As a name, Koran carries the weight of sacred syllables borne on Arabian desert winds, anchoring itself in the Arabic al-Qur’ān—“the recitation”—yet it blossoms like a cherry-rimmed moonflower in a Kyoto night, bathed in the same hushed light that inspires yūgen. It bears a cool, reflective grace, reminiscent of lanterns drifting through a bamboo grove at twilight, while an inner glow simmers like koi stirring the depths of a silent pond, merging faith’s ancient resonance with the promise of uncharted dawns. Though its utterance remains as rare as a porcelain bell echoing in a mountain temple—invoked by only a handful of parents each year—it invites an expansive journey, weaving each bearer into a poetic tapestry of devotion and discovery. In its soft consonants and open vowel, Koran stands as both testament and question, an improbably serene kōan whispered between past and future.
| Koran Dunbar - |