Let me see if I still can,Utter my words the old-fashioned wayWrite my stories at the old deskSpeak my languageEat my own foodDrink when I wantSleep when I wantEngage any ideology for the heck of itLove until my limbs acheCry until morningWake up in the middle of nightAnd scribble down my feelingsDance and do what ICannot imagine anymore, neat on the streets,Early in the morning,With a cup of water,Hunched with a pleasant...

When he was in the land of Indus, Alfadur lived inside a banyan tree in the form of a small butterfly. He never went searching for flowers and never wandered the land and glided on the breeze like ordinary butterflies. His only companion was the tree, the wide, vast and ancient banyan tree. The banyan tree was near the holy river of the Hindus, where the river met the sea of the Arabs. The wooded area surrounding the tree...

Once, a boy was asked by his mother, what he wanted to become in his life. He said—a writer. The mother laughed. But seeing the boy’s expressions firm and eyes in flames, she said; “Well, you sure, that is what you want to do? Writers are all insane. They always smoke and drink. They live with many women. They are nasty creatures and governments hunt them.” The boy looked sad. And he said nothing in return. He decided to...