An Adventure To Egypt From The Comfort Of My Garden!

The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.” – W.B. Yeats

I trundled out of my house very early this morning on a dangerous assignment of which if I were to return half-complete I would automatically sign myself up to face the most barbaric humiliation dispensable in the Khatun household: Corporeal punishment involving the airstrike of neon flip-flops, launched by none other than from the militant hands of my chubby Amma dearest! I have reasonable cause to tremble because she never misses! Giggle, giggle!

So, what alarming jeopardy was I forced to consign myself to in those little hours of early morning? I am sure You must have figured it out by now, and if not, then it is obvious that You have not paid any attention to my stories so far! Boo-hoo! Alright, alright, I shall spit it out for You! Honestly! Mumsy sent me on a trip which began by her passing over into my hands a crinkly and creased piece of paper, as if it were an old person flattened into a sheet by a steamroller, and on it were a list of treasures of great importance, required for the survival and running of the house. Grub and cleaning products, were the primary candidates! I was forewarned that if I failed in the acquisition of at least one item on the inventory that my skin would know a new meaning to the rubbery smooches of flip-flops! Ouchy wouchy!

I squeezed my Amma tight and pecked a huge kiss on her cheek and, to be frank, hoped secretly in my heart that something on the shopping list would NOT be stacked on the shelves today so that I would be forced to return with one item less. You see, I think it awfully funny when she chases me round the house with the flip-flops, and recently she has begun doing it with more oomph, after I informed her that to be in a raging pursuit of her daughter was a phenomenal form of cardiovascular exercise which is productive advice since she is a bit – well quite a bit – tubby round the waist! Indeed, currently, I have observed that her movements are dedicatedly mimicking those of a fierce huntress that one might unwittingly stumble upon in the jungle! Major giggles!

 So I had a shopping trip on the cards. Where is the adventure, You ask?

To constrain the mind into believing that an adventure ought to be defined by the distance travelled is a naïve and inaccurate stereotype. To be an adventuress is to happily juggle the possibility, at all times, that something magical is fondly awaiting the senses, and that this thing yearns to be discovered for the very purpose of adding to the texture and breadth of one’s knowledge of the world. An adventure is a qualitative experience and should never be tied down by the dogmatic expectation that it must exude an air of cinematic romanticism, a species of travel potted with sizeable expanses of scary geographical crossings and close shaves with malignant villains.

It does not have to be so.

Anything and anywhere can make an adventurer out of You. It is essentially a frame of mind, one which regards itself as joyfully incomplete, a consciousness that reveres its uncharted waters and lands, only to be terraformed, part by part, as we commit to treating every moment as if it were pregnant with a new world. That is why I can sit by my desk, not move a single muscle, and expediently voyage around the day’s events to find that I had engaged in several adventures wherein exciting things were learnt or even unlearnt! Conversely, there are some people who will splash out thousands and thousands of pounds on, what are obviously at face value, remarkable trips, but they are not remotely close to being called as adventures, and that makes a difference when, one day, we come back to reflect upon them. In a trip You see, in an adventure You become.

I know that You are in a pretty sore muddle at the moment, writhing on the floor like a constipated grass snake, fruitlessly scrounging for the bridge of meaning between the intriguing presentation of my definition of adventure and, well, my Amma’s shopping list! Well, let me explain!

As soon as I opened my front door and my sneakers jumped out of the house my gut spiralled round as if there was a million studio lights hoisted up in there, summoning the fireflies out in a dance below them! When my tummy does that I know for certain that something profound and magical and worthy of being embodied into the archive of my storytelling is imminent. I just had to remember constantly that in all my feverish excitability I had to keep my grip on the shopping list and ensure that Colonel Amma’s wishes were met satisfactorily.

Our city centre is incredibly and conveniently dwarfish in size and thus I was quite quick in hopping from shop to shop and ticking off the boxes on her list. As I was approaching to the end of the list our local stationery shop hurled down an invisible barricade in front of me and my sneakers skidded to a halt! There was nothing on my list that should prompt me to enter, however, the fireflies in my gut were now dipping and diving in an elegant Viennese Waltz, which could only mean one thing. There was something awaiting my discovery in that shop and, though I would risk arriving home later than expected if I were to proceed and explore, if, on the other hand, I abstained from following my instincts I forfeited an evening of torturous imaginings and all of them would begin with ‘what if..’ Yikes!

