Imagine Istanbul

Late in the afternoon on Büyükada to be exact, on the Sea of Marmara; alone behind the iron gates.

The sun sets, the low light across the water shimmers, its colors pastel against the wall, a man alone. In solitude. He waits for chance, desire, hope, charity, music, a lover, dignity, freedom, a boat, a word, a song. He waits for love, for pride, for victory, for work, for night, for day. In solitude he waits for a whisper, a song, a prayer.

Or, perhaps he waits for nothingness and feels the nausea of his existence in solitude.

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