The hem of a robe, a tree's callused bark, a frosted beard, a whiff of musk, dust on a turban. Nothing is lost in translation, not even a woollen sleeve smelling of woodsmoke.
Home » The Sufi in Winter | Ranjit Hoskote
The hem of a robe, a tree's callused bark, a frosted beard, a whiff of musk, dust on a turban. Nothing is lost in translation, not even a woollen sleeve smelling of woodsmoke.