Over there, there are so many horses
that they don’t even bother to name them.
This area of the Faristan, wild, unknown and so fantasied about,
is a mix of beauty and harshness, landlocked between the trenches
of the mountains.
It’s a quest for the sublime, for distance, but also for the imagery
and beliefs related to its pursuit.
It’s like making a waking dream come true.
Like catching the feelings of this terrestrial paradise,
where the borders are as entangled
as the mountain ranges that define them.
It’s a state between imagination and conciseness,
between the quest and the sense of already having seen
these spaces where the people are forged by their environment.
A hesitation between mirage and the reality of what is appearing on the horizon, probably because we are more open to being surprised.