![Buried Alive [Zendeh Be Goor] By Sadeq Hedayat](https://alisalami.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/02/Sadeq-Hedayat-300x169.jpeg)
My breath escapes me in ragged gaspings, tears run from my eyes, a bitter taste lingers in my mouth. My head spins, my heart clenches, my body lies exhausted, beaten,
Amidst the sweltering winds that whipped up the hot dust and sand and slapped the travelers in the face, the unyielding sun scorched and melted everything in its path. The
Homayoun muttered to himself, his voice barely a whisper, “Can it really be? Is it conceivable? So young, she lies there in Shah Abdol Azim among thousands of other departed
I wake up in Delhi to the cawing of a crow perched on a willow branch, to the dance of light on the shadow of a dream, to the scent
Who should I greet now? The lady principal has left us, Haj Ismail has disappeared without a trace and my precious daughter has become the prey of wolves in the
The summer vacation had begun. In the corridor of the boys’ grammar school in Le Havre, the boarders left the school whistling and cheering with their suitcases in their hands.
When Seyyed Ahmad entered the house, he cast a suspicious glance across the courtyard, then knocked with his stick on the brown door of the room above the cistern and
As the 48-year-old Iranian writer Sadeq Hedayat makes his way to his apartment in the 18th arrondissement at 37 Rue Championnet bis on a gloomy afternoon in Paris, he meets
The phone rang. It was Kashefi. “What’s the status of Mr. Vali’s retirement?” “It’s likely to be finalized today or tomorrow.” “I’ve been considering something for him.” “Thank you for
