Shadows no longer fall only on the walls…
they have taken root in our breath.

The silence resting on our lips is not peace
it is the place where voices, before they are born,
are forced into sleep.

The candles burn slowly,
not to light the room,
but to remind us that even the smallest flame
can endure in the heart of darkness.

We sit in a silent mourning,
eyes weary… throats sealed…
yet beneath this heavy stillness,
something has not surrendered.

Hope…
it does not shout, it does not shine
it simply breathes, quiet, stubborn, alive,
in the depths of the dark.

And perhaps salvation will not come from afar…
perhaps it begins with this very small spark,
just when the darkness believes
everything is over.


Farnaz Dashti _ Feb. 2026