Dastakh (A Collection Of Poetry)
These are merely strings of words I have woven, but the name itself carries a story.
Imagine you have written a letter. As you carefully tuck it into an envelope, you know that within the folds of that paper, it isn't just ink taking the shape of letters. It is a piece of your soul, hidden from the rest of world.
There is a quiet peace there, and a certain tension too. To the world, it is silent. But if you feel it closely, it is the faint, rhythmic beating of your own heart.
And so, you set out today in search of that one door where this letter will finally find its purpose. Where the emotions trapped inside will bloom with a scent that is new, yet hauntingly familiar.
You do not know which city holds this door. You do not know if the streets leading there are wide and welcoming or narrow and suffocating. You don’t even know what face will greet you when that door finally opens to your knock.
There is only a yearning hope that, upon reading these pages, they will recognize the pulse of your heart. But alas, after the heavy burden of walking miles and the searing ache of waiting to get a glimpse of those eyes that will surely see beyond the ink used on paper, when you finally knock, the door does not open from the front.
Instead, a voice comes from behind you.
"No one lives here. This house has been empty for years."
What do you feel in that exact moment? It is those very emotions, those precise shadows of the soul, that these poems hold for you. This is Dastakh.
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