rebel poet

Home is an interesting and vague concept. Is it where you were born or what your genes claim? Is it where you feel safe or where you dream yourself to be? Or is it just a state of mind? Whatever it is, I feel homesick all the time. Maybe it’s the confusion. Maybe it’s the longing of a place that I haven’t found yet. Or maybe it’s just the rebel in me desiring not belong to anywhere.
—  Hira

words: © @kyrah52
photo:  © @hjs-photography
reblogs are okay - but don’t delete the captions!!

And from the deepest core of the Earth ,Tellus has arisen,from the flaming currents and eletric moves underground this soil ,this green mud emerged within a blurry white ,emerged and poured his particules over the land ,slipping his own cells as the water taste his flavours ,his emotional fragmentations over a shroud of wonders…

You the teluric being ,you the essence of a Masterpiece shaping the heart of once dorment ,this mud of desire ,this need ,this urge of melting into new colors ,this urged being claiming his right over all matters ,over a wasteland …

You the one whose eye and fingers paint the landscapes, a god of all mighty powers,a new orpheus ,a new artist ,a new perspective in a symetry of all beings…

You ,whose layers and mantles of the earth made me clay in your hands…

And over these fragmentations of mud ,i bright into your most powerful tool : Your genious ,you the Artist in all angles of a photography..

And over your shroud …i melt ….

Breathing is key
—  The rest is insignificant, I guess. 
Why are you getting mad at me?
I am only speaking the truth, I am only showing you how you live your life. 
How you expect me to live mine. 
I want peace, freedom and satisfaction.
You tell me I’m asking for too much. 
So I say how about love, happiness and travel. 
You yell, how dare I ? 
So I finally sigh and nervously say, 
Can I at least have some colour, candy and glitter to play? 
You say I don’t know how to choose, I only keep making mistakes. 
Nefelibata

Nefilibata- noun- Spanish and Portugese

“lit. ‘cloud walker’; one who lives in the clouds of their own imagination or dreams, one who does not obey the conventions of society, literature, or art”


head in the clouds, they tease her

the one drop of colour in a sea of grey

just because of her decision

to not be a clone, to not fall in line

she is a rebel of her own kind

although that word (rebel- noun- a person who resists any authority, control, or tradition.)

is not said in praise

the way it is said for those who we believe

resist in the right (adjective- correct in judgment, opinion, or action)  ways

head in the clouds, day dreamer, night thinker

a scattering of lines and shapes

that only make sense in her own mind

so many secrets to be unlocked

but only she holds the key

words: © @kyrah52
photo:  © @hjs-photography
reblogs are okay - but don’t delete the captions!!

The clouds above ,the soil and all the tools of the Earth standing still,erected ,the main guardians of a dying world,the escape is the only way but over the turmoil of noises of misunderstandings the world in rage reamains ,powerless ,in blindness ,aspiring for more and more …yet the clouds over the harbour stare the land of men and wonders why so much pain regardless the wonders made for themselves and in the middle of chaos suddenly the light came in a sudden flash in a sudden ray of hope: The joy of getting the meaning ,the joy of being yet alive in  a place of the deads…so this light upon us is love ,the only ,the only salvation….and these clouds ,this wonderful capture of a place is framed in a new painting.: The hands of the Master everything is possible : The photographer ,the man ,the wonder ,the surprise of all surprises he leads the way ,my way …

Then i stare him …

artist are meant to be unloved
gracing one life after another
never to be kept
so many emotions brew
but you love the art of our coffee
the words placed so eloquently
do I thrill you?
young rebels love less and hurt more
to be art
to be legendary
—  Miyana Sarver

Rebels Riding Dragons

Pretty kings
want to rule their lives
control their bloodstreams
consume their minds
look they’re f a d i n g…
d y i n g…
No. Wait.
Look again.
It’s hot adrenaline in their eyes.
Conscious kids
slipping through the night,
pocketing their jolting fears
& dissolving into the black trees.
sharp moon shadows
illuminating their purposes.
It’s white fire in their eyes.
Warrior kids
ascending towards the Sun
avoiding the hate, rage, & crime
& hiding in the ruby skies.
bloody clouds
awakening their pride.
It’s cosmic violence in their eyes.
Nightmare kids
melting into the horizon
forgetting the suffocation
& disappearing behind the stars.
glowing galaxies
proving their freedom.
It’s dangerous victory in their eyes
because they are rebel kids.

- @ragingpages

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Sunay AKIN

Görsel :  Stanley Greene -  Chechen rebel during the first war in Chechnya (1990’s) - On the road to Chechnya