I pushed open the heavy wooden doors and immediately got deliriously side-tracked by the stand on the left filled to the roof with chocolate – but let us save that adventure for another day! Giggle! A faceless murmur voiced me to walk over to the magazine section and so I did and paused when I got there, scanning the covers row by row in the expectation that one will grab my attention with as much pounding drama as would be the case if the media tomorrow caught the Queen blow out a blue bubblegum behind Prince Charles’ back! Cosmic creepers!

Nothing caught my eye. I felt glum and a little chafed by this sorry state of nothingness. I was poised to scud out of the door when from the corner of my eye I noticed that I had not inspected the bottom shelf of magazines. Was I bothered? Yes! The staccato of those elusive fireflies in my tummy were now in a dance whose wing flutters were as loud as a band of Taiko drummers! I bent down and there I saw a thick matted magazine called ‘Womankind’ whose cover was matted in an energetic collage of citrus hues, each piece containing images emblematic of the subject of Egyptology, and when I leant my eyes back I was besieged and beguiled by the totality of the composite. It was the bust of Nefertiti, the most bohemian and heretical queen ancient Egypt had ever known, flouting all rules of tradition to be true to herself and to her true love. A kindred spirit from over 3000 years ago in the past had wanted to see me, and I suppose, since I cannot travel to Berlin anytime soon, this was the next best thing that I had of seeing her! A mirror image!

But that is not where my expedition ends.

I hardly thumbed through the pages that I suddenly found myself at the counter and handing the lady the few pounds it was worth I rushed back home where I found Amma busy concocting lunch for the two of us. I placed all the shopping goods on the table, not the least bit mindful that I deserved to feel chuffed with myself that I had managed to successfully meet all my Amma’s demands! I was way too curious about my interesting find! Before I could open the magazine and explore in depth its contents Amma asked me if I could finish off some heavy-duty gardening jobs and I naturally said yes. I cut and collected the dried twigs and branches, trowelled through more plots, and scattered and mixed in natural fertilisers into the fruit and rose bushes. In the end I found that I had broken out into a commendable sweat and that my cardigan had a gaping hole from the thorn of a rose bush that showed just a little too much love for my clothes! After throwing the gardening gloves on top of the compost bag I offered to make Amma and myself some fresh mint tea using leaves from our own garden. It is always a most refreshing way to wrap up green-fingered jobs and I will even add to say that when I do drink the tea in front of my garden I feel that the garden is smiling back at me with maternal pride, for any mother would say that to milk its child is to let slip from memory the paradise of heaven.

I had put my cup down on the table and brushed the sweaty locks from my brow when my magazine heeded my attention. At last I would open it to where it wanted me to go. And I did.

One very trivial shopping list in the end became for me a magical map, and it had set me on course to discover this one page out of all the pages in a magazine whose theme was devoted to a time that I can almost touch, a tantalising membrane of memory. All that I had written of last night was beautifully crystallised in a quote gently spread out like a prized feather in the centre of a vastly white page. It was penned by the ever so talented poet, Mr W.B. Yeats. These were the introductory words You read at the top of this story. On the right, the jackal-headed Egyptian god of the afterlife, Anubis, is seen in side-profile and holding between his thumb and index finger a miniature model of one of the great pyramids of Giza, all the while the other two structures remain true to their original scale and were visible in the backdrop. Two heights symbolic of the two ways of seeing the world.

A shopping trip that conclusively became an adventure, for if it was not, than to what other category of experience can I possibly call this staggering vindication of all that which I penned last night. I end this story with my own quote:

Likewise, to forge recognition of the intimacy between myself and the natural bounty of my garden, I require to fine-tune my vision so that the closer-to-home things are brought into much sharper focus..” – Mazzy ♥♥♥ 

An Adventure To Egypt From The Comfort Of My Garden!

