A Winter Whisper I am; shining in a rare moment for a bird escaping from my grandmother's tales. I embrace the winds and the frozen longing in my lungs like a great lover and go out with the dawn intoxicated because I entered the depths of a wheat spike. I chase the nostalgia of butterflies because I was present with the dew at sunset. This is how I live this love; walking in a galaxy of joy that surrounds me with amazement because my knees are a forest of reeds to which the wind carried a legendary farmer who watered it with his innocent tears. When I wake up in the morning like a lie with sleepy eyelids, mirrors made of wheat embrace me with their hats and decorated clothes. We are farmers from the south, we smell the greenery and streams of water because we smelled winter before. We own the capitals of beauty because our fingers embrace the heart of the earth like the voices of the buckthorn tree in our old home. I alone know that voice because I heard the whispers of winter and touched its face warmly. His coldness slapped the forehead of love inside me like an old lover who came down in a velvet basket with the rain. 

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Art by Anwer Ghani