In 158 Words: I Can Fix That…

Old photographs embroidered in threads of new words and whose count equals to my height measurement in centimetres… ~ ~ ~ 

A few nights ago I dreamt of music. In an ordinary doorway I was stood looking down a vast corridor cast in amber hues and pervaded throughout was the vivid sense that here was my Autumn evening. Then, the silence was gone. A wave of velvet yearning carried on the soft plumes of the air, his beautiful Voice touched my skin. It was the call to prayer, and its words had not changed since the birth of stars. The chest of the mysterious muezzin contained a heart that was broken and thus his notes quivered and his throat was as dry as the dead grains of the desert. Fearlessly, I walked towards him and though I could not see his face, the robin-red ripples born out of his melody was no stranger to my Soul.  My arms crossed over my own chest, I carried two books for him so that he may believe in Good Magic once again… ♥♥♥

Once Upon A Time – Well, 30 Years Ago To Be Precise!

“… Shreds, rips and tears in the fabric of space-time are not in the remit of my resolving powers – so sorry to disappoint You my beloved reader! – however Abba’s “Miss Universe” always took comfort in the knowledge that she’d be a dab hand with the good old Sellotape…”


Please click on this link to view second book: 

http://www.birminghammuseums.org.uk/bmag/whats-on/birmingham-qur-an 

 

Photograph Originally Posted In: ‘Once Upon A Time – Well, 30 Years Ago To Be Precise!‘ | © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | UK 2016        
Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | UK 2016

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Sue’s Gift: When Shadow Seeds Became A Red Flower

I shan’t attempt at concealment but acknowledge wholeheartedly to You that today someone was ever so close to pushing me towards the edge from which anyone would shed tears of breathless joy, and to make things even more awkward it happened whilst I was working. I was certainly not expecting that a gift so profound and unthinkably deep so as to strum my very heartstrings was to make its way to me. I felt as if my Almighty had put his fatherly arms around my little shoulders, reassuring into my ear, “My Daughter, you spoke of your shadow seeds to the world, not caring for how they would come to see you, let Me now gift you with the very treasure that you have sought to return to the world…” Indeed, my stubby and hobbity garden fingers, even as I am typing these words onto the screen, tremble with balletic gratitude for Destiny exuding once more a sign of its alliance with my objective to inspire people to re-embrace the power of the book.

Ah, yes, You are lost! Please permit me to start from the beginning because that is always a good place from which to begin! Giggle, giggle!

Sue is a lady approaching her 70th birthday. An artist, designer, poet and writer, I am not Sue’s teacher, though it must be said that in light of her abundance of life wisdom and her constant desire to help others to come to realise what their purpose is to be on this earth makes her meet my criteria of what a good teacher ought to be. An orphan who was lucky enough to be raised by loving and supportive parents, Sue grew up in a family environment that held an unshakeable commitment to encouraging the little girl to flourish in whatever field she wished to make a niche in. Alas, in her teenage years a serious illness thwarted her education and many years were lost to ensuring that her health returned to normal. Her darkest and most shadowy of years was also the very period in her life that the clarity of her Destiny became more lucid than ever before, she knew that her path was one of constant expression as an Artist and to use that gift as a basis from which to support and inspire others. There was a sure and uncanny resemblance between Sue’s timeline and my own. We were both children who had at one time harboured shadow seeds in our soul, but never did we accept defeat by its overwhelming and heinous desire to obscure.

We did not strive for Light. We sought to be the Light.

Sue was a complete stranger to me – a bit like our dear Lata ji – and she would come into the shop now and again, where I do extra shifts in the weekends to help my family out, and I would always make time for her, listening to her speak about her latest writing assignment or craft project. A lady of a multitude of talents, it was not so much her technical proficiency that had me absorbed, but the warmth in her storytelling aspect. She seemed to be not speaking words, what I heard was more like the rays of the sun and somehow they had found a way to be spoken through the lips of a human being. An extraordinary lady, I was always humbled in her presence and if only I was not working I would have requested that she sit down and that I make her a cup of tea so that together we could share in the beautiful joy of learning about the stories that made us who we are today.

On Friday she came into the shop for the first time in the new year, and we immediately fell into a chirpy chat about my teaching and photography and writing.

She touched my arm and said with the sweetest of whispers, “Mazzy, it is so wonderful to meet someone on the same wavelength, the world is going so fast but you make me happy. I am going to bring something for you tomorrow, a present and I want you to have it”.

