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  • uluasa
    Sandra Ulloa
    @uluasa

Images by uluasa

Between going and staying 
the day wavers, 
in love with its own transparency.
The circular afternoon is now a bay
where the world in stillness rocks.

All is visible and ellusive,
all is near and can't be touched.

Paper, book, pencil, glass, 
rest in the shade of their names.

Time throbbing in my temples repeats 
the same unchanging syllable of blood.

The light turns the indifferent wall 
into a ghostly theater of reflections.

I find myself in the middle of an eye, 
watching myself in its blank stare.

The moment scatters. Motionless, 
I stay and go: I am a pause.

#OctavioPaz
Between going and staying  the day wavers,  in love with its own transparency. The circular afternoon is now a bay where the world in stillness rocks. All is visible and ellusive, all is near and can't be touched. Paper, book, pencil, glass,  rest in the shade of their names. Time throbbing in my temples repeats  the same unchanging syllable of blood. The light turns the indifferent wall  into a ghostly theater of reflections. I find myself in the middle of an eye,  watching myself in its blank stare. The moment scatters. Motionless,  I stay and go: I am a pause. #OctavioPaz 
Homme libre, toujours tu chériras la mer!

#Baudelaire
Homme libre, toujours tu chériras la mer! #Baudelaire 
Do I contradict myself?
Very well then I contradict myself,
(I am large, I contain multitudes.) #WaltWhitman
Do I contradict myself? Very well then I contradict myself, (I am large, I contain multitudes.) #WaltWhitman 
For each ecstatic instant
We must an anguish pay
In keen and quivering ratio
To the ecstasy.
For each ecstatic instant We must an anguish pay In keen and quivering ratio To the ecstasy.
À ciel ouvert
À ciel ouvert
Mexico's nature and striking features have always inspired me to write and reminisce about the cosmic secrets that we, as human beings, have already forgotten.
Mexico's nature and striking features have always inspired me to write and reminisce about the cosmic secrets that we, as human beings, have already forgotten.
Hay que salirse del tiempo.
Hay que salirse del tiempo.
Nature's paint strokes 🌊🍃
Nature's paint strokes 🌊🍃
Cuando más me encuentro, más me pierdo.

#fernandopessoa
There sleeps a poem in my mind
That shall my entire soul express.
I feel it vague as sound and wind
Yet sculptured in full definiteness.

It has no stanza, verse or word.
Ev'n as I dream it, it is not.
'Tis a mere feeling of it, blurred,
And but a happy mist round thought.

Day and night in my mystery
I dream and read and spell it over,
And ever round words' brink in me
Its vague completeness seems to hover.

I know it never shall be writ.
I know I know not what it is.
But I am happy dreaming it,
And false bliss, although false, is bliss.

#FernandoPessoa
There sleeps a poem in my mind That shall my entire soul express. I feel it vague as sound and wind Yet sculptured in full definiteness. It has no stanza, verse or word. Ev'n as I dream it, it is not. 'Tis a mere feeling of it, blurred, And but a happy mist round thought. Day and night in my mystery I dream and read and spell it over, And ever round words' brink in me Its vague completeness seems to hover. I know it never shall be writ. I know I know not what it is. But I am happy dreaming it, And false bliss, although false, is bliss. #FernandoPessoa 
La base de lo simbolista es lo oculto.
La base de lo simbolista es lo oculto.
Diríase que todo ya se concentra en este libro babilónico. Sus páginas nos inspiran el horror de lo que es muy antiguo y nos obligan a sentir el incalculable peso del tiempo.
Diríase que todo ya se concentra en este libro babilónico. Sus páginas nos inspiran el horror de lo que es muy antiguo y nos obligan a sentir el incalculable peso del tiempo.
Recorrer sin premura sus espléndidas formas; trepar por la pendiente de sus grandes rodillas y, a veces, en estío, cuando soles malsanos le fatigan y la hacen tenderse en las praderas, buscar para dormir la sombra de sus senos, como un pueblo apacible, al pie de una montaña. #baudelaire
Recorrer sin premura sus espléndidas formas; trepar por la pendiente de sus grandes rodillas y, a veces, en estío, cuando soles malsanos le fatigan y la hacen tenderse en las praderas, buscar para dormir la sombra de sus senos, como un pueblo apacible, al pie de una montaña. #baudelaire 
There is no new thing upon the earth. So that as Plato had an imagination, that all knowledge was but rememberance; so Solomon giveth his sentence, that all novelty is but oblivion.
There is no new thing upon the earth. So that as Plato had an imagination, that all knowledge was but rememberance; so Solomon giveth his sentence, that all novelty is but oblivion.