Bidel -زخمه های زبان حادث

When I went to back to Iran, few days after my mum passed away, I slept in the bedroom and in the bed where she was sleeping the last weeks of her life and where she is must have had the last stroke. It was an emotionally extreme place to be. I lied on her bed and imagined that I am her and tried to see the views she had seen in her last weeks. The family pictures, little figurines, the morning light that flooded the room, the rooftops of the houses around seen through the window, a crane from a construction site close by. I tried to imagine what she was thinking while I was watching her POV of her last days.

The same night Mr.Sarandibi (A friend who has blessed me with his own poems and carefully selected ones from old poets) sent an amazing poem by BiDel  Dehlavi (بی دل)  in a  voice message, read or in fact whispered in his  own voice through What’s App. In some magical way, by the soothing whispering sound, the hypnotising rhyme and profoundness of the poem, I found peace and managed to go through the night. I listened to the poem over and over through the night and as I could not sleep, I started going through my mum’s cupboards and boxes where she kept neatly small pieces of paper, scribbles, letters, tickets, objects and notes. Listening to the poem on loop, hidden corners of her life was unravelling.

In the days after, the sound of poem was still ringing in my ears and when I started shooting the objects from mum’s room, I already knew the structure of a little film that sums up my first night in my mum’s room without her.

Now in the times universal quarantine, I felt I had to put the images and the poem together .It was an amazing sense of relief when it was done, a heaviness lifted from the chest.