The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.” – W.B. Yeats

 

 

Photography & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | My Garden | Winchester | UK 2016   

 

I have Yet To Read Yours…

I have read enough books in my lifetime to be acutely aware of when what people write – in the structure of passages of prose, poems, captions and other narrative forms – are not their own, but rather have been lifted off from the works of others. As a Teacher I admire original thought since it is only in this kind of thinking that one will have crept out of their shell to cross the chasm of fears and risks, and unleash from within new things for which no map is competent enough to claim that it is already a charted expression. I penned a few WORDS tonight which You shall find below and they are especially relevant for a certain someone who still remains to this day enslaved by his own inner demons. Dear Majnun, pick up thy sword – thy pen – and write, write, write and permit a profundity of glorious amnesia to overcome You so that all that which has been written before no longer haunts the efforts of Your penmanship.

Dalliances with the oil of shadows does not befit You, my Love. The time has come for You to say farewell to the monstrosities of the past, and the shattered splinters of glass can make do their own. I cannot see Your face from where I am, but do not be lunged into woe, for that is how it always starts, this Eternal Story of You and I. Now, do not be afraid of me or what I am about to say. You see, I have begun to sense Your Soul has dared to desire Hope, to leap above the roars of ancient currents. There are flickers and sparks, colours uninvented, gyrating in Your heartbeat. Then I ask, my Love, what wolves are these that You run from in the night, that restrain You down to write only the Words of the Masters? Why self-condemn Yourself to the imprisoned paths of others? I have read them all before.

I have yet to read Yours… ♥♥♥

This LINK appeared as soon as I went online: https://www.facebook.com/brainpickings.mariapopova/photos/a.10150976245770745.420060.55555550744/10153375333250745/?type=3&theater

I Have Yet To Read Yours...

“… I have begun to sense Your Soul has dared to desire Hope, to leap above the roars of ancient currents. There are flickers and sparks, colours uninvented, gyrating in Your heartbeat…”

Image & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Winchester | UK 2016

My New Writing Journal Arrives!

Hurrah, hooray it is National Poetry Day on the tiny green isle of the UK
And buy did I my new journal today, to heal my Readers far faraway!

A deep, flaky, chocolate bark pushes out of a lush tropic-leafed carpet
Rain-kissed emerald cloud puffs out on top, freedom minus parapet
Bellbirds, Firebirds, Finches swoop-slide, heartbeats fast, bright colours a-smile
Hear Mother Earth sing, her zest of Life a phoenix dream to bedazzle, beguile
And creatures of this first morning brush, from every corner of this teeming paradise
Gather in shrilly party to Tree Of Knowledge, no Devil lurks here in coiling disguise
For we Poets pen our every word in honeyed-remembrance of Pure Spirit and God
Seek we do not fame or fortune, to give flight to Art is a prayer, an applaud

Hurrah, hooray it is National Poetry Day on the tiny green isle of the UK
And buy did I my new journal today, to heal my Readers far faraway… :)) :)) :))

“Hurrah, hooray it is National Poetry Day on the tiny green isle of the UK
And buy did I my new journal today, to heal my Readers far faraway…”

Photography & Poetry: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | My Home | Winchester | UK 2015

To Annette: A Bit Of Idol Worship!

I secured the vow to myself long ago that if the camera was indeed to be my accomplice in life, in tow with the pen, that I would deploy this magical piece of gizmo to celebrate the stories of the people who inhabit or, by happenstance, enter my universe. Never to promote or popularise my own face, in time my humble camera soon became the teacher of selfless action, a non-intrusive means to perform the spiritual exercise of abstaining from at least one of the indulgences of the ego. What followed was a double sense of blessing as it soon came upon me that I levitated with immeasurable joy whenever the opportunity arose to recite and archive, in pictures and words, the story of those dear to me, and, of course, not in any degree less so for those souls that, by fated force, crossed my path in the journey.

