Living as an Iranian constantly under the scrutiny of the morality police is akin to a surreal comedy, a delicate juggling act between vigilance and unrestrained laughter. On a memorable evening, I cautiously navigated my way to an underground gathering, a hidden soirée where friends and strangers united to break free from society’s stifling constraints.

The dark room felt reminiscent of your grandfather’s attic, filled with hushed laughter and music so rebellious like putting “Don’t Stop Believin'” on a continuous loop. It was a brief escape from reality, and my excitement matched that of a kangaroo on methamphetamine. I was acutely aware that at any moment, the morality police could burst in, as if auditioning for a high-intensity action movie.

I danced with a diverse group, straight out of a B-movie, their eyes reflecting the dreams of hopeful idealists. We clung to the belief that our actions could ignite change, enduring the monotony of our current lives for the promise of a brighter future, complete with free Netflix subscriptions and endless ice cream.

In my mind, I pictured the ultimate plot twist: the door swings open, and the morality police storm in, shouting as if competing for roles in an over-the-top soap opera. In an instant, excitement would turn to dread, and our dreams would vanish like a magician’s rabbit. And later as I sit in a cold, sterile cell, I would contemplate the absurdity of it all.

I understand that the rollercoaster of anticipation and emptiness in my life resembles the convoluted plot of a sitcom. But one thing remains certain: this tragic hope would keep me going, and in the hearts of every Iranian, the dream for a brighter future would persist as an enduring punchline, refusing to be silenced no matter how many times life attempts to cancel our show.



Well, that smell of s-ex ,Good like burning wood, The wayward lad laid claim to two thirsty girls who left a note when morning came. Play it seven times on the seventh day, seven lives, lead the way,
Rainbow’s seven hues shine bright, what’s up with gray’s relentless chase?
Back in 2011, I chose a path, sealed my fate, embraced,
Seven doobies in my pocket, eleven in my mind’s wild craze.

Stranger things unfold as my halo shines so bright,
Snow White with seven dwarves, what a mystical sight,
Heaven’s door is a quest, can’t escape its force,
No remorse, just time, roll the dice, of course!

Seven sides to me, no need to deny,
Aladdin’s third eye, let’s explore the sky,
Genie’s wishes, dreams soaring high,
Beginning, middle, and end, it’s all you and I.

Mind, body, and soul, the sweet breath of life,
Past, present, future, with no end in sight,
Yin and yang, balance keeps our journey on track,
Good and bad unite, it’s a timeless fact.

We’re all alike, yet our light is individuality,
Less chat, more silence, in this cosmic reality,
Am I right? I’m right, feeling as high as can be,
They say I’m unreadable, unbeatable, unreachable, that’s the key.

Nowadays, beginning my seasonal blues, contacts not so neat. Karma pays my dues, from youth to the street.

Nothing beats being here, in and out of booths,
But I must admit, yeah, still, I miss you.

Wait what ?

Ah, rhabdomyolysis, the silent ninja of the medical world, lurking in the shadows like a sneaky party crasher. It’s the ultimate muscle saboteur, breaking down your biceps and quads with the enthusiasm of a kid tearing open birthday presents. When it strikes, you can kiss your weekend plans goodbye!

Picture this: me, trying to dance on Sugar– it was like being a human lightning rod in a disco storm. The stimulant was like a tiny DJ in my bloodstream, pumping out beats of madness straight to my brain. I felt like a wild, caffeinated squirrel, completely unburdened by mundane things like gravity and logic. Cocaine was my backstage pass to the circus of “Who Needs Inhibitions Anyway?”

And then there’s whiskey, the drink of champions! It’s like a warm, boozy hug for your soul. One sip, and suddenly I believed I could conquer the world or at least the dance floor. The alcohol turned me into a dance ninja, fueled by liquid courage. It’s like my senses put on invisibility cloaks and I could waltz my way to greatness.

