Whut business is this here of yores?
(Her white throat whiter than a moony pearl / Just threaded with a blue vein’s tapestry / Had not yet ceased to throb, and still her breast / Swayed like a wind-stirred lily in ambiguous unrest)
While I'd never been to Pakistan, I'd seen plenty of towns like this one just across the border in Afghanistan, perched on a knife edge between life and death, settlements where the people had nothing in their lives except for war, a few goats and a lot of religion.
It wasn’t until I was 29, and tried sandboarding for the first (and last) time, that I saw the beauty in being merely O.K. at something.
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