Writing

Only if I could hear with my eyes ...

Only if I could hear with my eyes… A dream room filled with white semi transparent voices floating in the air. They're not going to leave me like sounds heard by ears do. Whenever time passes by it takes away something from me either very significant or as small as tiny chance to exist. As everything was temporary and it belongs to its own time, I try to freeze, frame, and keep the moment to carry it away as long as possible to the time called future. Somehow deep down I'm not ready to let go the reality, which is gone far far away already.  

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That Narrating sound

            Was laughing … I cried

            Was telling a story about an open window and the longest dawn.

            A story about lost shoes and old sandals.

That Narrating sound

            Was taking about you

            We were there too

That narrating sound

            Was talking about my eyes

            My finished eyes

That narrating sound cried

            Went and got lost

                                                I closed the window

Time ...

It was a cold autumn day when I picked up the latest volume of one of the literary magazines on the coach and tried to pretend that I understand the article. I wasn’t sure that my feet were cold or it was an impulse of what I was feeling. My dad used to say that read it even if you don’t understand it. One day you pick up a poem or a prose and without knowing you will understand. Don’t let it scare you.

It was about love and power of art. Here is what I remembered: “… Time is no limitation to love, since love creates time …” *

I’ve been captivated by the concept of time and its power, how it swallows us into its closed circled line where we experience the idea of loop. How is it love can create time?! I’m still not sure. Being surrounded by new mothers and pregnant women and of course instincts made me think of motherhood. What makes people to create another being despite all these difficulties?

I came across few lines in my head and I wrote few words to my child.

            I bought the future

            For the price of pain

            For the price of years, fulfilled with love, without me

            When you were invited to my body’s locked circle

            When me became us

            And you became hope to see the future I don’t see

After all those years, my toes felt the same autumn like chill. Feeling love towards my child I don’t have gave reality to how love can make time.

I know the author, Rastgoo*, probably meant something else but for the first time I grasped as big of a monster time is we’ve been fighting against it … somehow …

the final image !

the final image !