I listened
to the ocean
as it breathed
dispelling its secrets
that no one understands
like a wall
with its blank conversations
growing ever more complex
with time that drips slowly
the ever-breaking waves
continually re-write the poems
of long lost lovers
An Ode to the Girl Who I Could Never Write
Like the every-crashing waves hitting the beach, the girl series seems to write itself. The girl who I could never write dances along to a silent musical note only she can hear, but continually follows along as the poetry drips from her very being.
The breathing of the ocean, the breathing of the girl, a salty poetic stench that seems to urge me along its coastline, across her pale skin. I become the long-lost lover who tries to make sense of the chaotic winds and rains, the calmness before the storm, and the silence that seems to echo in her being.
Her breathing ceases to be the winds and her salted words become a taste only I appreciate in my ever hunger state. She never gives enough to satiate my eternal hunger; her words become the endless supply I need to stay alive; yet, she only gives me enough to continually return.
trying to return home
my soul replaces its empty rooms
with words of her beauty
like the crashing waves
my ways become blind
in the face of her ever-presence
In the dark, she becomes a beacon that attracts my ship to its coastline. But hiding behind the pale skin, a shadow lurks, receding and breathing with my every movement; continually tempting me to tease out its all-consuming nature.
defining the pale skin
breaks my barriers
time and time again
consuming my soul
with her darkness
I am merely a shadow in her world, one that she also consumes; but this is necessitated by her calm beaches, her calm moments that define the shadows. Without my soul, she might not exist; but this reciprocity also defines me...
We touch for a brief moment, a tender instant; like the wind only alludes to a sense of touch when it brushers over your cheek. For a moment, an instant, there was the flash of a life, infinitely long, in front of my eyes. Our existence covered infinite space, consuming itself underneath the ever-increasing weight of the unfolding story. But as soon as it emerged, it ceased to lay in front of us. Our touch became foreign, and strange, returning to the poetic structure of difference and alterity.
We prayed to the night that our souls might be consumed by the summer sun. But our words washed up on the coastline of her face, as untouched sun spots, freckles, solar systems under her eyes.
I became fossilized words that could merely attempt to echo her poetry, buried in her soul, trapped by the constantly breaking and crashing waves. But I was determined to somehow break through to her...
like a reader swallows ideas
echoes of eternity reverberate
my empty soul
decorated with her being
She returns as the ocean breathes its winds - fingers always trying to touch the surface of the onlooker's gaze. But like the waves, she recedes back into alterity and chaos, disorder and uncanniness. She returns to a mystery which I need to translate, creating my own art from her ever-escaping meaning. I become the poet who rants at the ocean for not calming and giving me the meaning I so desperately yearn to dissolve in my own being.
I become the mad poet who fell in love with the mystery of the ceaselessly crashing waves.
I became the mad poet...
I watched the horizon fade into nothing and I lost the girl I could never write at the edge of insanity. I became the mad poet going on about a lost lover, the one that remained a fleeting encounter, one with ever-lasting effects.
I wanted to purge my soul of the memory, the instant that replays itself over and over in my mind; but nothing seemed to dispel of her from the corners of my mind, just like the ocean holds on to her secrets.
And I continue to write, like the mad poet, the frantic artist, the never-stopping novelist, about the girl who I could pen down. She becomes the ocean that recedes as much as I reach the ever-receding shoreline of sanity and where insanity begins.
Patiently, I wait at the river for the boat pick me up that will eventually take me to the edge of madness and poetry, where I might find the girl and her wisdom.
I hope that you enjoyed this instalment of the girl I could never write. From now on, she might be seen with the magical ring of engagement. Even the ladybug (above) approves of this message!
Below, I share with you also a video of the breathing ocean, the title of this photographic post. I hope that you will find this calmness in your life, listening to the breathing ocean.
For now, happy photographing and stay safe.
All of the musings and writings are my own, albeit inspired by the girl and the shadows that run wild across her face. The photographs are also my own, taken with my Nikon D300 and Nikkor 50mm lens.
