The leaves are falling, falling as if from far up,
as if orchards were dying high in space.
Each leaf falls as if it were motioning “no.”
And tonight the heavy earth is falling
away from all other stars in the loneliness.
We’re all falling. This hand here is falling.
And look at the other one. It’s in them all.
And yet there is there’s One, whose hands
infinitely calm, holding up all this falling.
— Rainer Maria Rilke (translation by Robert Bly)
"Whose voice calls me from the furthest reaches of the universe?"
Exploring the vital intersection of healing arts and indigeneity with Egyptian international interdisciplinary sound artist
A poem by Palestinian refugee Nibal Khalid
She, who speaks in climactic seed bursts of inspiration and steady sunrises the color of commitment.
Amid the cacophony of a cicada emergence, Anisa George reflects on her choice to leave the Bahá’í faith and its promise of a new civilization
Plenitude of sound / Infinitude of words / Transform within
But Ukraine is a country of the baroque
No matter how sick I feel, I’m still afire with a need to do something for my living
