Armani Eloise

Naanie, where are you? Mum said you were asking for me. I came back to England to visit. Let’s sit together again,  and listen to those Qawwalis you love on the TV. Tell me that story again, the one about the witches in the village. And what about all the ones I have not heard yet? Naanie, where are you? I long for the hugs that fill my bones with your love.  The same feeling as being held by you when I was a child. Nothing compares to your deep warmth. A life of hardship an

Earth Forces unseen shift the earth beneath, pulling some of what once stood down into rubble and dust.  Fallen, broken, trapped. There is still a place to stand, to see, to feel. The echoes of what once was billow into the openness, rippling into space and time.  As the rubble is moved aside, lost hope begins to breathe through the cracks. Quiet and persistent, rising through the destruction.  From ruin, another rhythm; from fracture, a different view. Air Ferocious gusts l

The spring breeze carries whispers of a cold winter chill, as the essence of renewal permeates the air. Flowers begin to unfurl, swaying amidst the distant melodies. They dance alone, without the rhythm of a fluttering heartbeat to join them.   Spring melts into the warm embrace of summer, as the breeze whirls through a plethora of colours.  The sun begins to set, as the orange and raspberry sky ripples into dusk.  The distance is more vast, a deep gaze without floating on th