The Art of Waiting by Maria Fokas
A hush beneath the sea, whispers into each string of night; precisely, and endlessly. Dreams bend back on themselves, like fragile circles hoping to be traced. Where the two ends meet, the dream is nurtured; where the two ends part, the taste of sweet love remains – Each of the two circles is true; but the truths are not the same.
And as the night wakes, our sun disappears beneath the earth; once more, no rest in waiting. The sea turns from deep blue to bright red; reaching words from land to land; and on the twelfth day the waiting will end.
I hear the whisper in your poetry; I hear the beating of your heart in your dreams. But there is no suffering – a struggle inside the pages of loyalty; voices that yearn for freedom is an honorable way to live; turning the hour-glass by day, and by night. I wait for the nine lines of a sacred cite to speak those same words of freedom.
© Maria Fokas 2015/All Rights Reserved – Photography by Martin Hanley/2015