Pascaline Marre
auteur - photographe

Writing a poem

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Writing a poem
So as not to see
The horrors the man
Down here can be.

Let my mind wonder,
As words breath,
A new melody
I have yet to foresee.

Let my heart glow
A new and bright light,
No barriers, no walls,
Around me they fall.

Let my eyes see
The yellow of the trees,
The purple of the sea,
The blue in the forest deep.

Let my hands feel
The red of your skin,
Or is it white, brown,
Black, yellow, green ?

Let my mouth taste
The sour of the lemon,
Promising and bright,
As a morning delight.

Let my bare feet caress
The delicate grass fresh
Alive underneath,
I spring in the air.

Let my lips touch
Beneath your skin
The mistery you hide
In the midst or you wide.

Let my body feel
The sunny light breeze
Bringing sweet memories
As an enchanted Spring.

No more images,
No more sounds,
But the words telling
Me their quiet mystery.

Images of the project "Phantoms of Anatolia" ©Pascaline Marre