by Wasima Khan
They used to call this wind Kusi,
soft, southern, bearer of trade and stories.
It brought the dhow,
tilting into the harbor like a hymn,
its hull fat with cloves and longing. Continue reading
by Wasima Khan
They used to call this wind Kusi,
soft, southern, bearer of trade and stories.
It brought the dhow,
tilting into the harbor like a hymn,
its hull fat with cloves and longing. Continue reading
Filed under Poetry