Poem by Salma Harba
The soul of its scent captivates the heart of hearts.
The soul of its scent captivates the heart of hearts.
Touch transcends the other senses, especially when the dying have lost their mental moorings.
A farmer named Amadou took him into a millet field to see a tree that was possessed.
In this blue mood I prefer the Buddha’s drop of dew.
Our friend's wheelchair has grown to Jabba-the-Hutt standards.