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was Id-uz-Zuha: a record of God’s inability, for even He must melt sometimes, to let Ishmael be executed by the hand of his father.
the songs of Habba Khatun, the peasant girl who became the queen. When her husband was exiled from the Valley by the Moghul king Akbar, she went among the people with her sorrow. Her grief, alive to this day, in her own roused the people into frenzied opposition to Moghul rule. And since then Kashmir has never been free.
My memory is again in the way of your history.
In your absence you polished me into the Enemy. Your history gets in the way of my memory. I am everything you lost. You can’t forgive me. I am everything you lost. Your perfect enemy.
If only somehow you could have been mine, what wouldn’t have happened in this world?
If only somehow you could have been mine, what would not have been possible in the world?
If I could bribe them by a Rose I’d bring them every flower that grows From Amherst to Cashmere! —Emily Dickinson
No priest in saffron’s left to toll its knell tonight.
he’s left open—for God—the doors of Hell tonight.
No human being or group of people has the right to pass a death sentence on a city. —Charles Simic
The Koran prophesied a fire of men and stones. Well, it’s all now come true, as it was said in the Arabic.
