suntannedapples

Friday, November 15, 2019

Autumn Is Moving

The autumn is moving; it's moving fast.
And I can't get enough of watching.
In between a pause, a sojourn where the season stops.
My town, my city, a log seems to block the passage of the season.
It rains, off season. It always does in this city, in this state.
I can do nothing to stop the rain. It rains until it floods.
The city is no longer the same.
All seasons crowd here in this city and forever seem to block the passage of time.
This city is an aberration against the backdrop of time.
So the seasons gather and there is a fog.
The seasons blur and merge in the fog.
It is an eternal autumn or eternal rain.

рт

Wharfedale by Moonlight, 1871 by John Atkinson Grimshaw

I KNOW MY WAY

A minimalist traveler, her world is small , her feet trained to walk.
I saw her on my way back
as I prepared my journey back to my home.
A girl , a child still under the age of six.
She knew what she needed on her trip;
a backpack light enough for her to pull
merrily along the road,
so her back would not break under the load,
and a bottle she would easily pull out and drink
without having to stop clumsily
in the midst of strangers and get pushed around.
Perhaps it was a daily round from school to home,
and once again back from home to school.
It was not the road 'less traveled',
a humdrum road she everyday walked.
The resilience, the grace, the ease with which she
walks the route will be the legacy to carry when she grows.
It's the minimalist traveler who knows the secret of the travel and the roads.

Milan Lakić Timeline

Photo album: Црно - беле

I know my way, bye...

Thursday, November 14, 2019

An evening,
the slanting sun,
everything awash in the autumnal haze,
the trees bare,
magnificent in their austerity,
dignity,
a day when nothing happens and nothing goes.
The light falling on walls,
on the street vendor's nursery of flowers, turns around
and halts to focus on the temporary shadows
moving in and out.
Look up and you will see the balcony of the house,
waiting in expectancy
for someone to come and buy
the flowers with the hope that some day some lad will serenade and some lass will come and listen.

Thanks for the image, @Milan Lakić

Milan Lakić Timeline

Nelson Molina is an Brazilian painter

The town sinks in the moonlight gloom
a shadow looms
over the walls
and moves
sideways to hide from the eye of the curious moon.
Overhead, the sky,
is marking the limits of infinity
caught by the wall and the shadow.
The light coming from the innkeeper's door
is the only light to compete the moon.
A sleepy town, and the doused fire,
and the reign of winter will silence the town.
Towns have memories of winter nights.
The cracks on the ceramic glass, and the cracks that let the wind in,
The time when the shiver runs down the spine,
and the distances widen and lead one to roam,
in search of the light of the inn.
Inns awake when the homes sleep.

Milan Lakić Timeline

Photo album: Арт

Town by moonlight, Frits Thaulow. Norwegian (1847 - 1906)

Wednesday, September 25, 2019

Thanks for the image, @Milan Lakić

Milan Lakić Timeline

Nelson Molina is an Brazilian painter

Wednesday, September 18, 2019

A dark night brought them close.
Streaks of light, a luminescence,
ephemeral, forms with no substance.
The world around was a ripple.
But she held fast to the rim
as he struck the chord, somewhat grim.
She leaned over and drew closer
to read the script of the song.,
He was lost, in the sound of the murmur,
the music turned the notes
into a river that ran into broken streams
that splashed, bounced, scintillated
like sparks, crystals, diamonds, pearls.
There were spaces in between
where silence, like a recluse, lived.
The exact moments for her to enter
into the flow and go, without a rudder,
with no anchor to tie her down.
A dark night brought them close.

Thanks for the image @fawzi hejazi

fawzi hejazi Timeline

There are always those who love you for no reason, see inside you only purity, do not care about what you did in the past, and do not care what you are now, just love you inside you because you are.

Sunday, September 15, 2019

The dawn came here on our shore
on the wave of the first ray of light,
carrying on the crest of her golden threads
the wealth of the sea from the abysmal depth
where the sun was hiding in the night.
From the distant horizon, miles away,
she rolled on the waves, was tossed by the fury of the wind.
Spent and tired she throws herself down
till the sun comes out and rekindles the flame.

Sushama Karnik

Shared publicly•View activity