In The Realm of Decay 1

POSTED IN Fine Art Photography December 6, 2012

It was a part of 2011 Contact Photography Festival at Toronto, The largest photography event in the world.
www.scotiabankcontactphoto.com

This Project inspired by the poem of Forough Farokhzad, The Lagon

 

The Lagoon

The night went black and grew diseased Insomnia took over, the eyes were seized The eyes, alas, that never cease to see That know, alas, no other way to be

He came to me and found a field of death
Found me waiting, an old and longheld breath
He saw that wasteland and my isolation
And my moon of cardboard, my cardboard sun
An aged fetus struggling with the womb
Its nails clawing at the walls of its womb
Alive, yet yearning to be born from her
Dead, the deathwish living still in her
Selfish with the pain of the self-denier
Worn out struggling against sleep’s barrier
My laughter saddened by futility
My shame at such a futile chastity
Exiled because I gave my heart to love
Death’s strong passions embracing my love
I never quit my roof to claim my right
And watched my execution from that height
An earthworm burrowing in musty ground
Her kites in purest heaven sailing round
Half of her secret, from herself hidden
And ashamed of his face, simply human
Yet addicted to the scent of her mate
From street to street she runs, hunting her mate
Sometimes finding him, but doubting its he
Her mate, someone lonelier yet than she
Both trembling and fearful of each other
Ungrateful, bittertongued to each other
Their love a madness that must be condemned
Their union a suspect dream that must end
O if my path to the sea might be found
I’d never be fearful that I’d he drowned
When the lagoon’s water has lost its flow
It goes stale, stagnating and sinking low
Its soul becomes the empire of decay
Its depths a tomb where fish decay
Deer, O deer browsing free in the field
If, near crossroads that wildflowers conceal
You sometimes find a singing rivulet
That meanders towards the sea’s violet
She’s riding the chariot of her flood
She’s flowing like silk on the moving flood
Fingers laced in the mane of the wind’s horse
The red soul of the moon trailing her course
Parting grassy green thighs in acquiescence
Stealing from bushes their virgin fragrance
Overhead, as in each bubble’s reflection
The unexhausted image of the sun
Remember that sleep of the sleepless one
Remember that dying in the lagoon

By: Forough Farokhzad

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