But guess what? My reckless rendezvous with these substances was a covert operation, sneakily sabotaging my life. Just like rhabdomyolysis, which quietly disassembles muscles, my little drug-and-drink escapade was sneakily dismantling my life plans, one disco move at a time. 🕺💃💥

It’s 5 AM Again

At 5 AM, the witching hour, I yearned for your presence, but the street-lamp outside only cast macabre, elongated shadows that danced like demons across the room, reminiscent of those nights when we delved into the darkest recesses of the human soul until dawn cracked. The silence, thicker than the ink-black night, was shattered by the mournful cries of the wind, a chilling symphony.

I shifted restlessly in the empty bed, gripped by an unyielding sense of dread, an unmistakable intuition that an unholy, ancient malevolence was lurking.

As I battled to surrender both body and mind to the sleep, a sinister, nearly imperceptible whisper reached my ears. This unearthly voice originated from the deepest, darkest corner of the room. My heart pounded like a funeral drum as I jolted upright, anxiously scanning the impenetrable shadows. No physical presence revealed itself. I dismissed it as the product of my tormented mind, a fleeting illusion, as I struggled to cling to the embrace of sleep.

Terror ensnared me as I realized the absolute solitude of the room, and yet that strange voice, undoubtedly yours ,was emerging from the very spot where you liked to sit.

Clutching the bedcovers, I gasped for air, each breath a jagged shard of my fraying sanity. “Who are you?” I stammered, my voice trembling in the face of mortal fear.

The voice inched closer, an unnatural presence by my side, an icy, deathly breath brushing against my ear, a clammy hand caressing my cheek. “I’m with you,” it whispered, intimately malevolent. “I have never departed.”

I recoiled in absolute horror, ensnared by the ghastly specter, unable to wrench my gaze away. “No, this cannot be real,” I muttered, gripping my phone with white-knuckled desperation.

As I tried to dial for help, the room twisted and contorted around me, the very walls closing in, the voice whispering my deepest fears and darkest secrets, imprisoning me in a nightmarish frame. Escape was a mirage. My hands were not responding to my commands .

With the very first rays of dawn, salvation finally pierced the window. The terrifying specter of you unraveled like ethereal smoke. As the room reverted to its mundane, I was left breathless, it was my first ever panic attack and i hated it .

The Old Man

Considering myself a determined being, I try to stay laser-focused, like a dog chasing a squirrel, on the prize that seems as elusive as the TV remote stuck between the couch cushions. The path I follow is tougher than a two-dollar steak, with challenges that make me wonder if I’d stumble into a cosmic game show. But I have this stubborn belief that a man might get knocked down, but he should never surrender. It is all about the relentless fight, and being willing to give up even your last piece of bacon to reach the peak of your dreams.

Most people are ignorant about turtles. Did you know that a turtle’s heart will beat for hours after it has been cut up and butchered? I think I  have such a heart too. In this I see a reflection of myself. I have a soul that just wouldn’t throw in the towel, a determination that refuses to take “no” for an answer.

But what if, after all my blood, sweat, and coffee-fueled nights, I find out my big goal was about as meaningful as a rubber chicken at a formal dinner? Should I surrender and binge-watch cat videos to avoid the ultimate faceplant of disappointment?

In moments of doubt, I remind myself that this isn’t the time to play “Where’s Waldo” with the missing pieces of my life. Instead, I take a lesson from the early birds, those fuckin old men who wake up with the roosters. They don’t rise just to add more hours to their bingo nights. No, they do it to squeeze every drop of opportunity from their limited hours remaining on this floating rock we call Earth.

Whether I end up finding that elusive TV remote or not, I’ll keep going, knowing that life’s greatest rewards often come to those who persevere through the toughest challenges. Like a turtle’s heart, mine will keep beating, no matter what obstacles come my way, and I’ll emerge from the cosmic game show, not as a spectator, but as a champion of my own destiny.


