& F. J.

📷 & ✒️ F. J.

Entre deux la tour monte, gratte l’étau cramoisi  d'un ciel   dans  la tourmente.

….

Entre deux Une flute chante Enchante quelque puce alléchante. Allez chante! Le son monte.

….

Entre deux une créature mythique vainc ses tiques en se mordant la queue.

….

Entre deux Une abeille glisse  dans l'abysse d'un calice en lit pisse nu le pissenlit soufflé.

….

Entre deux est à celle qui sur selle morcelle de grandes aspirations en petites morts.

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___________________________Fortyshapes

Mending

Now that your lips have finished sewing my cuts, tear my slit with your sharpness.

✒️ F. J.

Think of Others

As you prepare your breakfast, think of others

do not forget to feed the dove.

As you wage your wars, think of others

do not forget those who seek peace

and love.

As you pay your water bill, think of others

those who suckle the clouds above.

As you return home, to your home, think of others

do not forget the people of the camps who starve.

As you sleep and count the stars, think of others

those who have nowhere to sleep.

As you express yourself in metaphors, think of others

those who have lost the right to speak.

As you think of others who are far away,

on a lonely night's spark,

think of yourself

say: If only I were a candle in the dark.

— Mahmoud Darwich

Personal translation in a vain attempt to reproduce the original poem's unparalleled flow.

The Lovers by René Magritte animated ✨

Do you have a favorite photographer?😁👋🌻

Jerry Uelsmann! I love his work and his universe - I had often used his photographs to illustrate my poems on my old blogspot blog back in the day.

More words please.. tell us about an epiphany or a beautiful moment burned in your soul.. a lost love, a regret, a success..

What could I tell you about her? what could I tell about her frail existence—her joys are but castles built of ashes and tears; sadness besieged her for ages, and stalked her steps til the egde of each horizon—there's no escape from these bottomless tombs; she's gone, and she hasn't written a single letter to the one who left; she's gone, and she isn't tired of her exile.

I call her name but she doesn't recognize my voice I stand in her way but she doesn't see me—she seeks a breakout from yesterday to finally pierce the veil of the sun and time.

مقتبس من القصيدة "إلى سلمى" للشاعرة فدوى طوقان