Something I miss from my hometown



I belong to Tehran, a city which sound of peony its prisoned. A city whose

people are like rats with plague occupied with their everyday life. I can sense

a rotting smell from Tehran' prison walls, walls that are even higher than Berlin's.

Every wall you look at in the city has signs of hatred written all over it.


Tehran is a city which memories of it are being forgotten.


It is a city with fainted friendships, with double faced deceiving citizens.

It is a bitter, sad and silent city. However, what can I do ? with all its evil,

I miss Pahlavi Street trees whose branches are reaching towards the sky.

I miss the crisp, fresh air of its always white Damavand Mountain.

I miss its narrow alleys after rainfall and the feeling of autumn on my skin.

I miss the uproar of its children in the fall uniting with the tunes of canaries.

I miss noon time in the summer and the shadow of the old willow in our

backyard.

I miss the tune of barn-swallow from the distance.

What can I do ? With all its evils, I miss my Hometown.