I smiled and rubbed her arm and said that was not necessary and that to see her, every now and again, was enough for me.

No, I insist!” Sue was solidly fixed in her intentions.

Admittedly, I was curious as to what she had in store for me. We exchanged farewells and setting head to one side, like You do when You fondly admire something that deserves utter reverence, I thanked my Almighty for sending onto my path another angel in the guise of a human.

And it was today, whilst in the hive of activity of work that Sue appeared out of the blue and from her Mary Poppins bag she pulled out a white envelope studded with silver stars.

Sue, what is this, my lovely?” My breath hung between two heartbeats and already I could sense what the package contained. I could feel tears welling up, but I did everything I could to hold them back.

Mazzy, you are wonderful lady and it is always a great pleasure to speak to you. You make me feel good about myself. This is for you…” Sue opened the envelope and out came a book, a modest and yet beautiful piece of art, filled with pages and pages of poetry that she had penned during the years she nurtured her shadow seeds. The words were not pretentious or showy or fanciful, they were instead simple and bold and, most importantly, honest. When I turned to look at the back cover I was greeted with a stunning botanical drawing of a deep red flower composed by Sue herself, I shall let the photograph below speak for itself! Sue does not exist in the virtual world and her work, like my own, was not meant for fame or fortune, nor was it designed for accruing ‘Likes’ or praising comments. She, like I, sought to be Light and that implies shining our words out to the world, never ever asking for anything in return. Tell me, my dear reader, has the sunshine that basks your face in its amber brine ever demand that You return its Light back to them? No. We Artists are of the same ilk. Ours is a choppy sea, a pot-holed path, a steep ascent and a dark cave but we always find a way to work with it so to distil the essence of Light.

Sue, I have no words left in me. You should not have to do this. I am truly humbled.” I closed my eyes and told myself not to cry, not here and not now.

Mazzy, it is for you. You were meant to have it. It is my legacy to you. Pass on the message.” I could not tell if it was Sue or God smiling. They were indistinguishable to me.

I grabbed her and kissed her cheek. She hugged me with maternal tenderness, priceless and divine and to say anymore would be a futile exercise in attempting to capture the sanctity of Life itself. I am only a small hobbit in a chaotic world, yet Sue seemed to know something about me that even I had not yet allowed myself to see. She had that special knowing look about her, and as we were about to go our separate ways I promised that I would send her a letter of thanks after I had finished reading her gift. She grinned. I think she knew I would do something as old-fashion and sincere as like that in order to express my gratitude! Great minds think alike, right?

I thanked her profusely and told her that I would share her extraordinary story with other people. It was the least that I could do for this amazing lady, and as a Storyteller myself, the necessity to recite the goodness of a good soul is always a moral imperative.

Bye bye, Sue! Come and visit me soon, my lovely!” Waving our farewells, I turned and walked to my colleagues where I excitedly spilled the story out to them with enough cheer and energy in my voice as to lift a hot-air balloon off the ground! A rare and special book had entered my orbit today – ah, how wondrous this thing called Destiny!

I am sat on my bed as I come to closing these words for the night before re-joining my family downstairs again, however on my bookshelf I am drawn to the sight of the Holy Koran and its verdant emerald green cover, for it glows at me with the sheen of satin grass and I hear my Almighty as clear and syrupy as the robin’s song at dawn, “My Daughter, now you have two of me…♥♥♥

Sue's Gift

“… Mazzy, it is for you. You were meant to have it. It is my legacy to you. Pass on the message…”

 

Sue's Gift

“… Shadow seeds can grow to become deep red autumn flowers…” 

Photography & 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

 

Trésors Du Louvre: Une Histoire D’Amour Echo (Treasures Of The Louvre: A Love Story Echoed)

Diary 9: Trésors Du Louvre: Une Histoire D’Amour Echo (Treasures Of The Louvre: A Love Story Echoed)

I am as comfortable in the chambers of museums as I am so in my own home, these magnificent kingdoms of treasures for the intellect, heart and soul remedy my thirst to be enlightened by the worlds of the past but in doing so they invariably strike new lines of enquiry and thus I relish, as opposed to writhe, at the prospect that I shall never know everything there is to know because I am a creature of endless questioning.  So sorry to be a pain!

