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[unfurledtalons]

[unfurledtalons]

[...] the ghostly dreams and sorrows of the night slipped away, finding sanctuary in the unwakened forest trees the sun had not yet touched.

Daphne du Maurier, The Scapegoat, 1957

[unfurledtalons]

Caitlyn Siehl, from What We Buried; “Kindling”

[Text ID: “I am all mouth, with teeth like kindling. / Do not kiss me before you know this. / I am all hunger, all restraint and poised bones, coiled spine, patient spring.”]

[unfurledtalons]

When it comes to Urdu ghazals, don’t you think Mir is the most sensual? Ghalib glows with brilliance, while a bleeding Mir hands you his heart. Ghalib conceals himself somewhere, he is drawn more by the beauty behind the veil.

— You’re right. But you can learn the art of concealment only from Ghalib. You can place your hand on Mir’s breast, you can plunge a knife in too. Ghalib is a mirror in the distance. It only accepts your reflection and remains aloof, alone. How strange this mirror is. Man can leave his mark on anything, but when it comes to a mirror, your reflection exists only as long as you do. After that, you’re gone. Ghalib is a mirror. The moment you go away, you’re nowhere in it.

- from dozakhnama by rabinsankar bal