Translation and Bukhara Pilaf
It was a cold Syracuse day with the grey clouds hovering over the last birds of the summer. I had already translated a book from Turkish. A mezcle of married life, some dunkin donuts coffee and hours of perdition. Maybe in the distant tomorrow, or now at this hour I will be thinking about the words that already left me for good. A translator in practice. I am. Daily doses of retouch. Anddd the end. I am back again my lovely kitchenette. I missed you. Here we have some rice I bought couple of weeks ago. The ingredients: 2 tablespoon butter or just words 2 cups of rice or belief in your work 1 tablespoon pine nut or heart of a little child 2 carrots or real characters add up some cinnamon, red pepper, black pepper, no matter what don't forget the spice. The pot is ready. I add water the life-essence and stir over heat. My eyes ache but it will boil and bring out the best flavor just I have to wait. Sabır patience the trait of my ancestors. It carries. Pregnant to future. Allah creat...