Sweet bird, with you wings so heavy and grey, the wind between your feathers lost their grip and now you are here, before me, scared. Sweet bird, with your eyes so wide and your chest so plump, please don’t let the night swallow you whole.
There are times when I feel like I have been sitting in the silt and grime for longer than I remember, and my feet are heavy with the weight of the congealed mud webbed between my toes. This isn’t normal. Surely it’s not normal. The sun needs to reach out and tear a whole in the sky like 4 days past, when the light danced along my arm like little ants catching glimpses of fortune and prosperity.
click through link activated.
cage bird caged {Explored} on Flickr.
It seems like this image that I shot and featured on my flickr account has been seriously doing the rounds on Tumblr, according to my stats. Thank you for all your love!
I really love this video about the release of the creative power within a newly born Cairo. Don’t take your talents nor your freedom to express just that for granted.
The Noise of Cairo
The art scene in Cairo after the Egyptian revolution.
The pregnant clouds rubbed against the back of the expectant ether, as it hurled droplets of rain towards the ground, long and bedraggled with the heaviness of the world. Light bellowed into light in a battle to conquer the thunderous throne and claim the reigns of the sky, but night drew heavy and scribbled his name across the tainted canvas, until it was calm, and still.
My heart beat like the final wails of a woman yearning for her lost family. The stars in the sky fell to the end of time and yet somehow, we can still see them, as they pulse within their own recollections of what was once so real to them. Beneath the ether, we long to be just that. Just that
We dipped our fingers into the ice cold water, fishing around to find a bean which hadn’t been opened yet. With the sleep still lingering in the puffed up creases around our eyes, and the distant memory of a breakfast which was short lived, we would sit within corner of the kitchen which only felt the presence of breath several times a year. Our fingers felt numb as we pinched the corner coat of the bean and squeezed the inner pulp out into existence. Each bean, forced to give birth and thrust into a world where it’s only purpose was to fulfil the insatiable desires of others. Behind us, the water on the stove would be bubbling in manic despair, fervently trying to cook each and every grain of rice. The air would be filled with the mingling scents of the marinating chicken and the freshly cut dill, permeating through the kitchen and out the windows. The beans were all we remembered. They came to us laden in responsibility and an expectation to deliver. When they came to us, they were blinded and cold, but when they left they were warm and naked in sprout. Such were the days of our childhood, brimming with recollections from the tiniest seeds.
Let me steal this moment from you, if only for a while, so that I can wear it like a coat and parade around the hall in a glory that only I and these four walls will ever now about.
Let me steal this moment from you, in this flicker of a lifetime, and weather the climb of the his hill, wading in boots that only I can fill.
Let me steal this moment for you, and sneak into you room as the sun rise slips through the blinds, and leave it resting against your pillow for your waking eyes to gaze upon.
Let me steal this moment.
“You’re an artist.”
Compliments don’t come as beautiful as this.
Little bee, little bee, the whispers between your toes are so enchanting. Please don’t fall. Your wings might not work.
…and if you run your hand along the whispers within the wall, my heart can be felt there, loving you…
I think your arms are pretty.
The way they reach around me and hold me close.
The way they speak to me in a low whisper, a softly spoken reassurance.
I think your arms are pretty.
The way they dance in the morning light as they reach towards the early dawning beams.
I think your arms are pretty.
The way the heat from your shoulder stirs and quivers against mine.
The way I feel your presence encapsulate me with not even a glance.
I think your arms are pretty.
The flutter of the bird filled with hums is flittering closer to this outstretched limb. Cocoon yourself within the belly of this warmth, beneath the folds of feathers for soon we will both be soaring. Soon, we will both be soaring.
Like pearls within their shells, we too conceal our doubts within our bodies, but it will be our fears that will free us from our prisons.
