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Saif Sidari
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February 2025
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Visiting Hours
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Saif Sidari
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“We felt good, falling through the country, clouding at the arch
of a pale fire—the rudderless poetry I want to love, the first time then never again. What might it have looked like to love you from the beginning? And whose beginning, yours or mine?” Saif Sidari |
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Saif Sidari
shared
a
quote
“I only ever know myself hanging, in the exulted tempest untouched
by nativities—the possibilities of my name emptied to the firmaments, which could not care to claim me yet labour to intubate the clouds, blithely feeding my body to the greying furies. My own jettisoned to the moors, a bay of white polyester sheets, illuminated by ornate keys, bandaged after Catastrophe.” Saif Sidari |
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“My love perches on the words of a foreigner’s language, always arriving late, too late, or never at all.”
― Visiting Hours
― Visiting Hours
“At dawn, I sail far from every shore to drain my cup in the sea, barring a bead I keep, tucked close like wings. I acquaint myself this way with the missing parts of who I am, as testaments, ungentle offerings—the rattles of a skeleton child reckoning with the rules of the game.”
― Visiting Hours
― Visiting Hours
“I only ever know myself hanging, in the exulted tempest untouched
by nativities—the possibilities of my name
emptied to the firmaments, which could not care to claim me
yet labour to intubate the clouds, blithely feeding my body to the greying
furies. My own jettisoned to the moors, a bay of white
polyester sheets, illuminated by ornate keys, bandaged
after Catastrophe.”
― Visiting Hours
by nativities—the possibilities of my name
emptied to the firmaments, which could not care to claim me
yet labour to intubate the clouds, blithely feeding my body to the greying
furies. My own jettisoned to the moors, a bay of white
polyester sheets, illuminated by ornate keys, bandaged
after Catastrophe.”
― Visiting Hours
“My love perches on the words of a foreigner’s language, always arriving late, too late, or never at all.”
― Visiting Hours
― Visiting Hours
“The barren father declares us 'children of darkness'
in the mortal hours—what could I be in the camp of privations
but bones on display, dealer in my own destruction, ripe fodder
for the insatiable canon of Western dreams of the orient?”
―
in the mortal hours—what could I be in the camp of privations
but bones on display, dealer in my own destruction, ripe fodder
for the insatiable canon of Western dreams of the orient?”
―
“At dawn, I sail far from every shore to drain my cup in the sea, barring a bead I keep, tucked close like wings. I acquaint myself this way with the missing parts of who I am, as testaments, ungentle offerings—the rattles of a skeleton child reckoning with the rules of the game.”
― Visiting Hours
― Visiting Hours
“I only ever know myself hanging, in the exulted tempest untouched
by nativities—the possibilities of my name
emptied to the firmaments, which could not care to claim me
yet labour to intubate the clouds, blithely feeding my body to the greying
furies. My own jettisoned to the moors, a bay of white
polyester sheets, illuminated by ornate keys, bandaged
after Catastrophe.”
― Visiting Hours
by nativities—the possibilities of my name
emptied to the firmaments, which could not care to claim me
yet labour to intubate the clouds, blithely feeding my body to the greying
furies. My own jettisoned to the moors, a bay of white
polyester sheets, illuminated by ornate keys, bandaged
after Catastrophe.”
― Visiting Hours
“We felt good, falling through the country, clouding at the arch
of a pale fire—the rudderless poetry I want to love, the first time
then never again. What might it have looked like to love you
from the beginning? And whose beginning, yours
or mine?”
― Visiting Hours
of a pale fire—the rudderless poetry I want to love, the first time
then never again. What might it have looked like to love you
from the beginning? And whose beginning, yours
or mine?”
― Visiting Hours