It would have registered as a gross misconduct of epic proportions had I not compiled a series of photographic tales pertaining to the world’s largest and most visited museum, The Louvre. I have picked up the rather mind-boggling fact that if anyone were to be mad enough to methodically analyse each artefact in its impressive collections it would take approximately 9 months to scale the entire lot! I actually would fancy myself having such a job although I suppose my absence from the classroom would not be tolerated and I can imagine demonstrations of student protests for my return, consequently driving the Principle bonkers and eventually leading to the demise of the reputation for which my college is known! Yikes!

Once an established fortress in the 12th Century, whose crypts are remarkably still in existence below ground level and which I explored with glee, later reincarnated its purpose as royal palaces, residence of some rather decadent French royals until a little something called the French Revolution came along and the entire colossal expanse of the premises was transformed into a public museum, decreed as a centre of excellence and prestige for the gathering of artefacts that were to be on presentation for the betterment of public knowledge. And that is why I have managed to bring You some choice nuggets – not literally of course! – from my visitation, otherwise had Louis XVI still been on the throne You might have seen my defeated face on the gallows! Yikes again!

Before You get all excited I should like to inform You at the outset that I HAVE taken a photograph of the Mona Lisa HOWEVER I am disinclined to reveal it to You because after personally viewing it myself I am extremely of the position that it is imbued with such inexplicable mystery and magic that, for those who have not observed her in person, must do so in their lifetime. My photograph of it hardly does any justice to De Vinci’s masterpiece and since he is a fellow polymath I shall honour furthermore and state that to experience the notoriously elusive Mona Lisa smile You must pay her a visit Yourself! Giggle, giggle!

But, there were some other world famous artefacts that I was drawn to even more and whose photo diary I shall impart to You because encoded in their art are the compelling bridges that link You and I. Today, I present to You my personal favourite, The Winged Victory of Samothrace, a 2nd Century Greek marble sculpture of moonshine quality depicting the Goddess Nike which translates as Victory. Built not only in her honour but to commemorate a naval victory over a battle that occurred on sea, she stands tall, adorned in flowing drapery kissed by her beloved sea breezes, her wings outstretched but her feet touching ground, suggesting that the artist intended the viewer to form the impression that she was descending onto the prow of the winning ship. I do wonder if that ship was entitled ‘Win-chester’? Oh so sorry for the mild deviation!

It never once lessened the powerful impact the statue had on the senses despite it missing a head and both arms. The anonymity only served to cast an aura of universalism and the unperceivable mystery of the Divine. It is believed that her right arm was raised, cupped around her mouth as she shouted “Victory!” to her fleet.  The tip of her ring finger has been discovered and is located next to the statue. I was in wordless awe at how something so physically incomplete, missing the parts we associate with the movement of Life itself, was complete in perfection and beauty and in the conveyance of its authenticity of triumph and joy. Pieces missing and yet everything fell into place, I looked up at Nike and felt one more mirror had been placed in front of me, she and I were in the same boat.

Millions of tourists had gathered close to her with their weaponry, their selfie-sticks, risking their lives so it seemed just so that they can acquire that prized photograph of their face next to Nike. It was impossible for me to capture anything in that hive of crowds and my limited focal distance on Laika implied that a tactical zoom shot was out of the question. Yet, the lightbulb is always switched on above my head and very rapidly a new idea gave rise. I would move away, as faraway as possible from the bustling crowd and see what gifts of sight would proffer onto my lap.

Skipping behind everyone and climbing up the stairs I re-orientated my eyes at Nike and….. BEHOLD, I saw her, for the first time, in a completely different light because she no longer appeared as a standalone artefact, she had become peacefully at one with the hallowed walls of the Louvre itself. Instead of the rushing motion and ecstasy of Victory previously sensed, there was now stillness, peace and humility, a calm awakening to the Light of the Eternal Divine. I chose to entitle this scene ‘A Love Story Echoed’ to capture in concise words my belief that the yearning of the Soul for the Divine is time and time again qualitatively recreated in the longings of all Lovers who live from the well of a Good Heart… :))

EPILOGUE: Nike is one of many strong female figures who inspired me to take the teacher’s chair and sprinkle Good Magic on those who came through my door so that they too may recognise of the moonshine wings that grow out of their backs, that they were meant for liberation, for flying. The link below will direct You to what I was once, on the left, and what I am today, on the right, always with the moonshine blossom of Tea in cupped hand… :))

