Thrown

by Joella Wadel

Why is a human being born
When worlds are wide
And graves are short,
Time dangling like the clothes we’ve worn?

How are the best of pleasures framed
When aging circles
Bite with pain
But only to ride round again

Like horses on a carousel?
The violet patch
Of nodding heads
In rhythmic dance between themselves

Tell mystery and maddening,
Of simple love
Of temporal things
New birth, old death and sufferings.


Words are paintings and the poem is a gallery installation. Joella likes to walk through it. Or she doesn’t. But she hopes to meet you wandering through the rooms.


Photography by Kenneth Godoy

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