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M Solav Jul 2019
We live on the ripples of a beating heart
Sailing wide across a great black sea
Each pulses like falling raindrops
As we drift on the surface of destiny

We know the struggles and the storms to come
Foundations the turmoils of passing winds
Are scattering on our way towards the sun
Were raised by none but the breathe of our will

We become landscapes the further we are drawn
Cold mountains, dense forests, oceans and such,
On our carved existence all promise to be found
As we roam from mood to mood and thought to thought

We understand at last what the touch reconciles
When we start to realize what we had always known
That the world was always ours, and it dawns on our mind
That the rainfall had stopped while we’d landed home
Written in June 2019 - for an exhibition in Peking.


— 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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M Solav Jul 2019
The mind at play is a rocking boat:
It goes along the flow of our thoughts
Between destination and arrival ports.
And on the boat we learn of causality.

The mind at rest is a quiet pond:
Its surface mirrors the world
As the edges are all withdrawn.
And in the lake we learn of unity.

The mind in a rush is a storm:
Waves collides in a frenetic waltz
Where one sees hills in eruption.
And in the storm we learn of identity.

...if we could get the vessel across;
...if we could face our own shape;
...if we could settle on the hilltops;
What more would be left for us to behold?
Written in June 2019 - for an exhibition in Peking.


— 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.
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M Solav Jul 2019
There is form. And there is force.
Lightning blazes the sky with frightening might
Which bursts and dissipates in arteries of light
How it animates the living,
With its thundering displays!
How it penetrates us with awe,
And fills darkness with stories
And that is what we call the Force.

There is form. And there is force.
Gushes of wind brush the once austere surface
Which rises and resonates in hills that interlace
How it fuels our imagination
With its frenetic waltz!
How hypnotic its furious motion
And the flow of its assaults
And that is what we call the Force.

There is form. And there is force.
Mountains spring from seas and glide down the coast
Which is where we have crawled and now thrive the most
How it shapes the current world
With us barely noticing!
How volatile all our endeavors
And at the mercy of its whim.
And that is what we call the Force.
Written in June 2019 - for an exhibition in Peking.


— 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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M Solav Sep 2018
There are clouds of sound and noise
That utter thoughts in a muffled voice,
Gestures of hands simply won’t cast out
Cloudy skies in days of doubt.

Like strangers lost in a crowd
Whose cries are buried by the loud,
The loud din of helpless wanderers
Whose presence disrupts and disturbs.

All strangers left on their own,
Islands floating out in the fog;
Orphans with cruel fates to bemoan;
Fates that are swept under the rug.

And who's looking with interest, who reaches down with an arm,
Never so eager to help, neither too late nor too soon?
Who would make this world perhaps a little more warm
And freshen the skies of our cloudy afternoon?
Written in December 2017.


— 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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M Solav Sep 2018
La porte qui claque
A creusé un trou
Plus noir que noir
Dans le silence
De ta mémoire.

Le silence qui frappe -
Qui luit partout -
Quand vient le soir,
Il plaie les panses
Et te rend fou.

Ces plaies ouvertes
Se taisent et pleurent;
Le vacarme discret
Te couvre de secousses
Et disparaît.

Enveloppé dans tes draps,
La lumière devenue ligne,
Une porte entre-ouverte -
Tu voudrais qu'elle t’explique
Cet état d'alerte.

Le temps fait violence
Mais s'apaise comme le vent.
Très vite tu t'endors,
Et les mots se font tendre
Arrivé à bon port.

La veille se couvre d'un voile
Enroulé sur tes nuits.
Toujours l'éclat de noirceur
Qui alors t'attaqua
Luira sur ta vie.
Écrit en janvier 2018 sous le titre « Trauma ».


— Droits d'auteur © M. Solav —
www.msolav.com

Cette oeuvre ne peut être utilisée ni en partie ni dans son intégrité sans l'accord préalable de l'auteur. Veuillez s'il vous plaît contacter marsolav@outlook.com pour toute requête d'usage. Merci beaucoup.
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M Solav Sep 2018
We were mixed up when it built;
One another forced to coexist.
As it drew us high and higher still,
Below us grew the abyss.

Overflowing with ecstasy,
We left our hearts astray.
The obnubilating and obsolete
Had gotten our way.

Obstacles vanished one by one,
Increasingly slaying the beast.
Moments we thought we'd won
Are when we'd won the least.

We stretched out our hands towards the sky
Like wretched ghosts wrapped in disguise,
As though we had just found a new paradise
With the devil ahead leading as our guide.

We followed him throughout the land:
"This way leads us to the great fountain",
And now we're stuck in a desert of sand
Wondering when oases shall be attained.

We've taken a bet against our nature.
Was it anyone-in-particular's fault?
"For every curse there'll be a cure,
For every flood there'll be a drought."

Once more, again, we shall repeat,
To morrow, and for ever more.
When the sunshine now seems to greet
And when the darkness falls,

Comes that nighttime of our lives;
We ponder what we've been,
But what we're we supposed to be
When the pact was always sealed.

So we wait in such anxiety,
The impatience growing itchy;
And we amass, tall in piles,
To crash onto the shores like the sea.
Written in August 2016.


— 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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M Solav Sep 2018
​Explosion of the white tree,
A synapse in the damp air.
The fluid around the corsair,
Ambassador of the secret;
The perfume of a comet
Descends upon the wetland.

A goosebump stretches my hair;
Ripples forming across the sea
As nostril and flowers meet
Miles and miles without end.

The green flame always return
In a frenetic haze, a burst of fire,
As the solar wave caresses the earth
At welcomed glances, so soft a fur.

A last effort renewed forevermore;
Delirious poison continually brewed;
An elixir against the veil of dusk;
Cause and effect from dust to dust.

As the mind steps out back further,
It finds itself returned at the core,

Til all of Spring elapses.
Written in July 2016.


— 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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