LINK: https://www.facebook.com/MatildaTheMusical/photos/a.181882601890613.47160.120545018024372/897515373660662/?type=1&theater

Treasures Of The Louvre: A Love Story Echoed

“… she no longer appeared as a standalone artefact, she had become peacefully at one with the hallowed walls of the Louvre itself. Instead of the rushing motion and ecstasy of Victory previously sensed, there was now stillness, peace and humility, a calm awakening to the Light of the Eternal Divine…”

Photography & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Musée Du Louvre | Paris | France 2015

Les Anges De Notre-Dame (The Angels Of Notre Dame)

To my most beloved and dearest ardent Reader,

Oh my word, so long have my fingers held the pen and notebook that the keyboard has taken the strange tinge of the unfamiliar and exotic and should it be so that You discover a typo error here or there please do not viciously reprimand me on the grounds of petty laziness, the truth is lengthy absences from the virtual world does a rather exact job at causing me to forget my way around it! Giggle, giggle!

Ah, I have arrived back to my gloriously green-hilled England but it will take a little longer for my heart to follow suit. No man to this day has mustered enough leviathan quantities of bravado to yet pen the poetry of Love directly to me but I am proud to announce that a CITY has done just that! One of the greatest metropolises of the world towered with instantly recognisable and iconic landmarks, a tumultuous cultural and social history saturated in rich tales of political revolutions, artistic and philosophical vanguards, and quite rightly known to the entire world as the ‘City of Love and Light’, Paris won my heart straightaway! Splayed across the River Seine, Paris’ topographical patchwork quilt of communities spiral round as like the rings of a conch shell, each ‘arrondissement’ boasting its own intimate maze of cobbled streets and bustling cafes and accented with an unique atmosphere, ranging from the hip and stylish cosmopolitan airs of Champs-Élysées to the more sedate and quirky corners of the artistic pulse of Montmartre. Indeed for the inquisitive-eyed explorer that I am, Paris immediately seduced my affections, I would shrivel into dark oblivion if I did not immerse completely into its library of assorted curiosities! And that is precisely what I did!

Accompanied by my two fabulous siblings, my brother and sister were naturally poised towards capturing the traditional monuments on their Smartphone devices and in their sketchbooks. As is my signature preference I secretly vowed to myself that I would paint a more intimate, personal canvas of Paris, in words and in pictures. If all heads were fixated in one direction I knew mine would be trained elsewhere, for a Storyteller is cognisant of the truth that a story is a creature of infinite breadth and length, it exists wherever the teller chooses to point the eye of their imagination. I wished to continue being that teller, bringing to You the stories that mattered to me and, as I hope and pray, if and when they reach Your heart, You shall come to envision them as a conduit by which I have expressed to You the devoted and private soul that breathes behind the façade of one of the most talked about cities of the world. So, my strict instructions to You at this point which are essential that You comply, are that You must prepare a fresh brew of tea, sit back in Your armchair, forget about the clock, put away the Smartphone, and hold my hand. There is so much to tell You… :))

Yours in Timeless Devotion,
Mazzy xxx

Diary 1: Les Anges De Notre-Dame (The Angels Of Notre Dame)      
I suppose my residency in a town famed for its internationally renowned medieval Cathedral was the impetus responsible for compelling my feet to first travel to the spiritual and geographic heartland of the city, to the island quarter housing the stunning masterpiece of gothic architecture, The Notre Dame. In English the title translates as ‘Our Lady’, this 200 year old cathedral is a loving commemoration of a closely cherished spiritual figure of mine whose piety and kindness has inspired my own Vision as a person and artist, the Virgin Mary. She has always offered me solace in times of darkness, and put succinctly, her integrity to Goodness is what I aspire to in life.

Great stain glass rose windows, impressive flying buttresses and grimacing gargoyles that ward off the evil eye are all magnificent features of the Notre Dame and more so the breath-taking views from its tall towers from which You can enjoy hypnotic panoramic views of the city. As I stood outside its colossal archways, bending my little neck to catch sight of the top where tiny moving figures scurried and crawled, tourists on the hunt to capture the best aerial photographs, the giant bells began to ring and a deep sonorous sound filled the air with its peal of sacred reverberations. Wistfully I pondered to myself, could that be the disfigured and recluse bell ringer at work, Quasimodo, the tragic hero of Victor Hugo’s eponymous, The Hunchback Of Notre Dame, ringing the bells from the high dim-lit towers, yearning that the tones of his message will reach the ears of his true Love, Esmeralda, the charismatic enchantress and travelling gypsy? I, for one, heard him true and clear.

