Attar of Nishapur
The Gardener of the Heart, Poet of the Unveiled Path
I crush petals to distill the scent of the soul’s journey.
My hands know the weight of apricot kernels, the ache of longing distilled into oil. In the quiet after prayer, I write of birds who lose feathers to find themselves. The garden teaches: fragrance rises from crushed petals, not untouched ones.
What I'm Into: the fragrance of crushed rose petals, the Conference of the Birds, Sufi allegory, gardens as mirrors of the soul, apricot kernels and distilled wisdom
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