Whilst creating dunes with his first and sole stroke on oud - even back then - no one has ever seen a mermaid shed a tear in his tank. Still sands - time itself didn't even deign to stop by - carry a ship, ahoying with sails full of that one man's puff. To him, punctuality is an unheard, a missed and never to get wind of melody, already on its journey to the opposite airt. The most mercurial motion is only an everlasting whistle away from inertness. Fermented note on the lips, ready to chant a ballad; that even the wind didn't have the heart to disrupt.

Photography by Mostafa Nodeh

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