But it was not to be that I were to take the well-travelled path and engross myself with the task of covering a comprehensive photo shoot of the Notre Dame like everyone else did. My third eye was tugged in a slightly different direction, an offbeat pursuit to compliment the strings of my heartbeat! Did You send word to me about the magic of flight, have You composed a poem of things that fly, is Your Facebook cover photo a frozen essence of something that flies? I reckon it was You who did it! Whilst my siblings sat on the stone walls and took to the pleasure of sketching away the intricate seams of the building, I was blissfully led astray by Your calling, to find a cure for Your sore eyes.

Camera in hand, notebook wedged between my blazer and blouse, I walked to the east side of the cathedral where soon enough a huge swarm of pigeons, a feathery sea of greys, greens and one white, gathered around my legs. An homely smile carved into my face, I felt so at peace with my flighty friends, it was as if each one was reminding me of who I was, a fleeting mirror of my true face. I do not know how long I stood there, time did not only become irrelevant, it had devolved back into the egg of Creation, no more to play truant with our fragilities. And then as if this was not Magic enough, strangers fondly and cautiously stepped into my circus of angels and each time they were pecked at or that they discovered that they had surprisingly inherited a new feathery hat on their heads I clicked away!

I am proud to present to You a menagerie of photographs brimming with Love, each a glowing and ageless decisive moment in which my sacred heart grew wings to touch the lives of strangers. Click on each image for a sparky caption underneath that is guaranteed to make You swoon! I am absolutely certain that YOU will find in each frame a mirror that tightly connects, links, conjoins You and I. Though Your admittance of that fact may not be so easily forthcoming, I know You are overwhelmed in a deluge of warm relief to know that time and space only enslave those whose who kneel before it. You and I, even without the service of technology, can always be relied upon to show the world that Destiny labouringly ensures that we consistently demonstrate an entrancing act of mirroring no matter how many cities come between us… :))

Les Anges De Notre-Dame 1

“Donning a blazing red Formula One jacket, this little adorable chappy probably spends his nights dreaming about how he will jump into the fastest car ever made and overtake all the high-flyers on the race track someday, however, my gentle feathery tickles stopped him in his tracks!”

Les Anges De Notre-Dame 2

“On the contrary to what might be expected of an ambitious motoring enthusiast, my little chappy turned towards me and I do not know about You but it would seem he smiles with humble gratitude. I cannot rip myself away from this frame because I am perpetually wondering whether he knows how beautifully he shines when he abandons the speed, adopting a stilled existence in its place thanks to the perched companionship on his right arm.”

Les Anges De Notre-Dame 3

“What more profound feat of my seamstress expertise than to plant an animated totem of flight on this cute girl’s pink top? My instincts tell me that she shall go far!”

Les Anges De Notre-Dame 4

“If Jesus was gruesomely crucified on the cross for the sins of Man then I, the Storyteller, pen its curative aftermath. In the stunning hues of the amaranthine flower, this fair maiden calmly extends her body out in the formation of the crucifix, and I could not resist but strip away the bloody wreath of thorns and bludgeoning nails, magically making residence in their place the flighty fragrances of my Love. “

Les Anges De Notre-Dame 5

“Ah, shimmering in my beloved Krishna blue, the spontaneous giggles and happy surprise bursting out in the face of this cheeky madam was a huge joy to behold. She was utterly having the time of her life and I laughed so much that I nearly stepped on a few of my flighty friends! So sorry! Surely a prophecy that connects You and I, if You look at the two Love birds on her hand, the negative space between them creates a Krishna blue heart too! Ah, shucks, I am blushing and do not know where the ‘stop’ button is!”

