In my land, winter has always been known for mourning and grief.

Today, I am telling stories of despair, forbiddance, censorship of my land that has always ended with death and mourning.

I would like you to come and see my most beautiful art work.

I can’t calm down.

This acrimony determines me more everyday to die in my own country.

The land that has cut me off for many years.

Dance is forbidden in my country.

My art is forbidden in my country.

What’s attached me to my soul is forbidden in my country.

I put on my clothes and climb the stairs up to the roof.

I feel anxious.

It’s cold, I walk slower.

My face is burning.

I spin around with my eyes closed as I  imagine myself on the best stage in my country, Iran.

Music starts to play, I start to dance as soon as I hear the first note.

freely.

I get ravished.

I dance from the bottom of my soul.

Thoughts disappear.

I hear the last note, and I finally fly.