Sad, forlorn flower, distiller of liquid gold. Light condenses, thickens. Time slows, falters. You think to yourself: it is the light within that fails, not the light that falls all around us.
~
Some lives are brought to completion by the sun's gentle hand, by the sun's brilliant gold, bronzed by decay, by many, many suns. But the black sun leaves a shadow across the face.
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The great flat land of summer, where distinctions are erased and time's sting forgotten, where there is no "me", and there is no "you". We play like children, our laughter as simple as the gold of cathedrals, our steps rhyming like those of the first people under the gaze of God.
~
What is remembered? A summer's day, a dream within a dream. That which is most real. I think I remember you now, dreamy-eyed and clownish though I be. I think I know you, even if I know nothing else. Why do you pretend, why do you make believe? You are like a child that lived for one hour, that was as free as the forgetfulness of a summer day.
Persian soul
(photo courtesy of roxana)
Persian soul
(photo courtesy of roxana)
4 comments:
I've come here many times today, and tried to find words to tell you about yours - but I couldn't (I wanted to write only 'oh', but then you would have made fun of me again :-). thank you for enriching my picture (so this is the one you like best?), I could have never done this myself.
Roxana, thank you for your kind words. I wish you hadn't written "oh"..it would have been fun! Yes, I think I like this one best-though it's hard to decide. the other yellow one, the yellow ablaze, is also fab.
salaams,
b.
er..that should have been: wish you *had* written "oh"
I got it, b :-)
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