“Where does this blooming come from?”

From time.

“No. From your need to relive what you don’t even remember”.

Everything at once, said Mozart, who one day heard the whole composition in a single line. Those who leave, we’re the eagle flying over the monolith.

The lord has given, the Lord has taken away.

Arid on his crown, he picks up the brush with his guitar fingers. Blue now, the mane keeps growing, or could it be the skin drying out?

You find laps that sheltered you and the same bosoms nursed you, although he eats from the dish of lentils and what must be eaten unsalted.

You weren´t crying about mother.
Were crying because can't get your shadow to stick on.
Anyway, you weren´t crying.
(Peter Pan, Act 1)

Lullaby: low, slow song for soothing to sleep. Adult: differential position / insomnia. Jasmine: in Sufi aromatherapy, a bond-strengthening essence. Creature: living thing / product: of man’s imagination, generally fantastical in nature.

There are the pigeons, fluttering. End of the minute. Silence. Hundreds of pigeons fly at me, shit on you.

Say me. Not believing. You entirely disappear.

Squandered. To veil the veiled. Who or what takes charge of what was never developed?

Death can’t hold the ghosts, of the living.

CHILDHOOD IS SOMETHING ELSE.

a type of speech

MINUTIAE

One moment of silence.

They know nothing of the living.

The lord has given, the Lord has taken away.

You weren´t crying about mother.
Were crying because can't get your shadow to stick on.
Anyway, you weren´t crying.
(Peter Pan, Act 1)

“Where does this blooming come from?”

From time.

“No. From your need to relive what you don’t even remember”.

You find laps that sheltered you and the same bosoms nursed you, although he eats from the dish of lentils and what must be eaten unsalted.

Everything at once, said Mozart, who one day heard the whole composition in a single line. Those who leave, we’re the eagle flying over the monolith.

Lullaby: low, slow song for soothing to sleep. Adult: differential position / insomnia. Jasmine: in Sufi aromatherapy, a bond-strengthening essence. Creature: living thing / product: of man’s imagination, generally fantastical in nature.

Squandered. To veil the veiled. Who or what takes charge of what was never developed?

Death can’t hold the ghosts, of the living.

Arid on his crown, he picks up the brush with his guitar fingers. Blue now, the mane keeps growing, or could it be the skin drying out?

There are the pigeons, fluttering. End of the minute. Silence. Hundreds of pigeons fly at me, shit on you.

Say me. Not believing. You entirely disappear.

CHILDHOOD IS SOMETHING ELSE.

a type of speech

MINUTIAE

One moment of silence.

I don’t give
I ask him
like the lord

who has taken away
the lord has taken away

They know nothing of the living.

Who is a sea monster or a tempestuous ocean so that his storm may be a leviathan constrained by the tongue?

Horses
bulls and horses
the slaying lance.

Spread out the umbilical skein. Seek the hollow in a needle’s head. Do you want me to sew it on for you? Stretch feet out on the bed. Sew it on to keep me company in the light, because I don’t need it in the dark. Sew up this unraveled sack for good. Exactly what it´s needed to play.

Facing a drab mirror,
rub your eyes
like the squares of an empty market.

Without a wardrobe now,
You abandon that and all your other diplomas
backstage.

Sipping
swallowing
licking

cup-fraction
where her lips
could
have left behind
a drop.

The lord has given, the Lord has taken away.

You weren´t crying about mother.
Were crying because can't get your shadow to stick on.
Anyway, you weren´t crying.
(Peter Pan, Act 1)

Lullaby: low, slow song for soothing to sleep. Adult: differential position / insomnia. Jasmine: in Sufi aromatherapy, a bond-strengthening essence. Creature: living thing / product: of man’s imagination, generally fantastical in nature.

“Where does this blooming come from?”

From time.

“No. From your need to relive what you don’t even remember”.

You find laps that sheltered you and the same bosoms nursed you, although he eats from the dish of lentils and what must be eaten unsalted.

Squandered. To veil the veiled. Who or what takes charge of what was never developed?

Death can’t hold the ghosts, of the living.

There are the pigeons, fluttering. End of the minute. Silence. Hundreds of pigeons fly at me, shit on you.

I don’t give
I ask him
like the lord

who has taken away
the lord has taken away

Who is a sea monster or a tempestuous ocean so that his storm may be a leviathan constrained by the tongue?

Spread out the umbilical skein. Seek the hollow in a needle’s head. Do you want me to sew it on for you? Stretch feet out on the bed. Sew it on to keep me company in the light, because I don’t need it in the dark. Sew up this unraveled sack for good. Exactly what it´s needed to play.

Everything at once, said Mozart, who one day heard the whole composition in a single line. Those who leave, we’re the eagle flying over the monolith.

CHILDHOOD IS SOMETHING ELSE.

a type of speech

MINUTIAE

One moment of silence.

They know nothing of the living.

Sipping
swallowing
licking

cup-fraction
where her lips
could
have left behind
a drop.

Arid on his crown, he picks up the brush with his guitar fingers. Blue now, the mane keeps growing, or could it be the skin drying out?

Horses
bulls and horses
the slaying lance.

Facing a drab mirror,
rub your eyes
like the squares of an empty market.

