December 18, 2020 I had turned into a pomegranate. The sound of my dry seeds scattering resonated through the room as I was thrown into a corner. I was scared of my dry rind cracking, of the sound of the dry seeds… I was a pomegranate, a red one… I awoke to find myself tremblingContinue reading “Pomegranate – Ghazaal Yousefi”
Place of the Displaced
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