Mirror, Mirror, on the Wall

They say vampires don’t have a reflection. Which might explain why I haven’t been feeling myself lately. This morning when I tried to apply lipstick, I missed my mouth, well, because I grew faint and then vanished altogether. Mirrors don’t lie. How did I procure this ailment? Did I frolic unwittingly with the undead whilst I was out and get nipped without my knowledge? How does one catch vampirism…? Oh well, I thought, as my reflection emerged again slowly before my eyes. There’s nothing I can do about it now. Perhaps no one will notice.

Evocation, Shirin Abedirinad, 2015 (Mirror in Desert, Tehran)

Written for Sammi Scribbles Weekend Writing Prompt: Mirror, 95 words.

Recipe for Keeping Good House…#Free Verse Revolution Publication

First make sure the way is clear to the path to your door. Remove all the stones, unless they’re pleasingly oblong, but never on a blue moon night.

Let the weeds grow wild and behead all the pansies (to keep the jinn away). Allow the black cats free roam to encircle your home for they bring messages from those passed over on nights such as this . . .

You can read the rest of this piece by downloading a copy of Free Verse Revolution Issue III: Hestia (hearth & home).

I’m so delighted to have two of my prose pieces featured in it! The other one is entitled The In-between Places. (You’ll find me on pages 173-176).

Thank you so much to Kristiana Reed for giving them a home amongst other great scribes. After receiving more than my fair share of rejections, it’s truly heartwarming to finally receive a few acceptances. They’re like men and buses. Or pens that roll under the bed. Magpies in pairs and all the missing socks finally turning up again. Anyway, I’m pretty stoked. Hope you enjoy reading it 🙂

A Dada Kind of Day

This ramshackle seesaw of dreams I saw spilling out of my journal the other day really quite gave me the heebie jeebies. Is it some sort of dream catcher, this place I record my thought showers?

And then my book tower fell on me as I bent to pick up my pensieve.  Because I’m clumsy and I knocked it. I’m in an in-between house and I should get a bookshelf.  Preferably one with feet so spiders can commune beneath it.  Still, it fell to reveal a spy novel I kept meaning to read and now I’m glued.  

© N Nazir 2021

Shared for Sammi Scribbles Weekend Writing Prompt: Ramshackle, 97 words.

Lockdown in Spain has been…

…actually a time of nourishment for me in many ways. The world has literally been toxic with a virus but quarantining has been a time to detoxify, psychically, from other’s auric energy fields. It’s a relief. Okay, so lesson planning every day and teaching online has still consumed my time but it has been more wholesome. And my job I’ve come to value and enjoy, not least because I’m good at it, because it means I come into contact with some hilarious humans I’m delighted to have as students, but because it’s my bread and butter and supports my everyday needs. So the rest of my time can be spent seeking refuge in all the other art forms I’m obsessed with, that I need in my life to quite simply be my healthiest liberated self. Like photography. Trying to capture a beatific glimpse of the eternal.

View from my terrace with last week’s full moon, Digital Photograph © N. Nazir, 2020

I rent a roomy attic flat above a bookshop on the main plaza in Aranda de Duero. It’s airy and spacious and open plan with lovely light to write, read, draw, sew. It’s big enough for two but perfect for one, I love having all this space to myself, I revel in it, it allows me to think and clear my thoughts. It allows me mental replenishment, a great place to self-isolate.

Plaza Mayor, view from my terrace, Digital Photograph © N. Nazir, 2020

I’m lucky, I know. I enjoy solitude and the artistic life, it suits me fine. It’s freezing in winter and when the spring storms come a-blustering, the wind whistles through, the rain pelts a tattoo and leaks through in various parts of the flat, but now I know where so I always have strategically placed bowls here and there to catch it, and there they remain. The ceiling creaks and groans constantly, involuntarily, particularly in the dead of night, at times jolting me awake with the snapping sound of wood shrinking back to its former size. I find all these idiosyncrasies comforting. I’ll miss this place. It wormed its way into my heart. Sloping ceilings and wood, so much wood, huge terrace with a view of the plaza, just space everywhere. I’ve spent wonderful hours just lying on my bed and thinking, overthinking, realising, cogitating. It was perfect for the time it was mine. It nurtured my poetry and song and art. It’s still mine for a few more weeks.

Last week’s full Strawberry Moon, Digital Photograph, © N. Nazir, 2020

I’ll be leaving soon. I’ll be sad but glad to go. It’s been great but it’s time to move on. How many countless times have I been here in my life, another chapter finished. Part of me even enjoys leaving. The casting off, the removal of dead leaves, the pruning, the breath of new shoots, the excitement of it. The world suffers but brings fresh hope. I want to be part of its hopeful future.

Zoomed-in view of the back of Santa Maria Church from my kitchen window, Digital Photograph © N. Nazir, 2020
Santa Maria Church (a tiny stroll away), Digital Photograph © N. Nazir, 2020

© N Nazir 2020