ⴽⴰⵔⵉⵎⴰ (Karima)
@koelh.bsky.social
Artist
HSP
Amazigh
Linguaphile
Runner
sipping coffee & monitoring Life’s absurdities
#existentialism #art #books #poetry #tendersoul
HSP
Amazigh
Linguaphile
Runner
sipping coffee & monitoring Life’s absurdities
#existentialism #art #books #poetry #tendersoul
Pinned
ⴽⴰⵔⵉⵎⴰ (Karima)
@koelh.bsky.social
· Dec 21
There’s a quiet strength in vulnerability. I might feel exposed, but I’m not drowning. I’m not ashamed to admit I’ve spent much of my life running away from myself. But it’s never too late to embrace vulnerability. Bear with me as I learn to accept mine—because the artist in me is still here. #art
November 29, 2025 at 11:21 AM
Reposted by ⴽⴰⵔⵉⵎⴰ (Karima)
I am interested in language because it wounds or seduces me.
Roland Barthes, The Pleasure of the Text
Roland Barthes, The Pleasure of the Text
November 29, 2025 at 10:07 AM
I am interested in language because it wounds or seduces me.
Roland Barthes, The Pleasure of the Text
Roland Barthes, The Pleasure of the Text
November 29, 2025 at 9:40 AM
November 29, 2025 at 8:45 AM
November 28, 2025 at 9:48 PM
and she adds
to her b i l l o w i n g thoughts—
a quiet love
b l o o m i n g
in her chest.
#poetry #micropoem
to her b i l l o w i n g thoughts—
a quiet love
b l o o m i n g
in her chest.
#poetry #micropoem
November 28, 2025 at 7:46 PM
and she adds
to her b i l l o w i n g thoughts—
a quiet love
b l o o m i n g
in her chest.
#poetry #micropoem
to her b i l l o w i n g thoughts—
a quiet love
b l o o m i n g
in her chest.
#poetry #micropoem
lineaments
upon t r e m u l o u s wounds—
friable,
easily crumbled,
f a l l i n g into dust;
an ephemeral
countenance,
made of
quiet f r a c t u r e s
and borrowed light.
#poetry
upon t r e m u l o u s wounds—
friable,
easily crumbled,
f a l l i n g into dust;
an ephemeral
countenance,
made of
quiet f r a c t u r e s
and borrowed light.
#poetry
November 28, 2025 at 5:45 PM
lineaments
upon t r e m u l o u s wounds—
friable,
easily crumbled,
f a l l i n g into dust;
an ephemeral
countenance,
made of
quiet f r a c t u r e s
and borrowed light.
#poetry
upon t r e m u l o u s wounds—
friable,
easily crumbled,
f a l l i n g into dust;
an ephemeral
countenance,
made of
quiet f r a c t u r e s
and borrowed light.
#poetry
November 28, 2025 at 11:18 AM
leafing through my aether
so lambent, so lustrous
you appear to me—
petal-shaped eyes,
full lips
resting upon mine;
clamped together are two hearts,
withered and weathered,
trembling upon words
rustling like the finest feathers—
to take in a full breath
of life—
so, you.
#poetry
so lambent, so lustrous
you appear to me—
petal-shaped eyes,
full lips
resting upon mine;
clamped together are two hearts,
withered and weathered,
trembling upon words
rustling like the finest feathers—
to take in a full breath
of life—
so, you.
#poetry
November 27, 2025 at 5:54 PM
leafing through my aether
so lambent, so lustrous
you appear to me—
petal-shaped eyes,
full lips
resting upon mine;
clamped together are two hearts,
withered and weathered,
trembling upon words
rustling like the finest feathers—
to take in a full breath
of life—
so, you.
#poetry
so lambent, so lustrous
you appear to me—
petal-shaped eyes,
full lips
resting upon mine;
clamped together are two hearts,
withered and weathered,
trembling upon words
rustling like the finest feathers—
to take in a full breath
of life—
so, you.
#poetry
a poet’s pen released
a hyetal flow of verse—
a d o w n p o u r of
silent agony;
grief
s t r e a m i n g
down her face,
watering the arid
landscape of
her soul.
#poetry
a hyetal flow of verse—
a d o w n p o u r of
silent agony;
grief
s t r e a m i n g
down her face,
watering the arid
landscape of
her soul.
#poetry
November 27, 2025 at 12:12 PM
a poet’s pen released
a hyetal flow of verse—
a d o w n p o u r of
silent agony;
grief
s t r e a m i n g
down her face,
watering the arid
landscape of
her soul.
#poetry
a hyetal flow of verse—
a d o w n p o u r of
silent agony;
grief
s t r e a m i n g
down her face,
watering the arid
landscape of
her soul.
#poetry
November 27, 2025 at 10:11 AM
November 26, 2025 at 8:52 PM
she pressed his hand
upon her own wound
softening
the scar—
a mutual strength;
she harboured
moonlight in her bones,
preserving
the p a r t s of her
that love
without regret—
tenderness
to his
s o u l.
#poetry
upon her own wound
softening
the scar—
a mutual strength;
she harboured
moonlight in her bones,
preserving
the p a r t s of her
that love
without regret—
tenderness
to his
s o u l.
#poetry
November 26, 2025 at 4:22 PM
she pressed his hand
upon her own wound
softening
the scar—
a mutual strength;
she harboured
moonlight in her bones,
preserving
the p a r t s of her
that love
without regret—
tenderness
to his
s o u l.
#poetry
upon her own wound
softening
the scar—
a mutual strength;
she harboured
moonlight in her bones,
preserving
the p a r t s of her
that love
without regret—
tenderness
to his
s o u l.
