Limestone

 



Limestone


The sculptor of

limestone

is

subtly touching

one or two parts

printed on her fingers

she knows

the sculpture knows

it knows

it takes time

to grow...


What if

our characters

all have

a limestone

sculptor, too

and we grow slowly

according to

raindrops on

tops too

slightly touching

gentle souls

wash against

ours?


What if

we are all

limestone

sculptors

just not ours

but for other souls?


Patience pays

rush nowhere

salt crystallizes

on your character.

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The tattoo

Kép
  - Ken-ny! Ken-ny! Ken-ny! – the stadium was on fire. The tanned man was standing in the middle, releasing the tension in his knuckles, waiting for his enemy. - I got you, honey. – As the darkness dropped from the face, Kenny could see that Kiara came forward from the shadow. His jaw dropped… * - Where are you heading to, honey? – Kiara was looking after Kenny as he quickly left their bedroom. - I’ve got some business to do. – said the man in a hurry and Kiara could only hear the slamming of the door then. It was not the first, nor the last night when she cried herself to sleep. Her girlfriends had warned her that this could happen once they got married, but somehow, she forgot about the signs. It was all her naivety, thinking that she can tie down a traveler, thinking that after years of adventure, she could tame a lion and ease his hunger with only offering herself on a plate. She was sure that Kenny is cheating on her – she was sure it would happen sooner or later but didn’t think
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Half-bred

Kép
  (source: reddit https://www.reddit.com/r/Art/comments/6ud3e9/half_man_half_deer_9x12/) My father was a reindeer and my mother a human. Well, I wish it was that simple. I am a half-bred but it has its price. We, half-breds are on the verge of society and we are forced to live in the forests, collecting berries and fruits to keep ourselves alive. You can protest against society but whatever menial living is still a living – unless you are ready to die. According to my mother, father used to be a human, too. One day, he was driving his car when a reindeer crashed into it. He was supposed to die in the accident because the deer’s antlers broke the car window causing lethal injuries in him. But instead of blood, some silvery slime was pouring out of his veins, covering his injuries. He looked dead for a moment, but suddenly shook himself alive and roared. His face shapeshifted first: his nape lengthened, his chin fell forward and his nose grew. His skull grew his own antlers. He still had
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Waves

Kép
       At the village, there was a legend that he was born in the river. Once, a toddler-form child just emerged there, or at least, that’s what they told. They never saw his mother pregnant, but the folk saw her play with a toddler. He was taken to the riverside every afternoon.      And that remained his favourite place – even though he had long after moved into the noisy city. His favourite place was close to the river: that was his getaway, his hideout when life was too much to bear. He loved watching the waves and tides for hours and not doing anything. Not doing was a thing back then. Somehow that river symbolized life to him. It was stable, unchanging, flowing continuously, no matter what: he could have changed his career, wife, city, could have gone off to the wrong path, but that river always calmed him down.       Not doing was a thing back then: it wasn’t empty doing actually. His mind was running in waves, as well, together with the river’s, working in mysterious ways. He w
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