While the horse dealer
Looks at the teeth of the old horse
He thinks of parched meadows
Turned yellow in death’s wind
His woman neighbor
Rubs her copper buckets with lemon peel and ash
The first gleam of copper shows through
Children play knucklebones in the street
With the whitish sheepbones
Who knows from which herd.
translated by Ruth Christie & Richard McKane
Being Present for the Moment
Website storys
Illustration, Concept Art & Comics/Manga
Singer, Songwriter and Author from Kyoto, Japan.
Singer, Songwriter and Author from Kyoto, Japan.
An online activist from Bosnia and Herzegovina, based in Sarajevo, standing on the right side of the history - for free Palestine.
A place where I post unscripted, unedited, soulless rants of a insomniac madman
Dennis Mantin is a Toronto-based writer, artist, and filmmaker.
Finding Inspiration
Off the wall, under the freeway, over the rainbow, nothin' but net.
Erm, what am I doing with my life?
Artist by choice, photographer by default, poet by accident.
At Least Trying Too
A Journey of Spiritual Significance
Life in islamic point of view
Through the view point of camera...
L'essenziale è invisibile e agli occhi e al cuore. Beccarlo è pura questione di culo
In Kate's World
Leonard Durso 
I remember the white bleached knucklebones from dead sheep.
Do you? We didn’t have that. Just stick ball on the street.
I lived on a farm and we had many sheep and ate much in the way of mutton – hence many knucklebones.
That explains it.