As sparrows continue blissfully pecking at everything in general and nothing in particular, the daughter of Scheherazade weaves a frame of life with tapestries of multiple fragmented lives within. She picks at each thread and begins a story, woven with finesse into the larger frame. Her fingers caress the fabric of the narrative as her lips gently voice the magic of the unsaid, waiting to be discovered, patiently, since eternity. Her toes respond in subtle movements now and then to the hidden melody running through the blue veins underneath a soft skin. And when you ask her questions, she smiles. Your queries to her are a series of bubbles blown out through the fragile loop of self-contained vision and understanding. Each bubble a spectrum, each bubble a world...her frame grows larger as your queries multiply.