Echo - March 1st, 2024

For echo to sound, there must be few in a vast space. For echo to sound, you alone must be enclosed by the reflective walls. For echo to sound...

Your mind must have heard so little from itself that, to pump its bubbles up the waters that surround you, it will fling every old thought at its walls, letting each of them reverberate endlessly. Echoes are never new.

Huddled up in company, voices other than your own take over, but it's often not enough. The mind may still be alone. Long enough time has passed that the echo is all it knows. It will echo only how you've always felt. Remember.

The acoustic phenomenon, however, can decay.

Is echo a lost love? Is it a reflection? Is it a reminder?

Sweat of a rose - March 6th, 2024 غزل

It is not only the procession of the morose tale.
It would suffice to draw an and-the-sun-rose tale.

But the shattering ensued unnerving neurosis.
It shall live on savagely in grim prose, this tale.

She devoured the primroses and availed herself of love.
She remained within the walls and alcoves of the tale.

A useless torn heart only pumps blood to the wales.
The streaks on your skin you rub opened a closed tale.

An injury so powerful it was to the wailing gale.
To never disappear: it shut down eyes to the tale.

The Mountain Sleeps - March 12th, 2024

she slept through the wars
the turbulent air
and how still she was
the world didn't know her

unbekannt, a cave
in her heart, abode
to beasts that don't crave
or vanish abroad

unerforscht feeling
undeutlich divide
and moss covering
her back and behind

unbeugsam, she stirs
brushing one hundred
birdsongs, fields of fleurs
she was not sundered

Silent - April 14th, 2024

dread

an empty home

Untitled - April 17th, 2024

I had a dream that I got the nicest pair of binoculars.

Instead of showing me what's further, it showed me what's above or below.

I held the copper cast tool to my eyes and set towards the undertow.

This world, it glistened and glowed. The trees swayed and laughed above.

The starlight fell and condensed into their fruit, and the starfruits melted into light.

The molten cream, so sweet, brightened the mind and the view, casting the shadows of yore.

It carried it with it all this time, and with me I carry my eyes to see it.

The pink beach, the calm blue waves, the dark night sky, they move

ever so slowly, and they glow, effervescent.

Fabric - June 25th, 2025

You told me that I smelled like fabric. We never met. We know nothing about each other. We only found one another randomly, yet you knew something that I didn’t. You told me that I smelled like fabric. I still don’t know if its true. Fabric has a distinct smell when it’s not drowned in detergent and softeners. Fabric smells bitter, but at the time, I took it well. Fabric smelled soft. Fabric smelled friendly. Fabric smelled lukewarm. Fabric covers your nude body. Fabric hides you. Fabric keeps you cool. Fabric decorates you. Fabric fits you in society. Fabric is woven. Fabric can be sewn to other pieces of fabric, constructing a new whole. Fabric covers your bed. Fabric covers your pillow.

I’d rather be wool. Wool keeps you warm. Wool scratches against your skin. Wool binds your feet. Wool binds your hands. Wool binds your head. Wool gets wet. Wool gets mushy. Wool falls apart.

Or I’d rather be silk. Silk is a novelty. Silk drapes over you and slides. Silk doesn’t deserve you. Silk doesn’t hold itself. Silk shines. Silk fall. Silk weeps.

A Clinical Tale - June 25th, 2025 - June 9 prompt

He came to the clinic to get an injection.
He complied and let it happen without fail.
He was fine with everything that happened.
No misery fell upon either party.

He came to the clinic to get his blood drawn.
He reluctantly accepted after resisting a little.
He was not happy but it went smoothly.
Some misery was a temporary effect.

He was dragged to the clinic to get his blood drawn.
He yelled and fought the grabbing arms.
But they won and stabbed him with the needle.
Neither side was satisifed.

He was forced into the clinic to get an injection.
He was pushed and pulled to get it done.
He threw the chair at the doctor but was shot with a tranquilizer.
Misery fell upon everyone.

The Man I Am Inside - June 25th, 2025 - May 5 prompt

He stood confidently but was relaxed. I sat before my canvas and held my pencil with my arm fully extended. I took his height with it and transferred it to the paper. I began with the outer form, quickly sketching the outline of the body with some guide lines to maintain the proportions, checking every now and then with my pencil to make sure they matched the subject. He smiled awkwardly as I fixed my eyes on his body. I had only finished the initial sketch when I found myself standing before him. We locked eyes and I raised my hands, then I rested them on his chest. His skin was a bit rough and rather dry, and the curled hairs – surprisingly soft – rolled under my touch as a I stroked the chest. The composition was very much lean, but also firm as a sturdy human body would be. The figure was fairly consistent throughout, with narrow hips and slightly broad shoulders. I grabbed the waist. It’s one of my favourite parts to draw because it is a common pitfall. I used to draw this part of the torso too short. I continued to feel the contour, memorizing every angle and every turn of his body. As I went back up, I could feel his chest rising and falling slowly. It’s rather cliché, but it is fascinating to feel somebody’s life right under your hands – the beating heart, the flowing blood, and circulating life flowed under my touch. Looking into his dark eyes again, this time I placed my hand on his face. Freshly shaven stubble tickled my sweaty hand. It is usually an unpleasant feeling, but I couldn’t help but feel adoration instead. My hand slowly glided over his chapped lips, then it jumped over to feel his nose, its soft tip and its subtle bump.

I did not love this man.

He was the person I am inside.