In my early thirties, I returned to my hometown, embarking on a path I’d always longed for. An old song’s lyrics echoed in my mind, reminding me that life’s journey exceeded my initial expectations.

Every day, I carried the weight of responsibility as I pursued my career as a junior medic. The faces of patients, friends, and family blended together, each seeking something elusive. Nevertheless, I assured them that there was room for everyone at the summit.

With boundless energy in my heart, I embraced my community, despite living under a totalitarian government. As I listened to birds’ sweet melodies and wiped away tears of gratitude, I grasped that sometimes, you may not obtain what you desire, but you can provide what others require.

In the end, despite trials and triumphs, I whispered a heartfelt “hallelujah” to the journey that had led me to this place of healing and love.

“And let us not grow weary of doing good, for in due season we will reap, if we do not give up.” – Galatians 6:9 (ESV)

Random Memories From Boushehr

As the sun staged its grand exit below the horizon, my tiny room threw on its dramatic cloak of darkness, setting the scene for what promised to be a slapstick night, brought to you by the universe’s comedy hour.

The guy next door fired up his nightly “complain o’clock” routine like it was the opening act at a stand-up comedy club. Seriously, if whining was an Olympic sport, he’d have a gold medal by now.

Speaking of time, my wall clock kept up its relentless tick-tock symphony, as if it were auditioning for the world’s most persistent drummer. I swear, that clock was in cahoots with time itself, and neither of them was letting me catch a break.

Downstairs, in the apartment below, a young woman was apparently auditioning for the role of “Most Dramatic Crier in a Soap Opera.” Her sobbing echoed through the floorboards, making me wonder if I’d accidentally wandered into an emotional opera house.

And then, like a comedy sketch timing its punchline, the room plunged into darkness. I contemplated my next move, and after the lights went out, I braced myself for the night without you, my dear love. It was like my room was trying out for a part in a spooky thriller.

Outside my window, a pigeon had taken up residence, probably thinking it could find solace in my personal emotional trainwreck. I couldn’t help but wonder if it had its own relationship drama going on, just like us.

In that moment, as I sipped my tea and gazed out at the pigeon, I realized that life’s complexities and dramas were not confined to my own heartache. We were all players in this grand theater, navigating the comedy and tragedy that unfolded around us, each with our own stories to tell.

“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”-Psalm 34:18

The Raven

Every day, I witness the struggles and injustices that afflict our society, and I can’t help but wonder how to heal this fractured world. It’s haunting, as if the weight of the world rests upon my shoulders, and I’m just one person, seemingly powerless to change even my own life.

As I live my daily routine, I’m doomed by unexplained anxieties that sneak in. They whisper in my ear, reminding me of life’s fragility and the unpredictable nature of the future. It’s as though uncertainty is my constant companion, a shadow that never departs.

Amid this chaos, I often question myself, “What do I truly desire, and what do I genuinely need?” The answer remains elusive amidst the relentless noise of a world that never pauses. I’m caught in confusion, torn between the longings of my heart and the realities of life.

In a divine revelation, an angel conveyed to me: “You, my friend, need not fear anything, except one thing: love. You are like a mole, blind even to the darkness, where you truly belong. In the light, hungry crocodiles dance, but what lies beyond the night’s obscurity? Forget them; darkness is where you shine, where underground tunnels extend limitlessly. To love is to pretend, and I understand your mourning, for it is the cruelest of pains.”

Just as I had decided to distance myself from the complexities of love and commitment, fate had different plans. It was an accidental encounter, one that would forever alter my life’s path. Amidst the ordinary, there she happened—a girl with raven-black hair, a charming and enigmatic presence that defied my intentions and expectations. Her captivating allure and the mysterious aura enveloping her drew me in like a moth to a flame. Little did I know that this chance meeting would unleash a whirlwind of emotions and desires, reshaping my world in unimaginable ways.

