"It's the passion that kills. Just a man and his will to survive" !
Music, mountains and photography go hand in hand for me. Have always been like that. They are my own and I'm a child of theirs forever.
The human race and its brain is an extremely strange creation, you see. It's the best example of frailty at times and the epitome of strength and power at others. Then it has a heart that's softer in emotions and love than a melting candle and it has a heart that's harder than a mountain rock in ego, hate and pride. A highly diverse and dynamic evolutionary marvel that puts in shame even the highest mountains on Earth that statically stand at their places for millions of years and witness this stubborn little beast conquering its heights with will and determination, defying all fears and dangers.
This post is just a tribute to the endless days and nights and eves that I and my fellow passionate nature lovers have spent in the mountains of this country and elsewhere in the world. To especially all those locals and porters who are born with the true mountain spirit and genes and without whom, many of these mountains would probably still be virgin. To the friends who passed away in standing for their will and passion. To the evenings whose sunsets can be as beautiful as a lover's lap with her wet hair spread on one's eyes and cheeks and to the mystical mornings that always take one's breathe away. To the nights in the midst of which we sit, sing, dance and sleep by the warm campfire that gives us the mysterious woody-smoky scent and a tikky sound to remember forever. To all the times when we are stretched to our physical and mental limits in pursuing our passion and never give in to the circumstances eventually following our will. Burned and swollen faces, bruised arms and legs, crackling joints, and yet the glitter of bliss and happiness and smile in the eyes tell another story altogether. It's all beautiful, very very beautiful. It's something to cherish forever, especially in the old age when our bones and flesh won't be able to take us to the mountain tops but our memories would serve us well. Here's to the hope 🍻🥂 Images from the winters of year '09.
(3/10) A dove, they called purity’.
Alleesha Mustafa Rahu
Her, and French Beach
‘It always starts like a dream, like you’ve expected it,
it always starts like a dream.’
‘You’re a lot stronger than you think you are, you’re a lot purer than what they’ve made you believe you are,
you’ve been nothing less than magic.
Love you always, @alleeshagram
Thank you for all that you are, and for always being so ever ready, and so patient. I will always wait for you, that’s a promise @rubarauf701
🎧 A Violent Sky - Apparat
At times when God abandons me, the devil finds abode within me, and he tells me terrible things. Times when I'm frantic, when there's a blinding white, I'm true to God. I cry to Him and I beg to Him, and I tell him all I have is You, no one in this world can be my confidant, no one in this world loves me, except You, and He smiles at me, takes my hand, takes me to the ends of the world and shows me beauty, shows me grace, shows me what I could have, who I could be, and I go running towards the cliff, eager and ecstatic, under a trance. I jump, high, and turn around to take His hand, my confidant, my Only, and He just stands there, laughing as I fall, again.
It's times like these when the Devil creeps in, lures me into his arms, tells me stories; God has betrayed him, too. I can trust him, I entirely do. And he shows me things, terrible things, he shows me the Truth, the Truth within. He shows me lies and hate and evil. He shows me his face in everyone and I see it, I see it clearly. I see his face in the girls who point and the boys who stare. the lovers who leave and betray, the friends, turning green and full of lies and hate. He shows me everything, I see everything. I see him in everyone, the girl who spews acid at my face, but whose words turn into honey when she talks to men, the boys in the corridor, watching you head to toe, the bearded men on the streets, gawking at my chest, the men of God. all those who boast masks of God, I see their true Satan within. I see everything, everything and it's ugly, I loathe him. Just as I am about to, again, turn back to God, to safety, to sanity, to hope that there is goodness, he smiles at me sadly, holds in front of me a mirror. I look just like him.