A most treasured, dearest friend and Fairy Godmother, Annette, is one such soul whom my camera has defiantly promised to always seek, for Annette is a goldmine for painting the sort of portraiture that overthrows the slightest slivers of despair or sadness away from the mind of the viewer. Annette never ceases to amaze me with her infectious sense of humour, firework charisma and incandescent optimism. In short, and to my pride and joy, she is my idol, a figure that awes and inspires and I pray that even when I reach her golden age I am able to carry that same magnitude of citrusy zest for life and share it with others, as she has done so for me.

If You ever feel the need to shake hands with the person responsible for putting the edge into my cheeky eccentricity and who sealed my Destiny as the 5ft 1 hobbitina that happily suffers from an irreversible bout of eternal optimism then, here is your saintly culprit: Ladies, Gentlemen and Children, please give a round of an applause to my Star Idol, Annette… :)) :)) :))


LINK TO PAST ARTICLE:
http://www.saatchiart.com/art/Photography-A-Portrait-Of-A-Star-Meet-My-Friend-Annette/511979/2051432/view

"... Annette never ceases to amaze me with her infectious sense of humour, firework charisma and incandescent optimism..."

“… Annette never ceases to amaze me with her infectious sense of humour, firework charisma and incandescent optimism…”

"... she is my idol, a figure that awes and inspires and I pray that even when I reach her golden age I am able to carry that same magnitude of citrusy zest for life and share it with others, as she has done so for me..."

“… she is my idol, a figure that awes and inspires and I pray that even when I reach her golden age I am able to carry that same magnitude of citrusy zest for life and share it with others, as she has done so for me…”

"... I secured the vow to myself long ago that if the camera was indeed to be my accomplice in life, in tow with the pen, that I would deploy this magical piece of gizmo to celebrate the stories of the people who inhabit or, by happenstance, enter my universe..."

“… I secured the vow to myself long ago that if the camera was indeed to be my accomplice in life, in tow with the pen, that I would deploy this magical piece of gizmo to celebrate the stories of the people who inhabit or, by happenstance, enter my universe…”

 

Photography & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Winchester | UK 2015

 

Your Adventuress Takes To The Open Roads, Distant Shores!

Ladies, Gentlemen & the unsung intelligentsia that ought to rule the world, the Children!

Much awaited but thankfully it has arrived at last, the time for me to once more take to the most cherished of pleasures in my buzzing repertoire of eccentric passions – YES, IT IS TIME FOR A GRAND ADVENTURE! Luckily I have a few moments to spare before I set off to acquaint myself with this new horizon never seen before, a whole land that to my eyes is sparkling with the intense curiosity of a library whose tales have long earnestly sought the arrival of my insatiable Vision! I am well and truly excited; travelling and the gift of the ability to share my pictorial stories with You afterwards is a fundamental root in the soil of my being, it feeds directly up into the contentment of my Soul. I am blessed to be a Storyteller and a more so, I am a thousand-fold blessed to know that You shall wait eagerly for my return. I shall be away for a while so if You do feel on the odd occasion that I must have completely forgotten my faithful Reader – YOU – than I request that You do not lose heart. I have quickly rustled up a remedial tactic that You can employ in such moments of miniature crisis! Giggle, giggle! Simply navigate to this page and take a look at my cheeky face – see, I have not forgotten You… :))

Look after Yourself, inspire a smile to those who need it & carry Hope in Your blazer pocket like an eternal season!
Your Hidden Amaranthine Gyspy Heart,
Mazzy x

These shabby shoes I wear, I stamp in, constellations burst-born of beloved mud
A camera whose Vision as like Veena, Orange rises, deep in the caverns of my blood
My pen I wield, a caped Arabian khanjar, though it draws not death but pours Life back in
I am the bird that swims, the fish that flies, my Soul is weaved of ageless skin
A gypsy bride of open roads, of shores and temples and myths yet to meet
O to rush into arms of fleshless winds, to have the Queen of Sun bless my heartbeat
And should I find You on such a road or on the bank of a distant shore
We can swap roles for a day, You take my pen and I, Your oar
These shabby shoes I wear, I stamp in, constellations burst-born of beloved mud
A camera whose Vision as like Veena, Orange rises, deep in the caverns of my blood…

EPILOGUE: Rafi Saab and I are very alike in this respect – his imagination permits him to ride his old garlic white ambassador car over the oceans as if it were a boat! Hurrah to the power of Orange Vision! Mazzy Chal O Mazzy Chal… :))

LINK: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nDkg6h3Ucxs

Your Adventuress Takes To The Open Roads, Distant Shores!