Her hair, as dark as a moonless midnight, flowed like a waterfall of obsidian silk down her back. Each strand whispered secrets, a connection only she and the night shared. Her eyes, twin orbs of onyx, held a mysterious depth, akin to the infinite cosmos. She moved with a grace that mirrored the flight of an eagle, her presence demanding attention yet wrapped in a puzzling attraction that left me spellbound, lost in the depths of her look.

The path ahead remained uncertain, our destinies intertwined by a force beyond comprehension. It was a beginning, or perhaps an end, in the making, leaving the story of our connection to be written by the whims of time and fate.

“For now, we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.”-Corinthians 13:12

Crime Scene

My corpse was laying there on the cold, unforgiving ground. I was standing there watching my lifeless body. The flashing red and blue police lights painted the night sky, casting a colorful glow over the scene below. People had gathered, their faces etched with curiosity and fear, forming a restless crowd that bordered the chaos unfolding beneath them.

I felt weightless, as if gravity had lost its grip on my form. My newfound freedom allowed me to glide effortlessly through the scene, passing through cars, walls, and windows as though they were mere illusions. The sensation of being untethered, of no longer being bound by the limitations of a physical body, was exhilarating.

I had seen ghosts in countless movies, but never had I imagined that death would be this liberating. It was like a secret I had unlocked, a hidden dimension I had stumbled upon. As I moved through the crowd, I noticed the detectives meticulously collecting evidence, their faces drawn with determination. Yellow tape marked the boundaries of the crime scene, and the chalk outline of my body on the cold asphalt was a haunting reminder of my former existence.

The coroner’s voice echoed in the night, stating that my time of death was approximately seven hours ago. I had been murdered, and my life had come to a tragic end. Yet, strangely, there was a sense of peace in this spectral state. I was no longer confined to the worries and anxieties of the living.

With each passing moment, I became more attuned to the invisible threads connecting me to the world I once knew. I could feel the memories and emotions of those who had gathered to witness my demise, their thoughts and fears mixing up with my own.

And it was how you murdered me in the back of your mind. Farewell, my beautiful murderer.

“Because of that, We decreed upon the Children of Israel that whoever kills a soul unless for a soul or for corruption [done] in the land – it is as if he had slain mankind entirely.” -Al-Ma’idah (5:32)



It all began with a game of backgammon on a moonlit rooftop. We met well after midnight, under a canopy of stars that seemed to be cheering for our competition. The back-and-forth of the game mirrored the excitement between us; I won the first match by the slimmest of margins, only to lose the next.

In the middle of the crisp night air, we discovered a shared moment of openness, illuminated by the occasional flicker of our shared cigarettes. Then questions flowed like the night breeze. With each answer, a deeper connection bloomed, drawing us closer. It was as if the universe conspired to fuse our hearts together, and by the time dawn approached, we had fallen in love.

As the mighty sun, radiant and magnificent, ascended the horizon, it bathed our rooftop stage in a warm embrace. The irony of the dawn was not lost on me; it symbolized the turning point in my own life. I had been living in the depths of despair, navigating a seemingly endless dark night. And now, at this precise moment, I stood at the right place and the right time.

The sunrise was not just a celestial event; it was a symbol of hope and renewal. That rooftop had become the backdrop for the sunrise of my own life, where love had found me in the middle of darkness. As the sun painted the world with its golden hues, I knew that my life was forever changed, all because of a game of backgammon that led to an unexpected connection under the vast, starry sky.

3 Wolves

In an ancient town nestled between rolling hills, an eccentric joker with a penchant for pranks crossed paths with a mysterious magician who seemed to wield the very essence of wonder. “Your illusions are truly something else,” the joker mused, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

The magician’s smile was obscure, “And your humor has the power to lift spirits. Perhaps we should collaborate.”

As they conversed on a cobblestone street, a valiant hero, his armor gleaming in the sunlight, approached with curiosity piqued. “Imagine the impact if we channeled our talents for the greater good,” the hero suggested, His voice resonating with noble purpose.

