Tag Archives: #aphoristic

Under the incendiary

Photo by Luck Galindo from Pexels

under the incendiary blaze of the night sky

the air is not charred

it is clear & smells fresh like night rain

everything glowing

beings gathered around 

to watch the blazing sky 

changing colours

it was peaceful

& the next day 

there would be calm

everyday after the blaze they noticed they were different. lighter. alive. but walking was over. only floating. life in the ether.

floating takes getting used to. that’s not news. no more loudness.

birds. to move with them. alongside them. as quickly as them. birds. 

the dragon really was the visitor. it’s not a dream anymore.

air on fire is iridescent. melted mineral haze. there is a sun. the sun shines blue into eternal pearlescence.

this place is so pretty that if you go here, nothing really has meaning. but for a change this is a good thing. fire skies don’t tell lies.

they feel your body change as the smoke takes shape inside of them.

© Niliema Karkhanis

A map

A map


over a blough

the air spins 

lake air 

over a treasure

a memory


of value

a story

they will all be here one day

to remember something forgotten

buried over & under the tide

running inside the waves

the tide

is a constant



she followed the map she had found inside the wall during a recent renovation. it was done by hand & it was simply made but detailed. having recently moved into this house, she didn’t exactly yet feel familiar with the immediate environs.

She walked carefully along the dirt path through the trees,aiming to suss out the bumps & roots, bracing her limping gait on the cane & in the path itself. she stretched her feet & made each step with intention.

there were parts on the map which described the way the forest was, where there was an old, broken tree bent down, now a shelter for moss & lichen.

it was just beyond one bent tree,she came upon where the map led to.

There was a small house there, oddly not far from many things, yet completely hidden. It was late spring & the forest was blooming with the perfumes of wildflowers wafting on the breezy forest air.

she entered the small house & was surprised to find it was as if it was inhabited in the present.

It was tidy & there was a floral blanket on a bed, a table, 2 chairs & a small kitchen all in one room. Light streamed in through the big windows.

There was no one else in the small house. There was an envelope on the table. She set the map down & picked up the envelope. Inside was another map on a piece of torn brown paper.

She saw there was some coffee, water in a large jug & a gas stove. She was tired from the walk. Her legs & feet, sore. She boiled water in a pot & made the coffee in a press set out on the counter.

While the coffee brewed in the press, she sat at the rustic wooden table & studied the new map. this map led out to the nearby bloughs & indicated there was something buried there. She would spend a night in the small house & leave in the morning towards the water’s edge.

she poured herself the potent coffee into a small blue ceramic mug. As she sipped the coffee, she felt the pain in her body leave her. 

She laid down to sleep contemplating her morning journey.


© Niliema Karkhanis

Time forgotten

Photo credit: Pexels

Time forgotten
Bends I guess
Your heart-shaped
Dreams on a flight of

In air they fly
Through the sky
Filtering the day’s

You hold your breath
Anticipating things

Sleeves of joy
Come upon you Intricately enveloping your arms
Time had stopped

Anyway the day goes on
You bring what is there
To bring you to where
You can breathe again

Some dreams are quiet

© Niliema Karkhanis


Dispatches from quarantine

Photo by C Technical 
from Pexels
Text added by nrk


From quarantine

I’m basically a robot

Myself now

Or not myself now

I suppose

I work a lot

Then tell myself

I don’t

Because I suppose that’s easier than facing the nothingness


They often say there’s nothing that’s more of a void than meaninglessness, yet this timeframe is built upon it

& won’t let go

Irony of ironies in a world where obsolescence is also paradoxically central


Ah here we are pontificating again. I suppose that’s how we survive things.

Lol don’t judge


If they say it’s for always

You’ll know now that that means for never

& so we continue

With all of the themes

We forget made us

More than themes




Layers in us

& around us

We wrap ourselves

In things we once thought

Would leave us for dead

© Niliema Karkhanis


In hidden places

Photo credit: Pixabay

In there the day gets in & night is soon forgotten even though it all happens again. We are made for it. For day. & for night. We are made for it. Change. Time. & Repetition.

Yet the sombre truth exists in the happiest places. That sorrow belongs to the world. Yet trying to be better you can feel elements. The water the fire inside of you too.

Hidden to what? The planet still continues after all. The solar system. The entire universe.

& you so much in your own life. Because existence is infinitely great & infinitely tiny.