#poetry
their faces
changed before their eyes—
the b a r e n e s s of their pain,
rock bottom
bitter truth,
parsimonious g e s t u r e s
in the depth of winter—
a l l u s i o n s of warmth
escaped them;
deeper
and deeper
in their minds—
they s i n k.
#poetry
changed before their eyes—
the b a r e n e s s of their pain,
rock bottom
bitter truth,
parsimonious g e s t u r e s
in the depth of winter—
a l l u s i o n s of warmth
escaped them;
deeper
and deeper
in their minds—
they s i n k.
#poetry
November 26, 2025 at 2:26 PM
their faces
changed before their eyes—
the b a r e n e s s of their pain,
rock bottom
bitter truth,
parsimonious g e s t u r e s
in the depth of winter—
a l l u s i o n s of warmth
escaped them;
deeper
and deeper
in their minds—
they s i n k.
#poetry
changed before their eyes—
the b a r e n e s s of their pain,
rock bottom
bitter truth,
parsimonious g e s t u r e s
in the depth of winter—
a l l u s i o n s of warmth
escaped them;
deeper
and deeper
in their minds—
they s i n k.
#poetry
for a m o m e n t in time—
in the quiet yearning
of their s o u l;
his silhouette in the dark,
reflecting his breath,
her scent—held in his m e m o r y—
and how they lingered,
how they wished
u p o n
each other.
#vss365 #poetry #reflection
in the quiet yearning
of their s o u l;
his silhouette in the dark,
reflecting his breath,
her scent—held in his m e m o r y—
and how they lingered,
how they wished
u p o n
each other.
#vss365 #poetry #reflection
November 26, 2025 at 10:44 AM
for a m o m e n t in time—
in the quiet yearning
of their s o u l;
his silhouette in the dark,
reflecting his breath,
her scent—held in his m e m o r y—
and how they lingered,
how they wished
u p o n
each other.
#vss365 #poetry #reflection
in the quiet yearning
of their s o u l;
his silhouette in the dark,
reflecting his breath,
her scent—held in his m e m o r y—
and how they lingered,
how they wished
u p o n
each other.
#vss365 #poetry #reflection
November 26, 2025 at 8:35 AM
November 25, 2025 at 11:33 PM
nothing so strong
as her tenderness—
nothing so tender
as her quiet strength.
but she’s a mess—
a beautiful mess,
who turned her pain
into a m a s t e r p i e c e.
there are storms
in her eyes,
1/3
#poetry
as her tenderness—
nothing so tender
as her quiet strength.
but she’s a mess—
a beautiful mess,
who turned her pain
into a m a s t e r p i e c e.
there are storms
in her eyes,
1/3
#poetry
November 25, 2025 at 10:24 PM
nothing so strong
as her tenderness—
nothing so tender
as her quiet strength.
but she’s a mess—
a beautiful mess,
who turned her pain
into a m a s t e r p i e c e.
there are storms
in her eyes,
1/3
#poetry
as her tenderness—
nothing so tender
as her quiet strength.
but she’s a mess—
a beautiful mess,
who turned her pain
into a m a s t e r p i e c e.
there are storms
in her eyes,
1/3
#poetry
a wound b e n e a t h
the bandage—
i carve tunnels into
my own f e a r s
instead of stepping into
the open sky—
burrow my way out
of freedom,
for i unearth
the s e c r e t of joy
in the mastery of
p a i n—
#poetry
the bandage—
i carve tunnels into
my own f e a r s
instead of stepping into
the open sky—
burrow my way out
of freedom,
for i unearth
the s e c r e t of joy
in the mastery of
p a i n—
#poetry
November 25, 2025 at 6:23 PM
a wound b e n e a t h
the bandage—
i carve tunnels into
my own f e a r s
instead of stepping into
the open sky—
burrow my way out
of freedom,
for i unearth
the s e c r e t of joy
in the mastery of
p a i n—
#poetry
the bandage—
i carve tunnels into
my own f e a r s
instead of stepping into
the open sky—
burrow my way out
of freedom,
for i unearth
the s e c r e t of joy
in the mastery of
p a i n—
#poetry
to stand in storm
of spring, to go into oneself,
to s p r e a d roots
into your soul;
to touch what i feel
and what i love
with a l l senses;
to slip into pockets
of loss, and come back
to the place where life
f l o w s:
to you.
#poetry
of spring, to go into oneself,
to s p r e a d roots
into your soul;
to touch what i feel
and what i love
with a l l senses;
to slip into pockets
of loss, and come back
to the place where life
f l o w s:
to you.
#poetry
November 25, 2025 at 3:08 PM
to stand in storm
of spring, to go into oneself,
to s p r e a d roots
into your soul;
to touch what i feel
and what i love
with a l l senses;
to slip into pockets
of loss, and come back
to the place where life
f l o w s:
to you.
#poetry
of spring, to go into oneself,
to s p r e a d roots
into your soul;
to touch what i feel
and what i love
with a l l senses;
to slip into pockets
of loss, and come back
to the place where life
f l o w s:
to you.
#poetry
Reposted by ⴽⴰⵔⵉⵎⴰ (Karima)
There is a life and there is a death, and there are beauty and melancholy between.
Camus, Notebooks 1935-1942
Camus, Notebooks 1935-1942
November 25, 2025 at 10:29 AM
There is a life and there is a death, and there are beauty and melancholy between.
Camus, Notebooks 1935-1942
Camus, Notebooks 1935-1942