96 years ago on December 12, 1925, a son was born into circumstances that were less than inspiring to him. He wasn’t dealt the advantages of a cultured home or a stirring education.
With boiling passion’s eager haste,
Comes forth the blushing rose;
Shall we not wine like water waste,
Soft dashing as it flows?
A poem by Ali Asadollahi
in my suitcase
in my skull