Mark Rothko, No. 5/No. 22
The future is veiled from our eyes. The threads of each man’s fate extend well beyond the boundaries of the visible world. Where they lead, we cannot see. Who can say that today’s key will not be tomorrow’s lock, or today’s lock not tomorrow’s key?
Dearest heart, if I had not given my soul to you, it would have been better to give it up for good, to lose it forever. I am burning in love’s fire; I am drowning in the tears of my sorrow… I am the moth that flies through the night to flutter around the candle flame. O invisible candle of my soul, do not torture me as I encircle you! You have bewitched me, you have robbed me of my sleep, my reason, my very being.
Time passes, but true love remains. The life of this world is, for the most part, nothing but a succession of illusions and deceptions. But true love is real, and the flames which fuel it burn forever, without beginning or end.
Every breeze that blows
brings your scent to me;
Every bird that sings
calls out your name to me;
Every dream that appears
brings your face to me;
Every glance at your face
has left its trace with me.
I am yours, I am yours,
whether near or far;
Your grief is mine, all mine,
wherever you are.
In the garden, the leaves were falling like tears. The flowers had cast off their many-colored summer gowns and donned the somber robes of autumn. The silver of the jasmine had lost its luster; the rose wept petals as it mourned the passing of summer; the narcissus bade its companions farewell and made ready to depart… As the garden slowly withered, so did Layla: her spring was over, made winter by the freezing finger of Fate, by the icy touch of life’s most trying tribulations.
Dearest heart, if I had not given my soul to you, it would have been better to give it up for good, to lose it forever. I am burning in love’s fire; I am drowning in the tears of my sorrow… I am the moth that flies through the night to flutter around the candle flame. O invisible candle of my soul, do not torture me as I encircle you! You have bewitched me, you have robbed me of my sleep, my reason, my very being.
Time passes, but true love remains. The life of this world is, for the most part, nothing but a succession of illusions and deceptions. But true love is real, and the flames which fuel it burn forever, without beginning or end.
Every breeze that blows
brings your scent to me;
Every bird that sings
calls out your name to me;
Every dream that appears
brings your face to me;
Every glance at your face
has left its trace with me.
I am yours, I am yours,
whether near or far;
Your grief is mine, all mine,
wherever you are.
In the garden, the leaves were falling like tears. The flowers had cast off their many-colored summer gowns and donned the somber robes of autumn. The silver of the jasmine had lost its luster; the rose wept petals as it mourned the passing of summer; the narcissus bade its companions farewell and made ready to depart… As the garden slowly withered, so did Layla: her spring was over, made winter by the freezing finger of Fate, by the icy touch of life’s most trying tribulations.
“
| — | Nizami’s poem “Leyli and Majnun.” adapted by Colin Turner (via thereisajoke) |
If prayers remain unanswered, do we ever reflect that it may be for our good? We feel sure that we know our needs, yet the future is veiled from our eyes. The thread of our fate ends outside the visible world and what today we mistake for a padlock, keeping us out, we may tomorrow find to be the key that lets us in.
“
| — | Nizami (via travelerofthepath) |
What is human life after all? Whether is endures for a brief spell or longer, even if it could last a thousand years, take it as a breath of air merging into eternity. From the beginning, life bears death’s signatures. They are brothers in the secret play of their eyes. For how long then do you want to deceive yourself? For how long will you refuse to see yourself as you are and as you will be? Each grain of sand takes its own length and breadth as the measure of the world; yet, beside a mountain range it is as nothing. You yourself are the grain of sand. You are your own prisoner. Break your cage, beak free from yourself, free from humanity. - Nizami
- NGC 7293 Helix Nebula/Aquarius
- M82 Ursa Major
- Horsehead Nebula
- Reflection and Emission Nebulas Scorpius/Ophiuchus
I confess I do not believe in time. I like to fold my magic carpet, after use, in such a way as to superimpose one part of the pattern upon another. Let visitors trip. And the highest enjoyment of timelessness-in a landscape selected at random-is when I stand among rare butterflies and their food plants. This is ecstasy, and behind the ecstasy is something else, which is hard to explain. It is like a momentary vacuum into which rushes all that I love. A sense of oneness with sun and stone. A thrill of gratitude to whom it may concern-to the contrapuntal genius of human fate or to tender ghosts humoring a lucky mortal.
“
| — | Vladimir Nabokov, Speak, Memory (via bookmania) |
“Silenzi’s sculpture moves along the dimension of the encounter, the expectation, the creation as vital ritual. …A hybrid gallery of characters: animals speaking humans’ body language and humans who show themselves under animal semblance. Where does the former start and the latter end?”
DRAWING BY WERONIKA KRZEMIENIECKA
Poland, Lodz based Illustrator, Graphic Designer Weronika Krzemieniecka (behance / facebook)
(student of Strzemiński Academy of Fine Art)
