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M Solav Jan 2
With the wind on my face,
I'm walking home.
I'm walking home
On my own,
On my own.
Written on May 10th, 2020.
M Solav Jan 2
How to explain (non)sense
With(out) common sense?
Just/not like that.
Written on December 12th, 2024.


— Copyright © M. Solav —
This work may not be used in entirety or in part without the prior approval of its author. Please contact marsolav@outlook.com for usage requests. Thank you.
M Solav Oct 2024
If you walk, you slip
If you stop, you stall
If you touch, you stick
If you drop, you fall

In the eternal,
In the eternal now.

If you give, you take
If you kneel, you bow
If you dream, you wake,
If you seek, you doubt,

And when night shadows blend
With the light of the dawn
Remember to forget
That you've come to depart

In the eternal,
In the eternal now.
Written in September 2020.
New verse added in November 2024.


— Copyright © M. Solav —
This work may not be used in entirety or in part without the prior approval of its author. Please contact marsolav@outlook.com for usage requests. Thank you.
M Solav Dec 2023
It happens with all the holes and wounds: they grow their own face, mend their gaps, heal their rifts — those new skills of yours are but entities that emerge: to grant shelter, to stand guard, replace the old, thicken the crust, weather this human storm — through and through.

But will the skin ever return to its soil? It linger on forevermore. How tight its grip? How hardened its sappy brooks? When will it nourish those delicate roots anew?

These thoughts arise as doubt breaks free. It pours and flows as I gaze down and lower still. Shadows seep and leak as the wheel spins and drills the soul evermore hollow. Anonymous is our tree of life, but it keeps faces in store.

For it happens with all the holes and wounds: they bleed, they mend, they heal — and what don't they do as I stand here, as I bend, as I kneel — as I carve these seats in shapes of departure. Those skills thicken under my feet like growling tremors.

My past was but a dream — and I'm ready to slide like a crumbling leaf. My weariness is universal. My knowledge heavy. There cannot be a conclusion. I am growing thin.

Let me feed those roots anew.
Through and through.
Written on July 19th, 2023.

This picture was written to accompany a picture by Matthew Fertel (@digprod4). See the result at: instagram.com/p/Cu4uhxtOkYm


— Copyright © M. Solav —
www.msolav.com

This work may not be used in entirety or in part without the prior approval of its author. Please contact info@msolav.com for usage requests. Thank you.
M Solav Jul 2023
It is as if I were

Truly, marching, numb,
Blind despite standing
On a pillar above the sun,
Bathing in an ocean of
Clarity, clean, dumb
A kind of understanding
Or a stellar love, a unison
Dripping in slow-motion.

It is as if I were

Well fastened to a past
Faint, absent, steady,
Found elsewhere once more,
Begrudgingly opaque,
As sequestered and cast
Paint spent uneasily
Around canvases ashore,
Erosionally awake.

It is as if I were

On the verge now,
Ready to step onward,
Dare, envision, try,
If but for a moment
In an urge somehow
To unravel the skies afar
Care, abandon, fly,
And not ever lament:

It is as if I were.
Written on July 15th, 2023.

This picture was written to accompany a picture by Tim Gentle (@atimosabeart). See the result at: instagram.com/p/Cuu9oUnPkPi


— Copyright © M. Solav —
www.msolav.com

This work may not be used in entirety or in part without the prior approval of its author. Please contact info@msolav.com for usage requests. Thank you.
M Solav Jun 2023
There will certainly be
A great many of them
Far readier than I’ll ever be
O blessed unborn one
Yet endowed with inexistence
To whom mercy shall slip from
And re-emerge in its awakening
Beings past or below my shrinking age
A great many among them
Whom I once did or shan’t collide
Beyond the captured scope of mutual days
To relate to you what high events
Unrolled before our common eyes
Folks granted with the privilege
Promoted to the status of witnesses
Historians, athletes and prophets
By themselves and their narratives
I let them unroll their good accounts
Forfeit their tales of what must be bound
To mould your unsuspecting
Circumspect mind and
Save you from sensing
Delicately sensing
Voices that once knew more
Than in haste speak
Than with haste carry
Daringly could the silence hear
Untangle the mumbling tango
Of the vociferous crystal parade
My darling unborn one
The tortuous path out of the forgings
Of reason almighty, the ventricular beast
Played and echoed in loops and on repeat
No, you shan’t feast on their hymns
Yours is meant for the engineering of belief
In something further, of glory,
Far more, furthermore,
Something extraordinary
Than the days of days
And the knowns of knowns
And to lodge firmly out of the stillness
That’s woven in the heart of your chanting storm
And in the precipice of the forecast
May you never come to designate
But the space between the notes
So that when it comes not to ever pass
We shall rejoice in the untold absence
That binds us as if pierced by an arrow
While we ask about the bow
Written on June 24th, 2023.


— Copyright © M. Solav —
www.msolav.com

This work may not be used in entirety or in part without the prior approval of its author. Please contact info@msolav.com for usage requests. Thank you.
M Solav Jun 2023
There is a curse in every name.
Shoot me in the back of the head and I’ll be dead,
But my name shall carry on
In the depth of my killer
If he was a friend
Or in the wallet that he stole from the corpse
Now lying dead on the floor.

"But the curse", I explained
"Is neither in the ****** nor in the theft,
Nor is it retribution for a life shamelessly taken.
It’s in the neatly shaped boxes
In which the mind must be bent
To fit the guilty and the innocent alike
And each and all of their names."

That is the real ******;
And that is retribution.
Written on May 18th, 2023.

— Copyright © M. Solav —
www.msolav.com

This work may not be used in entirety or in part without the prior approval of its author. Please contact marsolav@outlook.com for usage requests. Thank you.
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