Klétka: The Story of Jenő Gold

From the spring of 1986 onwards, Vera’s abdomen, stomach, or something thereabouts, hurt. It didn’t hurt all the time. It hurt sometimes. It didn’t even always hurt in the same way. At times, it hurt more; at other times, it hurt less. They thought: it happens. One’s stomach hurts sometimes. It will go away.

Five Poems from One Hundred Prisons of Love

Because my heart
is honey and soft wax
flesh craving a fingerprint
or just a dent––

I dream, defer, despair,
and in love’s hundred prisons,
die and die again.

Ghazals of Jahan Malek Khatun

And other Iranian noblewomen like Padshah Khatun and Qotloghshah Khatun and others have ridden the steed of their talent in this field in whatever way they could. I imitated them and dared to compose poetry too[…]