Tag Archives: Marzia Rahman

This Christmas This year, Christmas will come quietly, unceremoniously. There won’t be any Christmas party this time. Santa will come, wearing a mask, riding a chariot but he will avoid the crowd. April is the cruelest month—T. S. Eliot once wrote in his epic poem, The Waste Land—Ryan, a young Bulgarian poet in his earlyContinue reading “This Christmas. fiction by Marzia Rahman”