Kārvānsarā
Once, along ancient roads under the desert moon, travelers found shelter in a Kārvānsarā.
Where strangers become companions over music, wine, and poems drifting into the night. Poets spoke of love burning like embers, joy spilling like water, and dance as prayer for the soul.
On the night of 20 September, those gates swing open again. Basslines rise like walls, verses hum through the air, and the warmth of distant lands moves through every breath. The floor becomes a map, each step drawing us closer.
Here, hours vanish. We drink rhythm, dance until the body turns weightless, and leave with stories we did not bring.
This is not a party. This is a passage.
Welcome to Kārvānsarā.
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