Dry eyes, lost cries

The weather in Tehran is so hot. So hot that incites the flame within and too dry for eyes to cry. It is noisy, so noisy for the cries to be heard, and so poluted, for the eyes to meet. It is also busy, too busy for people to forward a hand or spare a time.

I might have been born wealthy, but my life is definitely not painless. Or perhaps I'm just ungrateful, selfish, arrogant and too self-centered to feel and see.