For reasons you understand, I'll probably not delve as deeply into this poem, at least not in public. But I love it. I also love the video you've made for it, with the bright-red veil making you look closer to a ninja than a bedouin at the start. With the sound braiding on top of itself, and the effects supporting the voice rather than eclipsing it.
I love it.
Also, before I got to the end of the video, after the words ended, I kept wondering what did the "E I" symbolized. Was it some occult cipher I'm missing? Did it stand for "He and I"? That was my best guess. But when I watched the video the second time, I noted it stands for "Earth Ink," hmmm.
Veils, and the liquid effect, and constantly rising from your slumber, constantly being revealed. A net like a veil like the effect in a confessional. Ripples, as the water is there, but like the voice effects, it permeates, it underlies. It doesn't overtake. An ink drop, rather than a bottle of ink poured in to overrun and drown out the details.
The colour of space is one of the things I find most interesting. Because on one hand, it has no colour. On the other hand, I hear you. Some of my earlier cosmological thoughts, the personal ones, are about how light is a lie. In an infinite universe, a finite amount of light tells you there is no light. That it is only an illusion, a false hope, not yet knowing how it is all surrounded by the darkness, that it is small and insignificant.
Yet it is not.
The light is a tear. A tear in the world. A series of hallways, of wounds, into some place different. From which light to paint with, light that paints us, seeps in.
And this piece is about tension. About what you know, and don't know. What you've always known, and never had. About light in the dark, about wounds that heal, about silence that speaks to you. About earth where things go to die and from which they spring. About ink to paint you, to paint about. About colours in the dark, about changing.
About poetry of the soul.