“… These shabby shoes I wear, I stamp in, constellations burst-born of beloved mud
A camera whose Vision as like Veena, Orange rises, deep in the caverns of my blood…”

Photography, Words, Poetry: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Winchester | UK 2015

 

Diaries Of An Island Girl: Your Seamstress Of The Seas

On the request of a very special Friend of mine I am re-posting this diary entry chronicling my adventure to an enchanting maritime kingdom, whose land was unfamiliar and new, and yet I fell into its arms with the readiness of a homeward pilgrim. I know YOU will shudder a smile as You open the Link below containing the latest post from the island: I had stood at this very playground, but tonight, a great spinning temple ringed in red has arisen, as if by Magic… :))

LINK: https://www.facebook.com/VisitTheNeedles/photos/a.1015665945151433.1073741908.172664322784937/1016709061713788/?type=1&theater

‘Lost – sorry – Lot’s Wife’
Mazzy x

I am the daughter of an island nation. The British isles may not have conjured into existence my ancestral line but she is my Mother nevertheless and I have become of the belief that it is her jagged hemline of rocky coasts reaching in every direction, ragingly glossed over by the force of the ocean’s voice in the form of tidal waves, that is the explanation behind why my heart is forever a magnet towards the kingdoms of the sea. Like a helpless silver fish that squirms and wriggles in the fisherman’s net in the futile attempt to free itself, I, too, cannot be landlocked for too long a time and must seek out the tasty alertness of salty air, the noisy shrills of wayward gulls, the avarice of wet sands and the mysterious plaits of algae before my soul succumbs to stagnation.  It is as though my spirit only agreed to occupy human form on the condition that in life it may seek out its borderless essence in the infinite watery mirrors of the seas.

The present photo-diary is but an abridged version of a recent expedition to an island off the coast of southern England. Famed for its boat building history, its fair pull of poets and writers, and the once location of Queen Victoria’s summer palace, the Isle of Wight is a diamond-shaped island that floats quite happily on Channel waters. The geographical signatures one is struck by immediately upon coming here are the sight of windswept majestic cliffs, some made of coarse stones whereas others are sandy and soft. They rise as far as the eye can see and, if you are observant enough, you might even be lucky enough to spot the fossilised remains of dinosaur bones, the island is an indisputable haven for budding palaeontologists!

The most famous landmark on the Isle of Wight and the first Susie, Agnes and myself were determined to venture towards is called ‘The Needles’. Situated on the western coast, these comprise of three pillars of chalk that defiantly rise out of the sea, not at all far from Alum Bay. There is an adorable Lighthouse on the outer end of the formation and I would have dearly loved to climb it and look out from its top window, pretending to guide the lost out at sea back to the comforting embrace of the shore. For those with an appetite for history, you may be intrigued to know that there is a fourth ‘needle’ called ‘Lot’s Wife’ but it collapsed in a ferocious storm in 1764. Ironically, it is this submerged rock that shares the strongest resemblance to a needle rather than the three that are visible to the eye. Lot, himself, is a biblical figure, cited in both Christianity and Islam, venerated as a prophet and messenger of God.

