My Studio 

New work in Oils

Speak, your lips are free

       Speak, it is your own tongue

   Speak, it is your own body

     Speak, your life is still yours

Last night your lost memory visited my heart

As spring visits the wilderness quietly

As the breeze echoes the silence of her footfalls in the dessert

As peace slowly, softly descends on one's sickness


All images c/o Amna Kiran      

No use without Permission