I cannot fathom the fainting of the ticking clock. hours have clad in a haunting ghostly clothes. a parade of continuous thought. a thought from a stranger's land, that found her welcome in those ghostly clothes. that merged with my fainting clock. it had became the ticking of my clock. quivering my shores with ecstatic froth. ebbing, hushing those passive oaths. the mighty heart can start to pump. pump you bloody heart. PUMP. the seconds have strapped themselves to that thought, declaring to tick only with that thought. the thought of you. they move with you, around you, and coming back to you. you are that thought.
this reminds me of an old friend...and she creeps into my thoughts so often...like a ghost, her memory haunts me...but i would not want to forget her...she was a beautiful person...and i can still visualize her even though it has been 32 years since we lost her.
What a lush, rich voice you release in this softly sensual song of the soul. This is beautifully dark and hushed, like the sacred night. Wondrous, dear Latifa.
Gripped by the circularity of time and the effect it has on emotions and thoughts. Very fine work, Latifa.
Impassioned piece of writing this is.
Thanks for sharing,
M.
"the cave you fear the enter, holds the treasure you seek"
Joseph cambell
this quote is my thriving recipe for dwelling in the enchanting castle of words, more..