El Arcoíris

 

Rojo - los labios de esos niños que ayer robaron las cerezas. 

Naranja, el amanecer de mis mañanas soñolientas.

Amarillo - la hoja que encontré corriendo con la lluvia

Verde son las briznas de hierba y los ojos de mi hija

Azul es el retrato tuyo que nunca tomé, pero lo recuerdo cada día

Índigo las noches desiertas, 

Violeta es el color

del dolor.



The Bird Fairy

 

She spent all night talking to the bird. “You’ll see: one day your wings will take you high up to the skies. And then you’ll never be afraid again. She told her about her own wings: once upon a time she was the tiniest fairy in Fairy Land. She spent years wishing for her special power to reveal itself - until one stormy day. The sun was just coming back and she was watching it shine through the leaves of the gum tree she was under. “- I wish I could have wings like that” she thought.

“- I’ll make your wings” – said a young sapling next to her. And ever since then, she never stopped flying. She finally found her special power and she was roaming, setting all the birds free. The little white bird said nothing. Her plastic blue wings were sad and listless. But she had the most amazing song. The fairy shook her head. She was too young; she didn’t know yet that some birds have never known freedom outside their cages. She cast a spell and set the toy bird free. After all, she was the Bird Fairy.

Traces of Green

Come closer. Lay your head. Now close your eyes. And listen:
These are the stories that you will tell when it's your time. 
Traces of green embedding winter's slow, hushed whispers 
And memories of amber skies in prime.

There's so much movement in this silence
And so much love lies in this solitude - just like a spell.
Listen: there is a tale in every fragrance; 
These echoes are the stories you must tell. 

Look past the end of rainbows and forgotten sorrows;
Feel all these blades of grass pushing your palm, 
And find the stories born from the despair of no tomorrows,
In all these hidden storms that live within the calm. 

On 105

For the uninitiated, 105mm is the focal length of a macro lens. It is a lens that I absolutely love using to collect a few shapes and colours impressions.
While I had a bit of fun playing with movie maker, I am also slowly working on building up an images portfolio based on my eternal search, trying to better understand Synaesthesia.

Blanc

"Blanc" is about being blanc-minded, when you just want to let your senses make whatever they feel out of a particular moment in time, without you putting any cognitive effort into it. It's about detaching yourself from anything negative, about finding the love within.

First try at doing a slide show in a long, long while. It can do with some improvements but overall I have enjoyed working on this little project. If you know me personally, then you probably know how passionate I am about Synaesthesia and how much I love combining images, words and sounds.

The Promise

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It's going to be a long, stiff climb;
So you better steel yourself ahead.
Some days, we'll run against the time
Some others, our limbs will turn to lead.

Some days you'll feel as strong as ever.
Some days you will be weak and shaking;
Some others we will be silent and demur
Some days we'll look at all the dreams that you were making;
Some others, you will loose it in the dreamland
And I'll be right along to hold your hand.

Some days you'll hate the sight of me and everything on earth.
Some others, you'll enjoy my hand on yours.
There will be days of long despair - unsaid, unheard.
Days of evading on cooler, misty shores
And others of high hopes and endless hours.
For now, just take my hand and dream of Autumn colours.

 

 

 

The rain

It feels like we have lived through thousand kinds of summer
Searching for words of truth where there were none.
'Been craving for a shelter in some thoughts of wonder
But where there's shelter, there's no room for sun.

'Been waiting for that rain since thousand seasons;
This falling rain kissing my salty lips
I craved its frozen blues since eons.
But nothing good comes out of howling winds.

Untitled

This Paradise is broken
So we’ll invent a new one
This time we have to be careful who populates it
Or we’ll end up again
With guns - left, right and centre.

Not Enough

We have too much of everything:
Too much food to throw because it's past due date;
Too many cars dotting the roads,
Too many Winters and not enough Sun.
Too many wars decided by fate
And not enough trees.

Too many lumps of coal, too much smoke
Too many books, too many hours to work
Too many worries,
Too much money to waste
On too many illusions
But not enough peace,
Not enough love.