet…
A Child on the Day of Muharram by Fatemeh TajikThe Quiet Germination of Faith
In the deep winter, a seed does not know the shape of the spring, yet it holds the blueprint for the entire tree within its dormant husk. It waits in the cold, dark soil, gathering the quiet strength required to eventually break the surface.…
The Pulse of Petals
The smell of damp earth after a heavy rain always brings me back to the garden behind my childhood home. It is a thick, humid scent, like wet wool and crushed stems, clinging to the back of my throat. I remember the way the velvet petals felt…