Between heavy walls,the sky slips in like a forgotten memory,and birds carve freedomonto the fragile glass of time. A wanderer of shadows drifts,half-silhouette, half-echo,a traveler between worldsdrawn by the promise of flight. An airplane etches in the airthe geometry of modern escape,yet the true pathis known only to wings.
[ A conceptual fiction with dystopian undertones and a sci-fi tone ] The building had no windows. Only vertical lines of gray metal, like bars between worlds. At the top, the orange insignia loomed like a seal, not of a company, but of a pact. The name no longer mattered. No one spoke it. It was known simply as: The Corporation. It was said the door below had never opened. And yet, people vanished. Sometimes a clerk, sometimes an architect, […]
Between two silences made of stone,a path winds gently, without haste.It is neither wide, nor straight,yet it seems to know where it is going. Windows stare into emptiness,doors remain closed with unfinished stories,corners where time hesitates,like a breath held too long. And still, there,where the world narrows into shadow,a single lamp remains lit.Not for light,but as a sign that something else may exist. Perhaps a way out,perhaps a memory from a lifewhere paths led nowherebut every step was real. And […]
The silence is thick, not from absence but from reverence.Candles flicker like hesitant thoughts, unsure whether to burn or to retreat.The walls breathe centuries of longing, and still the air holds something fragile, unspoken. There, behind the colored glass, a soul rests. Not quite kneeling, not quite rising.Only listening.To the echo of rituals, to the shadows of dogma,to the idea that peace might live only within these carved and holy confines. But somewhere, a thread of light pierces through.And in […]
What we see is not just torn fabric — it is a wound.A scar not hidden, but held up to light.A failed stitch, not from negligence, but from repetition — the kind that history imposes. Ghanaian artist Ibrahim Mahama gathers these burlap sacks from across local markets and ports — surfaces once handled by countless, nameless hands moving cocoa, coal, and coffee. They carry the dust of labor, the ink of transactions, the breath of systems designed to forget those […]
Sometimes, life feels like an empty room where climbing, waiting, or simply hesitating are equally valid.Before every step, a stair appears. Before every thought, a bench. Most of the time, we choose without knowing whether we are ascending toward something — or merely moving away from something else.Each step is a question.Each pause, a quieter one. And then there’s the choice to sit.To go nowhere.To watch, silently, as the light spills through the window and sketches out possibilities we’ll never […]
It was one of those days when the city seemed to hold its breath. Buildings spoke in shadows, shop windows in reflections, and people passed by the details as if they didn’t belong to them. I wandered without purpose, guided only by light and contrast — a half-open window, a forgotten chain, a sign sliced by shadow, a cartoon face watching silently from a hotel wall. Everything felt suspended in a strange order, like a stage set perfectly — just […]
Sometimes I imagine my thoughts like this: slender wires drawn by a will I cannot fully grasp, yet unmistakably feel. They do not seek order, but a kind of truth. They bend, intersect, spiral gently, as if trying to remember something beyond the reach of time. Perhaps they are not merely thoughts. Perhaps they are the traces of our relationships, the lives we’ve brushed against in passing, the people who have shaped us unknowingly. Maybe each wire is an unfinished […]