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Today, I watched from my home in exile,

the Munich conference glowing on my TV screen—

a window into a dream deferred.

And in that screen,

I saw a glimpse of the Iran that could be.

My heart folded itself into a green, white, red prayer,

half aching, half aflame.

I carry my homeland like a lantern—

dimmed, but never extinguished.

Hope sat beside sorrow on the sofa today,

both quiet, both real.

And I let them stay.

Now I count—not days, but heartbeats—

toward the moment I return,

not to visit,

but to belong again,

to live forever in a free and normal Iran.