Just as their discussion grew animated, a burst of laughter drew their attention. An innocent child, wide-eyed and full of wonder, had joined their circle. The magician’s fingers danced, conjuring illusions that painted the air with fleeting marvels. In tandem, the joker spun stories and performed antics that evoked bursts of mirth.

But in the midst of this enchantment, a wild seeker, an enigma cloaked in curiosity, materialized as if from thin air. “Why stick to the predictable? Embrace the unknown!” the seeker proclaimed with an infectious enthusiasm.

The challenge intrigued them all, and they embraced it wholeheartedly. The magician delved into realms of magic untouched, the hero honed skills he had never dared to explore, the joker pledged to weave acts of kindness into his jests, and the child committed to sharing his boundless joy.

Under the seeker’s influence, their lives took an exhilarating turn. They embarked on daring escapades, defied expectations, and reveled in the unpredictable nature of existence. The town transformed into a canvas splashed with laughter, threaded with curiosity, and illuminated by the radiant hues of possibility.

And so, life unfurled into a mixture of excitement, woven with laughter, curiosity, and a shared determination to savor every extraordinary moment.

The Little Devil

Passing through the imposing gates of hell, a bone-chilling aura enveloped me, the air thick with a foreboding sense of dread. Amongst an array of otherworldly creatures, their twisted forms a testament to the torment of this place, I found myself greeted with an unsettling welcome.

Amidst the maelstrom of chaos and suffering, my attention was unexpectedly drawn to a diminutive devil. Her presence, seemingly incongruous with the hellish surroundings, managed to stand out amidst the cacophony of despair. It was as if a single, solitary light shone within this dismal abyss.

Navigating the suffocating heat and the disorienting dance of burning flames, my journey through hell led me to her. She was a soul wrought with torment much like mine, yet in the depths of her eyes, there burned an unquenchable spark of defiance. In a realm where days seemed to stretch into torturous eternities, we discovered an unlikely companionship that served as a beacon of respite amidst the unremitting gloom.

Our bond grew amidst whispered conversations that were woven with fragments of memories from a life before damnation. Despite the chaos surrounding us, her occasional smiles brought a glimmer of warmth, and the tinkling laughter that escaped her lips seemed to momentarily suspend the relentless torment of the inferno.

The burgeoning affection between us became a flicker of light cutting through the overwhelming darkness, a stark contrast to the unforgiving landscape that perpetually encircled us. As the inexorable passage of time blurred our perception, the connection between us deepened. Yet, a nagging uncertainty remained in the recesses of my mind. Could something as beautiful as our bond truly thrive in a place as wretched as hell? Despite the doubt, I clung to the fragile hope that this connection possessed an inherent power, one that could transcend even the most nightmarish inferno and allow us to emerge unscathed on the other side. Now it’s just a game of patience and understanding. Well what could you do?

“And the light shineth in darkness, and the darkness comprehended it not.” – John 1:5

The Weird Fish

As she sat beside me in my car, her presence seemed to envelop the air around us. While listening to her spectacular music ,the hum of the engine faded into the background as my focus zeroed in on her delicate hand resting on the seat between us. An overwhelming desire to touch her hand, to intertwine our fingers, surged within me. I was dying to pull her close, to embrace her with every fiber of my being, and to feel the warmth of her skin against mine.

The urge to kiss her lips was almost unbearable, the magnetic pull between us undeniable. Yet, a sense of propriety and respect held me back. I was a man of manners, raised to treat a lady with utmost respect and courtesy. The dilemma was palpable – the battle between my yearning heart and the principles ingrained within me.

As we journeyed together, the complex narrative of emotions and desires played out before me. The struggle between the raw intensity of my feelings and the constraints of societal norms created a tension that was both thrilling and frustrating. How the simplest of actions could be laden with such intricate layers of meaning and restraint?

