From Iran

Here is Iran, where I am one year late to meet unfamiliar wrinkles. I vividly remember they were not there last time. My parents are growing old, it takes one year of denial...one year of no picture of those new lines and here I am with a memory of a new picture; the new lines.

Here is Iran, where my eyes search for signs, any sign that could tell me things are going to be all right in here.

Here is Iran where I look for its news from the outside when I'm in, where I must and need to be...