Theme of this Issue time's slender fingers lovingly urge my clock forward onto another beat, into a new era. the priest in a distant corner bows his head and makes ready to face his daemons. revelers line the streets like ants ready for the night to break in half. i think of your promises and how nothing comes from them. i remember the illusions. your violence is piercing the sound barriers i construct. you speak cold words which fire like arrows from the midst of your sweat, froth and spit. the total emancipation of my thoughts is still a distant cup of joy i have not brought to my lips. our promised land is not promised. there is nobody here to part the ocean. the minutes slide by on their silky road. time caresses each second and says it's ok to enter the next room. i am still looking for Home. time will let this evening pass, and another and another. then there will be talk of endings. --Zaheda Ghani Co-editor Copyright © 2000 Aftaabzad Publications. All Rights Reserved. May not be duplicated or distributed in any form without permission.