Short Story: Escape from the Gathering, written by Hamid Karimifar.

Mr. Basharat had arrived with a saddle, a green orc, and a pair of Kauchu glasses. Before anything else, he gave himself the right to be the first to bring out the food, to be the first to eat, to warm his head a little, and naturally to be the first to pour wine. So when he felt that everyone had arrived, they changed their clothes, sat down with their hands on their hips, fixed their hair, licked their lips, ate a spoonful of yogurt, and then, without even trying, their lips rose to their cheeks, and they began to talk.

I don’t know why, but when I drink a few sips of wine, I get a sense of excitement and I want to talk about things that have nothing to do with me or you. My friends, I hope you don’t mind me addressing you as my friends. We have known each other for years, but we have never talked about our contemporary history, which

I’m sorry, there is no Farsi text provided. Please provide the text for translation.

Painting: “Bathroom Places” by Farzaneh Faraji.

Poem: The old street of Bakhtash Abtin.

They empty the iron arrows
And I am busy building my new dreams
If I had a lullaby in my head
I would turn my neck completely
And lock my gaze on you
The old working street
Scattered and chaotic with broken asphalt
The freedom of the high street
Was so high that many lives were lost in it
They empty the iron arrows
And I am busy building my new dreams
From a dark cell
I walk on a narrow hallway
With a hoarded throat and a poor stomach
And in these last moments
I walk with my eyes on yours
Busy with you in the darkness
Warm and wet
And in the last moment
I wanted to touch your cheeks
But alas
With my eyes closed and
Hands tied
I had become a rain of arrows.