Yahaan - Shafkat Amanat Ali
This song is dedicated to and inspired by Gilgit Baltistan and Skardu in Pakistan. Just watch the video.
The Karakoram Highway - the high road from China to Pakistan
This video follows the journey of a Singaporean traveler down the Karakarom Highway—the highest paved international road in the world, it’s at an elevation of almost 15,400 ft and 1,300 km long connecting the neighbouring countries of China and Pakistan. Occasionally referred to as the “eighth wonder of the world” the path of the KKH is a sight to behold.
And it’s absolutely breathtaking.
Blue Elephant and Temple, Dungarpur, India, 1999 Tim Walker
A house full of scraps of poems, unused ideas. A nest of thoughts, the wood chips from an industrious carpenter of the word. Their abundance, like froth, around my existence, excess, boiling over. I don’t know why I sentenced this or that poem to non-being, to silence; why I wrote down this, but not that thought. All froth.
leaving is not enough; you must
stay gone. train your heart
like a dog. change the locks
even on the house he’s never
visited. you lucky, lucky girl.
you have an apartment
just your size. a bathtub
full of tea. a heart the size
of Arizona, but not nearly
so arid. don’t wish away
your cracked past, your
crooked toes, your problems
are papier mache puppets
you made or bought because the vendor
at the market was so compelling you just
had to have them. you had to have him.
and you did. and now you pull down
the bridge between your houses,
you make him call before
he visits, you take a lover
for granted, you take
a lover who looks at you
like maybe you are magic. make
the first bottle you consume
in this place a relic. place it
on whatever altar you fashion
with a knife and five cranberries.
don’t lose too much weight.
stupid girls are always trying
to disappear as revenge. and you
are not stupid. you loved a man
with more hands than a parade
of beggars, and here you stand. heart
like a four-poster bed. heart like a canvas.
heart leaking something so strong
they can smell it in the street.
— Frida Kahlo to Marty McConnell, by Marty McConnell
Bed views the last 2 mornings.
I am from there. I am from here.
I am not there and I am not here.
I have two names, which meet and part,
and I have two languages,
I forget which of them I dream in.