I like to listen to your voice. How your words like ships float on the air towards me and my small ears turn pink in delight. The gentle dip of your voice are the paper planes flying down the sky.
I like to listen to your voice.When you speak, I try to grasp the intangible from the air and keep it in my shirt pocket until it quietly finds an escape route to my heart, filling my body with your voice.
[ Photography by Luciano Matias Dominguez ]
I don’t know who I am,
I don’t know who you are.
I only know that we are,
and love is.
[ photography by Zamaa Moataaz ]
the way your name
in my mouth.
And how gently,
I let it go to the wind.
[ Photographer unknown ]
My emotions conjure up and mixes in my heart.
Wave after wave, the ocean of my sorrow expands.
Some days, I wake up to find myself drenched. The water droplets still linger on my fingertips. My room smells like salt and melancholy.
[ Painting:The Three Ages of Woman by Gustav Klimt. (unknown photographer) ]
What is this indescribable pain that originates from my heart ?
What is this intangible suffering that shoots like waves across my body ?
How difficult is to lean against the wall, submerge and become the wall, away from all the noise and people ?
There is a space behind the words where meaning leaves and something else remains. I want to live there.
[ Photography by Maria Kopytova ]
At 24, the tender light impregnated her. She had a ‘sun’. The baby grew up seeing balloons fly up to the sky. After years of jumping on the mattress, he reached the sky. When the mother searches for him, he hides behind the clouds. Sometimes he misses his mother and hence, rain.
[Photo Credit: Ibrahim Zauq]
It’s 9:01 PM, August 1.
Don McLean’s American Pie is playing and I’m nodding my head to it. You’re not paying any attention to the music.
You are staring at the cream wall.
What a peculiar life you must lead in your head.
I tell you to lie down if you’re tired. ‘ It’s fine’ you tell me and I have to believe it is.
The music is reflecting off the wall, a sombre rhythm of its own.
You are unbelievably cute, you hate it when people say that to you, so I’m going to keep that in my heart.
With cigarette in one hand, I try to clear the bed hoping that you would sit next to me. But you stare at your fingers, that is okay too.
I almost put my ink pen inside my mouth instead of the cigarette. I laugh at myself. Life is funny.
I hope the smoke from my lungs reaches you, it’s a whimper for company.