As I silently stood on the edge of the grassy hill overlooking The Needles I felt as though I had come one step closer to solving the mystery of why my heart was so persistently drawn to the abstruse beauty of the sea. Is there a needle out there, below the hidden blue depths that once belonged to me, whose powers are pen-like and curative? And then it came to me, in slow hushes, in sweet trickles, the memory that indeed such a magical needle was mine and that no matter where I found myself in the world I, the Seamstress of the people, could always entrust Mother Nature to hear my prayers and awaken life into my needle, letting it twirl and stitch and send off gifts to those for whom a smile is a treasure long-awaited…  :))

Diaries Of An Island Girl: Your Seamstress Of The Seas

“… I, the Seamstress of the people, could always entrust Mother Nature to hear my prayers and awaken life into my needle, letting it twirl and stitch and send off gifts to those for whom a smile is a treasure long-awaited… “

 

Photography & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | The Needles | Isle Of Wight 2015

My Warrior Of Light

The One whom my soul longs for, my worship a river’s fixedness towards his sea
Is not a master of muscles famed for his figure, obsessed with Vitamins A to D
It is his heart that I am in Love with, fearless as the swordsman of my photograph
In adversity’s maw and the chaos of the world, he braves forward, brazen and tough
A Lionheart strong and tender, think not he is a dweller of fantasy, afraid of stage-fright
A Noor to equal mine, peak song of transcendence, O my Warrior of Light…

EPILOGUE: Hats off to the spooky but deliciously felicitous timing of Facebook’s posting behaviour because I have just stumbled on Britain’s most famous comedic treasure, the lovable rogue and rascal of the streets, whose heart always gleamed of the purest gold, I am proud to give You, ‘Del Boy’! In his trademark silly baker boy hat, yukky faux pas and bright red turtle-neck jumper, sporting one of my incense sticks – I hope, the chap notoriously associated with countless accounts of rib-tickling antics, says it best. I’ll let You discover his quote for Yourself. Dare to face me? Giggle, giggle, toes a-wiggle… :))

LINK:  https://www.facebook.com/onlyfoolsandhorses/photos/a.265909810146284.62761.183903635013569/896267390443853/?type=1&theater

My Warrior Of Light

“… A Lionheart strong and tender, think not he is a dweller of fantasy, afraid of stage-fright
A Noor to equal mine, peak song of transcendence, O my Warrior of Light… “

Photography & Poetry: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Winchester | UK 2015

The Heart Of My Father

After lengthy time spent outdoors completing various errands for the household, which took me longer than expected for the simple fact that the small community of my town means that it is certain that you are bound to meet a friendly face along the way for a cheeky slice of chat and giggles, I returned home and decided to take a relaxing stroll through the garden. The summer rains had unleashed a sweet potion of crystal waters on the heads of every flower and leaf that I could not resist to rush back into the house and grab my trusty electronic companion, Lumiere. I could actually hear him pleading me that he wanted to be of service so that the two of us could disperse out to the world the beauty that surrounded my Home. I am sure it will reach You and become the inspiration of the story behind the smile You are smiling right now… :))

I present to you a cheerful red lady growing on one of our fruit trees. It was planted by my Abba (Father) about five years ago. He was always the maverick when it came to the craft of gardening, ambition often overriding realism that once he even dared to plant a mango tree in front of an audience of myself and my Amma (Mother), both of us nodding our heads in frenzied dismay, knowing fully well that it would never grow. Cynicism was not in his dictionary. He marched on ahead! That tree did not quite make it, but this one did. The juices of the sky desperately cling on to body of the fruit, juice seeking juice, juice seeking the Unknown. My dear Abba, I write about you even to this day  – what greater testimonial do I need for believing that the Soul never dies…

EPILGOUE: My mate Sara, a professional photographer, recently scooted off for a wedding shoot. When I landed on this dreamy photograph today I laughed fondly, the words on the glasses perfectly captured the relationship that had existed between my parents! I have good reason to conjecture that YOU, in particular, will be warmly satisfied by this image! You’ll know why when You read the WORDS. Giggle, giggle… :))

LINK: https://www.facebook.com/saramerrimanphotography/photos/a.853800378049885.1073741828.853077824788807/853800424716547/?type=1&theater

The Heart Of My Father

“… The juices of the sky desperately cling on to body of the fruit, juice seeking juice, juice seeking the Unknown…”

Photography & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Winchester | UK 2015

School Is Out!

