memories..

The leaves of memory seemed to make
A mournful rustling in the dark.
~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

egyptian tango..

From where can I have a word
Full of pain, rebellion and determination?
From where can I have a word born by Earth
A word which cures what Heaven words couldn't cure?

Salah Jaheen.... egyptian poet

It's harder..

It is harder to kill a phantom than a reality

Virgina Woolf

I'm going...

from Argentina Northwest region, an anonymous copla..

I'm going..
I'm leaving,
of your presence
i walk away.
If only as
a memory
My heart to you
I'm giving

applauses!

I don’t like cemeteries, I don’t believe in going to see a piece of soil where just a body was buried once.. as much as i don’t believe in afterlife..

But when I was at Vienna, i had to go to its cemetery. I saw so many people here, stopping.. some just shooting an image to say: "I was there".. but others, like me, feeling a deep emotion that words cant describe…

Well, why not to think that an artist, that a piece of his soul, may stay there! Why not to think that each flower, that each image made, that each tear, as those that fulfilled my eyes at that time and are appearing now when I write… … all are applauses!

I felt the soul of my beloved Beethoven there.. and I thanked him, deeply, for so much pleasure, for so much melancholy.. for so deep sorrow and happiness that his music brought to me..

Maybe now, when I decide to show this image, I am only clapping him.. again and again.. with the silent emotion of my soul..

alone..

It begins when loosing the smile... then the things around seem to loose reality, focus and accuracy…

It goes on.. colours, tones, feelings fade in the air..

Then, one day, you find yourself wondering where are all.. asking yourself: were they once?

A shy soul besides you, will have no answers.

autumnal shadows..

Thinking how much I missed autumn, i was walking near home when I found a bare wall, a window..
I closed my eyes, tightly, and I saw them..
fragile dry leaves, ready to be taken by a breeze…
When I opened my eyes again, only the bright sun
was shining at that wall..
But my soul was fulfilled with autumnal shadows

leaves heard..

"..but memory is an autumn leaf that murmurs in the wind and then is heard no more...." words of K Gibran..
Here, at the old hospital at Arles, these leaves will always be heard... they keep the memory, the soul of the one who painted this same place in all beauty, with all feelings: Vincent Van Gogh..

image&text ©silvia marmori

a dream..

Life had been hard..
Many times he had asked himself why? How?… there had been no answers.

The worst part of the day was in the mornings, when he woke and realized that nothing had changed. Same routine.. walking along the dirty streets, looking for food in garbage cans, avoiding the police and other homeless, who would attack him heartlessly.

That night he had decided it would be the last. His hopes had been lost in some dark alley, maybe on a cold day, many winters ago.
He took his bag and the shabby cover, the only things that he owned, and went to the same place where he had been sleeping for a month.
It was a stinking backstreet, but at least empty of other souls.
He smoked until he scorched his fingers with the last butt he had and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he would go to the bridge and he would end it all.

However, in the middle of the night, he stood up as if demented. A big noise and many shouts.. but he saw nobody and the racket went on.
He took his things and ran away.. the last night had to be calm, calm as the brown waters of the river he would face in few hours…
Suddenly , his scampering stopped at a small lake he had never seen in the west of the city.. a park.. a small sanctuary…

He laid down there, but he couldn’t sleep… the fresh air, the trees moaned in the dark.. how was it possible that he had never been there before!
After the birds woke him as they began to announce that the sun was rising, when the dark faded and the green pervaded his senses and soul, he decided to delay for a few more minutes.. the river would be always there, waiting for him.

How beautiful was that place! He breathed deep, he perceived his blood warming his body. Small leaves brought by the soft breeze danced at his feet.. he took one.. how nice it felt!
Nature affected him.. made him remember his childhood, his youth. He had been happy once....what had happened to his dreams of before, to his ideals .. to his strong will!

But suddenly all became dark… he heard voices, a foul air suffocated him. When he opened his eyes he was still at the same place where he had slept all of the last few weeks.. he longed to cry and he did.
Leaving his things, he ran to the bridge.. he stood there, looking at the dark waters, ready to jump..

A fragile small leaf flew from his hand to the river…

He sighed.. wiped his tears and tried a weak smile.

text &image© silvia marmori