What the Water Remembers

There is a weight to things that are about to vanish. We walk past stone and soil, assuming they are permanent, as if the earth itself were a promise kept. But memory is a thin layer. It sits on the surface of the river, shifting with the current, waiting for the tide to rise and claim what we were too slow to hold. We build walls to stop the flow, to mark our time, yet the water does not care for our history. It only knows the path it has carved over centuries. To lose a place is to lose a piece of the map inside oneself. We are left with the silence of what used to be, a hollow space where a name once lived. Does the river miss the stone, or does it simply continue, indifferent to the stories it carries away into the dark?

Mehmet Masum has captured this quiet erosion in his image titled Along the River Tigris. It is a reminder that some things are already ghosts before they are gone. Will you look closely at what remains?