The air is wet in the moist tears of the sky
vacant, and full of the fragrances of the hill flowers
Lone bird flying tither, looking for shelter.
adorning her forehead dishevelled the clouds
Looking confused, Phantasm woman hair
the early crescent moon looking lost,
Long travelled, when the soul longs for home,
there is none but the parnaked sky. Some warm clothes
familiar arms, a favourite soup. mirages a thirst.
When all is lost, there is hope. There is soul.
Wide earth, Call upon your vicars,
to learn your language and to be as you are,
to sing with the echoes and vanish with the shepherds.
I come here in homage, find me a home,
staring at the floating lamps dotting the dusk
distant hamlets in salsa with the stars.
Alight, for here, the bus stops.
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 5:24 PM UTC
The air is wet in the moist tears of the sky
vacant, and full of the fragrances of the hill flowers
Lone bird flying tither, looking for shelter.
adorning her forehead dishevelled the clouds
Looking confused, Phantasm woman hair
the early crescent moon looking lost,
Long travelled, when the soul longs for home,
there is none but the parnaked sky. Some warm clothes
familiar arms, a favourite soup. mirages a thirst.
When all is lost, there is hope. There is soul.
Wide earth, Call upon your vicars,
to learn your language and to be as you are,
to sing with the echoes and vanish with the shepherds.
I come here in homage, find me a home,
staring at the floating lamps dotting the dusk
distant hamlets in salsa with the stars.
Alight, for here, the bus stops.
Series inspired by the life of this remarkable hermit-woman:
http://www.bbc.com/news/magazine-30796537
Will explore difficult questions of our modern lives; Deliberate use of disjointed Surrealist constructions, to convey the mood.
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