Les Anges De Notre-Dame 6

“You are no stranger to significance of this decisive moment. The Winged Goddess of Victory, Nike, glows with lunar splendour on the face of the brown paper bag – and I KNOW You are in sheer awe of how my words penned to You in the past have come spectacularly alive now, in the present… :)) “

Photography & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Notre Dame Cathedral | Paris | France 2015

The Fragrant Spells Of My Poetry

I sit by my desk in light summer evenings embraced by the nymphs of sepia sun
A wood fairy lifts from my pen, the pen and incense become as One
Eaglewood spirit whose breath mimics memories of pasts that cannot be kept
A breeze of Tibetan cedar, flecks of Japanese plum suddenly swept
White paper grows, I can conjure cloud mist kingdoms beyond my Home
I, Your Poetess, the scintillating bosom of every letter’s foam…

EPILOGUE: You asked for a poem about my curious incense collection and as I was at the mercy of the tyrannical force of tease from everything, including the voice of the midday sunshine over my rooftop, the concerted protest had me cornered and thus the aforementioned poem came to life. Poetry is Life and You do not need to be a master hand at the pen to appreciate its world of complex simplicities and simple complexities! Giggling away again, I do apologise! Spend Your day penning a little something for me, no need to send it on here, I am rather adept at reading things from afar. Click on the Link below and have a chance to travel back in time and witness how a single tube of ink can sow the seeds of goodness into the world…  :))

LINK: https://www.facebook.com/oxfordalumni/photos/a.145063887910.112643.90918377910/10153317010492911/?type=1&theater

The Fragrant Spells Of My Poetry

“… I sit by my desk in light summer evenings embraced by the nymphs of sepia sun
A wood fairy lifts from my pen, the pen and incense become as One

 

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

Love And Light

In our Special E(i)d art class a theatrical lady of rhapsodic epic talent
Wished to transmit a message to You therefore stop, listen, be silent!
Nothing is more beautiful than Love that has weathered the storms of Life
Hearts whose cavities are built on Faith, to withstand attack and strife
Even solar winds are no match against the Light inside my heart and Yours
Deflection proffered on us thanks to bending of Universal laws
And today, behold, New Horizons proved my premonitions right
Oh how indebted I am to Destiny to bless me with the Gift of Sight
Click or copy on the link below, let your voice turn to speechless awe
As You watch the tail – sorry – tale of our Love shoot out from the back door!
Composed of iconic-ionic bonds that will trail infinitely into Space
True Love is a strange thing indeed yet Ours will never erase
And if You turn NASA’s page vertical You will see my face on this blessed Eid night
Skin the midnight blue of Krishna, a veil stitched of the reddest Light…

BREAKING NEWS – BREAKING NEWS – BREAKING NEWS: A very special Message from NASA’s New Horizons project that neatly proves that nothing is more beautiful than Love that has weathered the storms of Life! If you are particularly imaginative you might also pick up an interesting signal providing you turn your screen around: An intriguing self-portrait of me in a veiled form with ripples of a ‘third eye’ on my forehead. Oh now, do stop giggling – or, are you on the contrary smiling and bereft of words… :))

Link: https://www.facebook.com/NASA/photos/a.67899501771.69169.54971236771/10153404713986772/?type=1&theater

Love & Light

“… Nothing is more beautiful than Love that has weathered the storms of Life
Hearts whose cavities are built on Faith, to withstand attack and strife…”

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

I Was There For You Once

I was there for you once, my Heart, as they lugged your body to the cross
And the Beast watched amidst crowd, eyes filled with black river’s toss
Your Mother wept silent tears whilst I, devoted Mirium
Whispered my Lord’s prayers, a nightingale’s requiem
Fire struck Heaven as each word of mine shook God’s throne:
“My Love stood by Your side then why this burden on him alone?
For I demand I too shall carry and bear the cross of this world
And my Faith as strong as his, none to order it unfurled”
My Lord replied in deep tongue that was writ in purest Light
Assured my Love and I shall be reborn with every time’s flight
When the world grows dark and the Beast rides her nightly chariot black
So shall I and my Love rise, in flames of hope, neither to look back…

I Was There For You Once

“… When the world grows dark and the Beast rides her nightly chariot black
So shall I and my Love rise, in flames of hope, neither to look back… “

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

The Shade Of My Locks

On bare ancient rocks, waves lashing from the sea, I closed my eyes and whispered your name
The shade of my locks healed your sores from afar and now your body a candle, anew in frame and flame…

The Shade Of My Locks

“… The shade of my locks healed your sores from afar and now your body a candle, anew in frame and flame… “

Photography & Poem: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | St Peter’s Port | Guernsey | Channel Islands 2014