Dedication
The caller roamed the cemetery, his voice echoing through the silence:
“Rise, O dead, rise
And so, they gathered the edges of their shrouds and rose in the early hours of the night, while the moon drifted across the sky. Among them rose a young woman who had not yet found rest from the voices of the reciters or the sorrow of farewell. She rose with an ethereal lightness, as if she were made of air.
She turned and beheld robes shifting in the darkness—white waves undulating in the night. Lifting her gaze, she met a familiar sight:
“Once again, these stars? That same sky?”
The caller’s voice moved restlessly through the shadows, repeating:
“There can be no more silence! Rise, O dead, rise!”
— The Kingdom of Silence
Dr. Nadia Khost
Dedication
To those whose blood watered the earth, yet no revolution blossomed
