The little girl told her mother: / I wish my hair was made of fire

I aim to commemorate the many beloved lives taken from us during the Woman, Life, Freedom uprising in Iran. 

You might not believe this, but in that little autumn prison courtyard, the dogs and humans are grieving together, wishing for freedom together.

The boy lay down in the middle of the street. All alone.

I thought about the eyes of the girl standing tall with her cut hair. Suddenly, the sun rose.

He needed a phone more than anyone in our prison ward.

“There have been times when we have spent hours discussing a single phrase and how to give it the same life and soul in English.”

Tobias Carroll recommends noteworthy new books translated from Ukrainian, Indonesian, Persian, Japanese, and Spanish.

Words Without Borders is leaning into poetry's ability to fill the void of isolation.

I was determined; one day I’d marry a book.

the poem is riding a bicycle; / trembling and in haste.

What brings people together isn’t language. If anything, when times are hard, shared language can deepen divisions.

Any way you look at it, it’s this town that taught me to be ruthless.

One wrong move and somebody was bound to shout, “Watch yourself! You’re in Iran now.

When we think of translating humor, we may think in terms of capturing jokes.

The intensity of the parent-child relationship, with its high emotional stakes, life-and-death responsibility, and inescapable physical proximity, makes for powerful stories.

You are in a liminal space, a no man’s land where you are visible and invisible.

This issue is not a departure but a continuation.

“Why do you think they brought you here?”

These writers have migrated geographically and, in some cases, linguistically.

Because punk is made so people like you will look at people like me.

The narrative threads that weave through the last ten years tell a tale in themselves.

This number is your identity.

A visual exploration of the physical and psychological experiences of persecution and forced displacement.

The appeal of the Queer Issue is in seeing that great ambition writ small, in discovering the swarm of details and experience that cohere into the big picture of world writing.

Your problem is that you say you are gay but have never seen a gay guy in your entire life.”

It's the good stuff. Afghani.

Borzu Alvandi will always wonder why he wasn’t martyred.

With his eyes bulging, Mr. Moadab murmurs, It’s like silk . . .

I lost two people, I’ll take two people . . . with this very bayonet.

She was now sitting half-naked in front of the door.

Write why you drew that cartoon and why you chose a Turkish word.

I sensed my skin crack from love’s dilating joy.

“Each element establishes a layer that gives the story added weight and heft.”—Francine Prose

I have a feeling that it is a mistake to go to the party at Mr. M.'s, especially under the circumstances.

We have no choice but to obey.

The schoolchildren fill their backpacks / with tiny bombs.

One stands on the mountains of my country as if on a grave. An abandoned grave; no one knows who lies buried there.During the winter nothing is visible. In spring when the snow has melted, the graves…

And so we repeat the round / of night and day

I think my heart has never been / like this / so warm and red.

If this is life—how pure!