Shireen Pasha

For days we were sitting by the window in our tin roof hut by a grove of green green banana trees.

ceiling fan, rain, the sound of soft soft kisses

You arrive and all days turn to infinity, the walls fall apart, the sky and ocean meet, and stars appear in my room.

If death should take me on a walk, I will remember there is a possibility for us to lay toe to toe on the beach. And I would return to live a little longer.

ceiling fan, rain, the sound of soft soft kisses

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I close my eyes and I see us in a high rise, the tallest in the world. I don’t know why but it is this way between us. Always a highrise like that time in the 40s, or was it in the 30s that you took a photo of me on a balcony in New York, also a high rise, as my arms stretched up toward the heavens.

Sometimes I wish you would love me that way again as you did when you would keep all of my paintings for yourself.

I think we need a fort with a courtyard, like the ones in India, to raise orphans from around the world. The heart has room but spacetime does not.

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The day before Stephen Hawking left his body, I called his office for an appointment to interview him. The woman who answered the phone, presumably his Secretary said — “No, you may not have an appointment. Not now. Not ever.”

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Shireen Pasha

Shireen Pasha

Writer and filmmaker, interested in technology, consciousness and the creative process.