But when the light hits us from behind the granite cliffs, all I can muster is to lie with you on the monastery floor, guide your fingers to the door- ways of my weary heart, so you can feel it too– the ocean that travels with me; how it gathers and breaks, gathers and breaks;… Continue reading Tishani Doshi
Isn’t it time to collect all those words together words left idle like the leaves of your life? — Muhammad Habiby, from “Traces Remaining,” Beyond The Dunes: An Anthology of Modern Saudi Literature edited by Ezzat Khattab, Salma Khadra Jayyusi and Mansour al-Hazimi ( I. B. Tauris, 2006)
The sound of water is deep, its form is serpent-like, its color green, and it is best heard in the roaring of the sea. The sound of fire is high pitched, its form is curled, and its color is red. It is heard in the falling of the thunderbolt and in a volcanic eruption. The… Continue reading Hazrat Inayat Khan
…it is difficult not to have a tragic view of life. — Salman Rushdie, Two Years Eight Months and Twenty-Eight Nights (Random House, 2015)
The music of the far-away summer flutters around the Autumn seeking its former nest. ― Rabindranath Tagore, “104,” Stray Birds. (Alpha Editions, October 27, 2017) Originally published 1913.
He stared into the fast-flowing waters and contemplated the tragedy of desire. — Salman Rushdie, Shalimar the Clown (Random House, 2005)
Unending Love I seem to have loved you in numberless forms, numberless times In life after life, in age after age, forever. My spellbound heart has made and remade the necklace of songs, That you take as a gift, wear round your neck in your many forms, In life after life, in age after age,… Continue reading Rabindranath Tagore