Tag: love

the notable lament

Amir Pri-galLeave a comment

There are those who do not love themselves and do not love others.
There are those who love themselves and love others out of separateness.
There are those who love all they see and feel, but he, and she, is forced to love out of separateness.

A draught broke through the door, a wide-open door now. The first and second burst into tears: originally with the first lament, and continue with the second lament, and then to the third, the fourth, the fifth, to the sixth, for the last that remains … in a way that no one hears and will not hear.

This is the notable lament of all.

Photo: Tuchong-Microstock

noise.

Amir Pri-galLeave a comment
woman pointing a finger in Vietnam

noise.
Noise of cars.
Noise of borders.
Noise of humidity.
A fence, a field, a road, a dove prepares to land on the transparent in white building like a mountain, beyond the cloudy hot spell, 300 meters in front of me, all I hear is noise, and it is a worn point, and an animal who lives, an animal that’s all living for one goal, for one purpose, to bring life, she is in noise, or that’s who went beyond.
   I miss Vietnam, to the people in Vietnam.
Moral obligation is carved on that frame.
And a door prepares to slam on it.
I’ve always looked at you, my love.

Photo: Tuấn Hùng Nguyễn

at the Sanctuary

Amir Pri-galLeave a comment

Briefing by breathing that the past is not a product of cause and effect, there are no walls that can stop you from unleashing suffering, except the conception of suffering. Briefing yourself doesn’t mean you know everything; it can be the process of relying on authorized teachers or letting ancient inherited knowledge to arise.

May the insanity in the sanctuary of your beauty guide you in the realms of your happiness.

Photo: Yogendra Singh

3 disturbed Women

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A woman riding on horse from Kyrgyzstan

A young woman, a Jerusalemite style, with a generous white rush on her shins, “how beautiful she is,” I was wondering while catching beats of hers. Her-sandals, her-dress, the dirt under her-nails. Mountains girls, we call them here. I met few men who genuinely one-love, as you can address to a fair maiden. Some have been sent away… I was taken to the burial cave of Abraham, at times before the wall, when we played in the vineyards of Hebron under the August sun 👒. Shy moose roam freely. A cat on her seventh soul found a place on this white land of rocks. We were listening. Can you listen to the tweets? She was there. I see her shining, even if she didn’t give a stranger-chance to love, as she is. Months after, on the bridge nearby, I found a woman who asked passersby to light a candle for a man’s sake. For her friend’s father. 3 disturbed women asking for prayer in the place where passersby examining each other decent shoes. How wonderful is that.

Photo by Katie Aun

Pink, look above

Amir Pri-galLeave a comment

her past was mine, the spirits desire, like a heavy wood clock on the wall, a moonlight tied my soul to hers, a threshold on hold… I drank from her glass of water, saw her eyes tighten, giggling from my stupidity, … this rejected lotus among many… “It was dirty”, they told me, the northern river, where she was born. A second chance without her presence, a second life after I have been banished, her heartbeats was my beauty, looking at me, it was me, it was solid, and she was really happy. An Allegory about love? An untold story that had to be obtained as those hands on that clock? I just wonder why now.

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Photo: 5534534 (Pixabay)