“My father was always very interested in religion. He wrote some books, but I was never religious myself, so I never bothered reading them. He died when I was 25. During the last months of his life, he lost his memory completely. He didn’t even recognize me. But he still remembered the words of his books. He could still recite the religious poems and songs that he’d written. So my brothers and I would sit in his room and read his books aloud to him. It was the first time I’d read them. I was surprised by how beautiful his poems were. I never knew he was so talented.”

Humans of New York – Tehran, Iran