As the car continued its route, I realized that perhaps the most beautiful stories are not always those where desires are fulfilled, but those where desires remain suspended in the realm of possibility—a delicate balance between the heart’s fervor and the mind’s wisdom.

Funny, how the the most basic gestures held the power to redefine the course of two lives. As we continued our journey, the road stretched before us like an open book, each chapter waiting to be written. And so, amid the unspoken words and unfulfilled desires, a story unfolded—one of longing, connection, and the intricate dance of emotions that was quite difficult to explain.


As the music pulsed through the room, I found myself swaying in sync with another, swept away by the unfamiliar song. In the midst of the vibrant atmosphere, a fleeting thought crossed my mind—a thought as delicate as a whisper, yet potent enough to stir my curiosity.

“Let me explore you,” the thought whispered, entwining itself with the rhythm of our dance. “Try you, learn you, understand you.” The music seemed to echo the sentiment, inviting to connect beyond the surface.

With each step and twirl, the thought took root. “Let me dig deep,” it persisted. “Let me go beyond your persona and sit with your hidden self.” As if by some unspoken agreement, movements grew more intimate, reflecting a mutual desire to reveal the layers beneath our exterior facades.

The music swirled around us like a magical incantation, and I couldn’t help but wonder. “I know lots of magic tricks; maybe I can show you some.” The words danced alongside the melodies, suggesting a shared journey into the realm of the unknown.

“Trust me, and I will trust you,” I thought, my heart beating in sync with the rhythm. The vulnerability of the moment seemed to encourage an unspoken pact of mutual understanding, a silent promise to honor the uncharted territory we were stepping into.

“Respect me, and I’ll respect you,” the thought resonated, weaving itself into the intricate steps we took. As our bodies moved as one, a profound sense of respect blossomed, acknowledging the uniqueness and significance of our shared experience.

The music crescendoed, filling the space with its energy, and the thought evolved. “Be the subject of my love songs,” it urged, intertwining with the harmonies. The dance became a symphony of emotions, a canvas upon which feelings of affection and longing could be expressed without words.

Breaking through the constraints of ordinary connection. With each spin, I felt a deepening bond, tearing away the veils that often separated us from one another.

“Raise my soul from my body,” the sentiment echoed, almost mystical in its intensity. As we swayed and twirled, I felt a sense of liberation, as if my spirit was ascending, transcending the mundane confines of the physical world.

“Elevate me into ecstasy, so I can shine for you like the sun,” the thought sang out, harmonizing with the music’s final crescendo. In that fleeting moment, our dance transformed into an act of shared transcendence, a celebration of the inexplicable connection that can be forged in the space of a single song.

And as the final notes lingered in the air, I found myself in awe of the power of a simple thought—a thought that had taken root and blossomed into a beautiful, ephemeral dance of understanding, trust, and shared humanity.

The Spectre

Well it has been a wild ride as the cells in my wicked mind began a relentless rewiring, attempting to repair the addictive grooves you’d carved into its fabric. The air was stifling, the summer clinging to the city like a wet blanket. Memories of you became faded, pushed into the murky corners of my consciousness where they mixed with the shadows.

The nights brought dreams, where you resurfaced like a specter, a haunting reminder of what was once so tangible. Loneliness crept in, settling like a comfortable companion, its weight oddly reassuring. The days stretched into an endless procession, marked by a relentless flow of withdrawal symptoms. A dull ache settled in my chest, a persistent reminder of the cruel reality.

Anhedonia slinked in like a sullen fog, wrapping around me with cold fingers. Joy became a distant memory, and human interaction felt like an alien concept. Isolation seemed an inescapable cage, each attempt at escape greeted by its unyielding bars.

Nothing seemed to fit anymore. The world’s harmony had lost its melody, and hidden anxieties devoured me from within.

Why, I wondered, had I become this version of myself? It was as if my mind had become a maze of contradictions and confusions. And still, through it all, I fought – against the isolation, against the chaos, against the branches of my own self-doubt that threatened to ensnare me entirely.