No sooner had I heard the blast that I smelled the blood. I could not see my surroundings. All I could see was crimson red. My body was heavy and I could not move it; I could not breathe as if my lungs were blown up. For each scream, a mass of blood rushed into my mouth. My hand slipped and went into a sluggish hole. I wondered as there was no holes there before, just a dry and rough land. I could feel the roots of plants in that sluggish hole. The moment I hardly opened my eyes and saw around me, I screamed piercingly…I winced, aghast at what I saw…there was no holes, no roots…My hand was inside the cut-into-half body of my brother-in-arms, Hossein.

These events repeated for me in the wartime to the extent that I perceived what I was seeking. The truth I continuously searched for; years before setting foot on the battlefield. I realized there existed something which was worth it, something worthy of being torn up, something beyond the daily activities, what you can grant your life for. Something like lightning the darkness and manifestation of the truth. I know it is hard to grasp…you need to touch it.

‘My Absent Comrades’ is the memories of Mahmoud Shirafkan when he was young, the time when he enthusiastically and passionately leaves the wealthy house to look for the answers to his questions. First, he starts by reading and asking, he finds some but not all. He rushes this time, not for knowing but for experiencing it. When he sees the war and the front line, he realizes that this is the place for experience. He steps in to touch the lost truth…the truth as precious as life. This book is the scream of memories nurtured in the war which never get separated from the truth. In this book, he narrates his observations as clearly as possible, as he has seen them with his own eyes, as literally as he has experienced them, and so passionately as if he is on that battlefield now.