|Original image by Herz Albanki|
The land recedes. The earth’s mostly water.
Non-potable. Saline. Right now - serene.
So are humans - mostly made of liquid,
bubbles of fluid enclosed in a skin -
takes some time to figure what waters mean.
All lands recede. Winter days are shorter.
And the pandemic has emptied them clean.
A single parasol stands out vivid,
the boat’s moored, but ready to loosen,
to draw away through the ultramarine,
draw to the dock. Maybe less off the grid.
But home, when it gets there, feels too foreign -
the streetscapes changed, the city lights too lurid.
Takes time to see what home and moorings mean.
I visited a (socially distant) photography exhibition recently, where three Bahraini photographer-artists were exhibiting their work - a great way to start off 2021, though now it seems to have lapsed back into 2020 mode again. Anyways.
This image by Herz Albanki, a well known photographer-artist who exhibits regularly in Bahrain and internationally, prodded the above verse. Herz has been my art partner for the BWC annual exhibition Confluence all through, I've been majorly privileged to work with his images as prompts for my poetry there. His work always inspires, there is a 'certain slant of light' to his photography that just makes the words pour out! He showcases the land and seascapes of Bahrain, its working population, its flora and fauna in all their profound ordinariness and diverse magnificence. This particular artwork is called 'Jarada Island.' Bahrain is an archipelago of mostly natural and a few manmade islands. Isn't the planet beautiful?