The annual migration attracts tourists to Varanasi, and for a fee, boatmen take tourists onto the river for an up-close look at the flocks. Ph. Razz Razalli
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A man herds sheep with the help of his collies in Scotland, 1919. Photograph by William Reed, National Geographic Creative
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Luigi Ghirri - L'atelier de Giorgio Morandi, Bologne, 1989.
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Embroidered bodice of Kraków costume from the village of Bronowice, southern Poland.
Photography by Stanisław Gadomski, 1970s, from the digitalized collection of Muzeum Miejskie w Tychach.
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Kraków costume from the villages of Ojców, Miechów and Proszowice, southern Poland.
Photography by Stanisław Gadomski, 1970s, from the digitalized collection of Muzeum Miejskie w Tychach.
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The Rubaiyat by Omar Khayyam
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Whenever he was in the mountains,
wherever he took off his shoes,
they would always point towards his city
but he never thought that this might mean
his homeland would be liberated.
Now that he’s in his city,
wherever he leaves his shoes,
they point towards lands beyond his
but he never dreams that the day
might come when, without seeing
the mirage that exile always sees,
without any direction from his shoes,
he will travel through the heart of his country,
store myth in his grandmother’s wooden chest
and, in the cellar of a happy house,
close many colourful doors on it
like the doors in his childhood stories.
directions, by kurdish poet kajal ahmed (via kurdishrecognition)
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Portrait of a Lady Holding a Flower by Muhammadi of Herat, Islamic Art
Medium: Opaque watercolor, ink, and gold on paper
Rogers Fund, 1955 Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, NY
http://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/451323
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Persepolis (Persian پرسپولیس), capital of the Achaemenid Empire (ca.550–330 BC), 60 km northeast of the city of Shiraz in Fars Province, Iran. Bibliothèque Infernale on FB
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‘A Goatherd’ ( Persian, Safavid, circa 1675).
Ink and watercolour on paper. Possibly by Mu'in Musavvir (Persian, 1617–1701)
Images and text courtesy MFA Boston.
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Panjshir Province 2015
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No desire to open my mouth
What should I sing of…?
I, who am hated by life.
No difference to sing or not to sing.
Why should I talk of sweetness,
When I feel bitterness?
Oh, the oppressor’s feast
Knocked my mouth.
I have no companion in life
Who can I be sweet for?
No difference to speak, to laugh,
To die, to be.
Me and my strained solitude.
With sorrow and sadness.
I was borne for nothingness.
My mouth should be sealed.
Oh my heart, you know it is spring
And time to celebrate.
What should I do with a trapped wing,
Which does not let me fly?
I have been silent too long,
But I never forget the melody,
Since every moment I whisper
The songs from my heart,
Reminding myself of
The day I will break this cage,
Fly from this solitude
And sing like a melancholic.
I am not a weak poplar tree
To be shaken by any wind.
I am an Afghan woman,
It only makes sense to moan
Poem by Nadia Anjuman
(via salamalaikum)
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Photographs: Yemen, Man from Jibla.
Photographer:
Hoops&Yooyo
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