We are the children of our parents, grown from the dry earth one season into the moistness of another. Our colors are bright in the darkness where we shine best under that dim glow, like rose gold and yellow diamonds. Put us under the scrutiny of daylight and you will see our skin shine like obsidian, like gold dust, like unpolished tourmaline. We are the perfectly imperfect creatures bought into the world to live alongside each other. What does contentment look in our line of vision? Success in measurable units, within defined scopes of accomplishment. Some of us are not as lucky as others to be thrust into such bona fide wisdom so we roam farther and deeper toward the edge. Artists we may be, nullified creative heads worth a penny or three. Oh but we dream in generous doses. We see entire galaxies dancing around us, astrological beings whispering into our willing ears, telling us what we seek is at the end, at the finish of that goal. The one filled with glorious purpose. And despite our renewed hopes our sense of direction remains the same. We wake up to our deafening realities, those poised situations and lofty burdens. Should we call this one form of wealth?


Sure, maybe someday I can find it,
I can tell myself there is plenty of time, so much ahead,
we can pretend everything is okay and steady,
I can continue floating through this space, aimless,
like I am from a different time, a ridiculous place,
my stubbornness leaves me without much choice,
only so many times can I reassure myself,
before I grow old, and tired, and artificially wise,
it would be nice to find a part of myself elsewhere,
things would be easier if I were one of many,
the heart can be harbored only a little longer,
why is it so difficult? Where are you?


Edward Maya & Vika Jigulina – Desert Rain
Elissa – Law Ma Tiji


I have roamed further into the East,
my body is but a shell to cover what is left,
the tinged bloodiness of my ligaments
continue to stretch their limits to a shameful mess,
and while this place is barren and deceitful,
I should continue my aimless wandering,
because my virtue does not justify my loneliness,
and the Gods have not given the map I have asked for,
they may think my incompetence insulting,
I would not question their decision-making,
I have been walking for too long.



I make this for myself,
no one tells me how to do it
or where I ought to start,
there is always something in the way,
little paths that I should walk through,
colorful faces that I should see,
I create this for a purpose,
but this purpose has gone dark,
I don’t remember a lot of what I made,
my dream appears more faint these days.