la isla de las munecas ( The Island Of The Dolls).
In the heart of Mexico City, in Xochimilco, right in the swamps, there is a tiny Island called Santa Barrera’s chiampa..
About fifty years ago, a man lived on this island with his daughter. She was seven when he found her drowned.
He buried her on the island. At night he heard strange noises. He was convinced that bad spirits came to haunt her grave.
He proceeded to hang her dolls to chase them away. During many years, he collected dolls and scattered them all around.
He has now passed away, but the dolls stay, hanging, as well as defying time.
so i’m dropping seeds
in foreign soil
to sprout in the light
of every tomorrow
that i will not see
In the old city of D.F. appears this staircase that splits in two.
I wonder, how many lives, how many footsteps, generations, stories have climbed and come down these steps.
Which way have they gone, to the left or to the right.
Does it really matter, although many have gone, the stairs remain standing, mocking time.
In the mountains of Oaxaca.
She sat on these steps, staring at me, while her mother lined up for free provisions.
All I could see in her eyes was a glow of hope.
The hope that maybe one day, we would all be equal.
the mist clouds my mind
fills my lungs with life
i run my hand along the stone,
wet and cold
every inch my fingers travel is another hour
of my time gone by;
one more grain of sand
fallen to the bottom of the glass
never to be felt again
Xilitla, Central Mexico Rainforest
Under the thick fog and rain, we walked through stones gates, passages, stairs and more gates to nowhere.
The perfect universe, castle, for a yellow princess. A surrealistic domain built by an Englishman 50 years earlier..
Absurd mazes and structures withstanding time and blending into a wet green world that would grow forever.
It was just as I had imagined, she defied heights and mazes, as much as she defied the odds for us to be together.
She was so little, so frail, yet as tall and strong as these sculptures, reaching out to infinity.
This is her kingdom I thought, It’s time for me to go.
but under every arch that i pass
new light is scattered in new ways
new rain carries new tastes
these foreign flowers –
i wonder what their names
As I watch her, in the distance, camera in hand, I realize that I am standing En La Sombra Del Tiempo.
I once was in the light, on the other side, standing as shiny and as tall as these absurd monuments.
I have no fears except for one. not seeing her anymore, on the day that this heavy metal door shuts.
All I hoped for was, that when, that moment came, she would hold my hand.
If not, it didn’t matter anymore, since all had been written, and no one and no time could ever take it away.
hold my hand
Although we all move like a herd, no direction for, there is always a pause, a glimpse, maybe even a smile.
We all look at each other, as if we needed to share a secret, a thought, an instant, and we do in silence.