Without a wardrobe now,
You abandon that and all your other diplomas
backstage.

You weren´t crying about mother.
Were crying because can't get your shadow to stick on.
Anyway, you weren´t crying.
(Peter Pan, Act 1)

The lord has given, the Lord has taken away.

Lullaby: low, slow song for soothing to sleep. Adult: differential position / insomnia. Jasmine: in Sufi aromatherapy, a bond-strengthening essence. Creature: living thing / product: of man’s imagination, generally fantastical in nature.

“Where does this blooming come from?”

From time.

“No. From your need to relive what you don’t even remember”.

You find laps that sheltered you and the same bosoms nursed you, although he eats from the dish of lentils and what must be eaten unsalted.

There are the pigeons, fluttering. End of the minute. Silence. Hundreds of pigeons fly at me, shit on you.

Squandered. To veil the veiled. Who or what takes charge of what was never developed?

CHILDHOOD IS SOMETHING ELSE.

a type of speech

MINUTIAE

One moment of silence.

Everything at once, said Mozart, who one day heard the whole composition in a single line. Those who leave, we’re the eagle flying over the monolith.

You weren´t crying about mother.
Were crying because can't get your shadow to stick on.
Anyway, you weren´t crying.
(Peter Pan, Act 1)

The lord has given, the Lord has taken away.

Lullaby: low, slow song for soothing to sleep. Adult: differential position / insomnia. Jasmine: in Sufi aromatherapy, a bond-strengthening essence. Creature: living thing / product: of man’s imagination, generally fantastical in nature.

“Where does this blooming come from?”

From time.

“No. From your need to relive what you don’t even remember”.

You find laps that sheltered you and the same bosoms nursed you, although he eats from the dish of lentils and what must be eaten unsalted.

Squandered. To veil the veiled. Who or what takes charge of what was never developed?

Death can’t hold the ghosts, of the living.

Everything at once, said Mozart, who one day heard the whole composition in a single line. Those who leave, we’re the eagle flying over the monolith.

I don’t give
I ask him
like the lord

who has taken away
the lord has taken away

Arid on his crown, he picks up the brush with his guitar fingers. Blue now, the mane keeps growing, or could it be the skin drying out?

There are the pigeons, fluttering. End of the minute. Silence. Hundreds of pigeons fly at me, shit on you.

Who is a sea monster or a tempestuous ocean so that his storm may be a leviathan constrained by the tongue?

The lord has given, the Lord has taken away.

“Where does this blooming come from?”

From time.

“No. From your need to relive what you don’t even remember”.

Everything at once, said Mozart, who one day heard the whole composition in a single line. Those who leave, we’re the eagle flying over the monolith.

You find laps that sheltered you and the same bosoms nursed you, although he eats from the dish of lentils and what must be eaten unsalted.

There are the pigeons, fluttering. End of the minute. Silence. Hundreds of pigeons fly at me, shit on you.

You weren´t crying about mother.
Were crying because can't get your shadow to stick on.
Anyway, you weren´t crying.
(Peter Pan, Act 1)

Lullaby: low, slow song for soothing to sleep. Adult: differential position / insomnia. Jasmine: in Sufi aromatherapy, a bond-strengthening essence. Creature: living thing / product: of man’s imagination, generally fantastical in nature.

Squandered. To veil the veiled. Who or what takes charge of what was never developed?

CHILDHOOD IS SOMETHING ELSE.

a type of speech

MINUTIAE

Death can’t hold the ghosts, of the living.

I don’t give
I ask him
like the lord

who has taken away
the lord has taken away

Who is a sea monster or a tempestuous ocean so that his storm may be a leviathan constrained by the tongue?

One moment of silence.

Sara Camhaji

visualize the voice of thought.
think the image of the voice.
provoke destiny. play.
from chance, from the sigh.
understand the force that links
the image to the name.
the name is an image.
the image is a verb.
play. nothing is chance.
destiny is a game.
everything is destiny.

This site is part of the project "DON´T TAKE PHOTOS OF THE LANDSCAPE; TAKE PORTRAITS WITH THE VIEW OF THE BACKGROUND IF YOU LIKE", whose creative object revolves around the phenomenon of memory and its conceptual visualization. Thus, Sara explores the different languages on which the mind reloads its truth and the way it constructs our inner world.
About
SARA CAMHAJI (Mexico City, 1986) is a writer, teacher, and mother. Her work is a natural response to her lived experience and the emotional dimensions she has inhabited. She has told and written stories for her entire life. Poetry—the axis of her exploration—has prompted her to develop new discursive forms in close contact with inner human reality; wrenching, they open themselves to embodiment and appropriation. She has a master’s in creative writing, two children, and two published works: Maleza (Alboroto Ediciones, 2022) and this one. A selection of her poems appeared in the UNAM’s Periódico de Poesía. She received a grant from Asylum Arts in 2017 and was awarded the Peleh Fund arts residency in Berkeley, California, for 2023. Narrated poetry or poetic narrative? Sara writes in the voice of an archive with a voice of its own, like a thinking time machine, or from the dark sincerity of she-who-didn’t-know-she-had-to-live.
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