I Am Close to the Beginning of the Earth
I take the pulse of flowers,
And from the breeze where life drifts,
I retrieve the thread of memory.
— Forough Farrokhzad
She is a poem flowing in the wind,
blossoming in darkness,
multiplying in the mirror of existence.
Every color, every line upon her body
tells the tale of a silent yet profound struggle—
a battle for being,
a pursuit of truth.
Art is not merely an image;
it is a journey from suffering to liberation,
from shadow to light,
the echo of a voice that rose in darkness
and flowed into the radiance.
Now you stand,
so that in the mirror of this art,
you may find yourself.
— Kourosh Ghazimorad
Winter 1403
