With a suitcase in hand, and the wrap in which her daughter Kaya sleeps on her back, Ingrid Barrowe sets off from the island that bears her name, on a journey across Norway to search for her child's father. And everywhere you go, you ask one question: Does anyone remember a Russian who fled across the mountain during the last winter before the war ended?
During her journey, and through her meetings with many people, Ingrid realizes that war leaves its scars on people, but peace also works with memory. Will you find the person you are looking for? How well does she really know about the man she's risking everything to find?
"The Eyes of Rigel" is a poetic and harsh story about a post-war people, and about people's destinies, told from the perspective of an extraordinary woman who slowly discovers that the truth is the first casualty of peace.
lost:
She felt pain as she felt that emotional emptiness, but she did not know the way to escape from her hell yet. When she married her cousin Hassan, hatred and spite pushed her into the arms of her neighbors’ son, Nader. That day, she felt feelings of revenge and revenge for her dignity, but she searched in the new marital home for salvation from... Deadly isolation, she slowly pursues her approach to trap her manager, Dr. Sami. At first, she was thinking about career advancement, but now she seems unconcerned about it. All she dreams of is the chest of a man upon which she lays her tired head, a man who awakens feelings of femininity in her. She has changed a lot with time. She looked closely in the mirror, which brought her back to her reality, as if she had just stepped out of a movie. She began observing those wrinkles that began to appear on her forehead and neck. She smiled sarcastically, before tears rolled down her cheeks and she shouted loudly, “I am nothing, I am useless, I am lost.” Lost.
I want a clear enemy who is fit to curse and curse
And soldiers cheer for their return
Defeated or victorious
And martyrs, not victims
And an anthem
And a memorial...
I want a place in the heart of the country to comment on
A memorial photo of a family that did not survive death
I leave the task of pinning medals of honor on the chest of the tyrant to war.
I want a war that resembles a war
And an enemy is the enemy, without a mask, from the clay of this earth
And a poem I write in praise of the fighter
Not in Venetian satire!
I want to write grass,
The grass that will grow on the iron of the cannons!
