Nausher Nash Banaji Photography

We set a mark on the foreheads of men that sigh
Fill their hands with coals of fire
And scatter their ashes over the city
The burden of beasts plow into the land of trouble
And they pollute it with rumor
Rumor upon rumor
Every man entombed alive in the chambers of his imagery
Each day his scripture is fulfilled in his eyes
But no prophet is accepted in his own country
On earth he straddles heaven and hell
He walks on water with an eye on the hill
Building his memories on shifting sand
He looks back to see an arid land
Waiting for the train he lies awake in bed
Dreaming of the dreams to bring back the dead
– Nausher Nash Banaji

"And when wind and winter harden / All the loveless land, / It will whisper of the garden, / You will understand"

"I was searching for the keys
all these years
but the door was always open."

"Sometimes I think the loneliness inside of me is going to explode through my skin and sometimes I’m not sure if crying or screaming or laughing through the hysteria will solve anything at all. Sometimes I’m so desperate to touch, to be touched, to feel, that I’m almost certain I’m going to fall off a cliff in an alternate universe where no one will ever be able to find me."

Tahereh Mafi

Tell me
Where am I
If not silvered
my world to moth-light
flutter of our delicate selves
in a provocative trance
of ecstasies

© m.c. 2011

I worship at the alter of beauty
The skin of the beautiful or the stones of god
I was set free the moment i realized
Reality doesn't interest me. N

Your eyes see your own reflection
Ears listen for the sound of your echo
One built up a wall
The other fortified it with mortar
And yet the wind comes and the wall falls
Scatters the gravel away
Like white memories on dark days
They escape from one fire
But another devours them
Here you are on the blue mountain
Halfway up, halfway down
Stranded and exiled, looking out to sea
Holding onto misplaced gods
And what you might have been- Nausher Nash Banaji

Tell me
Where am I

...If not in a choral
Of buoyant reflections
A supple fragrance
Of time and not yet time
that lifts the weight of here...

© m.c. 2011