Moodboard

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eternal silence, infinite spaces

perhaps like the setting sun, you now have a hold of my heart

“…through a world weightless, without illusion.”

Rohtas Fort, October 2017

Rohtas Fort, October 2017

without your memory

“my darling, how are you? how have you been lately?”

Images and text courtesy NYPL Digital Collection.

2017

8:40am // On my way to school, one of the best bike rides I’ve ever had!

all the blues

Portrait of Fatima November 2014 Mazzy Star-Give You My Lovin’ Amna Babar

Song of the Crimson Rebellion- a photo series A trail of crimson flows through the crowd. The only rose that has dared to dance with the wind. The men, they look straight at her, they feel no shame. Their blood boils, their desires peak. They jump to pluck but the thorns pierce the calloused fingertips; drip drip drip. Palms now stained with blood. The women, they look away, they spy from the corner of their eyes and whisper to one another, “I wish my existence could be as bold.” She stops for no one. She cannot be claimed by anyone. Crimson, flows the blood in her veins; crimson, the smear on her lips, her kurti, her chaddar. Crimson, the color of her defiance The ‘chan chan’ of her anklet echoes to miles away, almost like a siren. She has not come to preach. She has not come to shame. She has, but only, come to liberate; for she sings a song that cannot be unheard. She sings the song of the crimson rebellion.