THE EMPTY ROAD

For miles and miles the empty road,
and the cyclist watches every mode
of the life of the patch of the earth.
The markers on the road, white upon the gray,
point where the road goes.
Earth, you are set to defy all rules and norms
which the humans have set so long for you to follow.
Long live Earth, you who are made sick in parts
but your expanse is sublime, beyond the human power to rule.

Thanks for the image @Night passage Night passage

Night passage Night passageTimeline

3 days ago

Every Word Read By The Light

Every word read by the light
that glows on your face,
a sign you left behind
on your forward way.
I, like a baby fallen asleep
wasn't aware of the thoughts
that your mind slowly reflected
and held in gestation as I slept.
All I recall now is your infinite yearning for light,
You stayed awake as I fell asleep,
and your thoughts were the heralds of a new day.
You and I lived in different spheres. your day started
when I ended mine.
This was how we conversed, Shantha,
in the twilight we shared between day and night.
Sometimes you were the baby in my lap and I the reading mom,
and sometimes I the babe and you the mother;
we had almost grown into one another.
Today when we hardly meet
the realisation dawns
and keeps me awake.

Dedicated to my friend Shantha Hulme.

Thank you so much for this image, @Milan Lakić

Milan LakićTimeline

2 days ago

 Photo album: црно - беле

Califormia native in a Minnesota world.

There Are Times When I Need

There are times when I need to look long at my world
to piece together the fragments
and knit together the whole.
Times when I wish this unnameable thing
which is eating at the roots of the world never happened.
Wish I could push the hands of the mighty clock
back to the hours in the past
and navigate the earth back to its pristine days of purity.
The old books, some of them still unread, some half-read,
some I would never be able to read to the end.
Tonight, not the call of the sea; the sea being far away;
your cup of coffee is calling me back,
and that box of paintbrushes without the paint,
that elegant pen lying close by, just within my reach;
the perfume of the single rose unprotected
from the inclemency of the time;
I look long at my world hoping
some day I am going to put it all in piece.

Just poured the thoughts the way they came. I am feeling good now, dear friend Souheil

Souheil GhammachiTimeline

11 hours ago

Your spirit needs recharging...
Make time to reconnect with
yourself...

Happy Saturday ☕️

Blobs of paint were let fall on the board,
just the way they wanted to fall,
and slowly the canvas found the shapes and the forms.
the woman stared dreamily at what got created out of the nothing; dreams and colors trickled and ran over the whiteboard.
She was no more the artist than a brush by itself the creator of the vision.

Milan LakićTimeline

19 days ago

 Photo album: Арт

Swedish Watercolor painter. Pia Erlandsson

"The drama is in various acts" being played on a wide stage, and Susse is dumbfounded because the playwright does not reveal his name. Somewhere heroic struggle, somewhere the base acts that shame humanity.Susse lost her sarcasm when the whole world is cowering under the shadow. Susse has lost her tongue.

A narrow space between the book and the pillow
Someone just left reading to open the window.
May be she went away for awhile
and left the words alone on the pages to breathe.
Something that was there
that paid heed to her heart and the soul,
and had no clue where it came from.
The horizon showed some quaint light,
and reading is like chasing the horizons.

Sushama Karnik 01-05-2020
Image credit: fawzi hejazi
Thanks, fawzi hejazi

fawzi hejaziTimeline

5 days ago