Before he whizzed out of class a portrait did I snap up of the ever determined Mr Footie
Victoriously passing all tests I fanned at him, unquestionably he deserves a cookie
Which I did bestow on him and on all my other stellar Special Ed chaps
And to You, my admirable reader, I implore You dish out the jubilant claps!
What You may not have gathered was the risky business of taking this shot
For I am 5ft 1 and Mr Footie is 7ft – as tall as the mast of a yacht!
So how did I achieve this eye-to-eye composition You annoyingly ask me?
To answer You must release the flotsam of the mind’s conventional debris
I am a Red Fairy of Bengal, born with wings that flutter stardust
They heave me towards the blue sky, farewell to the earth’s crust!
When gifts of this unorthodox kind are under one’s sleeves
No height is unconquerable, I can float above tree leaves
Oh, and like all my portrait offerings I am present in the frame
Invisible to the eye but as luminescent as a flamenco flame
I live in the faces of those that I admire most in my life’s story
Gaze thoughtfully and You shall see my echo, ‘tis really no mystery!
Backdrop of emerald greens, a twinkle in the eye, warm honey smile poised to the left side
Via the conduit of my student I send You a comforting glance – Love from Your guiding Bride…

BREAKING NEWS – BREAKING NEWS – BREAKING NEWS: C-A-T me if You can! Well, the peeping cats at Lick Observatory will join alliance with the just announced Breakthrough Listen Project, a revitalization of the scientific study and search for intelligent life in the Universe! The pursuit of the Unseen – I would imagine You are already underway with Your own version of this project… :))

LINK:  http://astronomynow.com/2015/07/21/lick-observatory-joins-search-for-intelligent-life-in-the-universe/

School Is Out!

“… Backdrop of emerald greens, a twinkle in the eye, warm honey smile poised to the left side
Via the conduit of my student I send You a comforting glance – Love from Your guiding bride… “

Photography & Poem: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Winchester | UK 2015

A Painting Of Our Class: Miss Garlic, Mr Garlic And Seven Naughty Ones!

Imagination knows no limits with this adorable student of mine
By heart she can recite the songs of Disney’s ‘Frozen’ line by line!
In our Special Ed class, on the last day of college, she set diligently to task
Breathing animation on paper, a portrait of paints: our faces in mask
We all grow out from green grass as like the pure bodies of garlic, a smiling army
Included in the frame is Miss Garlic – and that of course would be me!
My student, cheeky as she is, drew in a Mr Garlic, my Love yet to materialise
And loyally in suit follow seven little naughty ones, You do realise
That they refer to the students although I predict Mr Garlic would interpret differently
Wishing me to be mother to his seven children unconditionally!
What an incorrigible rascal my husband is! What a crook, what a fool!
Yet in this humble heart of mine he kisses the walls of my throbbing school
Ah, one last thing before I scoot, the wave of blue in the sky is not what you think
Rather, proof repeats again that our Destinies are irrefutably in sync:
It is the flutter of a deep blue cape belonging to the real Mr Garlic who is out somewhere
And that is why next to my adorable student I have left him an empty chair… :))

BREAKING NEWS – BREAKING NEWS – BREAKING NEWS: My preeminent and artistic student described in the aforementioned poem and shown below displays a penchant for applying the white canvas to a constructive LOAD of colours. The final effect is a pleasure to the eyes, I am sure you will agree on this. I regret to inform everyone that the same cannot be said about Mr Garlic, my imaginary husband, who seems to have picked up a very unhealthy habit of UPLOADING socks into the washing machine and, worse still, singing about them in the most dreadfully out-of-pitch voice! Dear Garlic ji, I know Your heart is white and so You wish to see the same degree of cleanliness in Your apparel but, honestly, leave the socks to me! Giggle, giggle… :))

LINK: https://www.facebook.com/zoomtv/photos/a.10152176046864123.1073741862.81147439122/10153400984839123/?type=1&theater

A Painting Of Our Class: Miss Garlic, Mr Garlic And Seven Naughty Ones!

“… We all grow out from green grass as like the pure bodies of garlic, a smiling army
Included in the frame is Miss Garlic – and that of course would be me…”

Photography & Poem: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Winchester | UK 2015