The result of two
year's procrastination. Read, enjoy, and review.
Who are you?
You – who knocks at my door
On those dark moonless nights
That thrust through my sleep
And drain my blood
– In the morning –
My mind shatters into fragments
And all I want is to run, run, run
To the end of the road
The field's aflame
The ground is cursed
The city's dried of breath
By unrelenting foehn winds
This being the season of
Desire
I searched for such a long time. At the beginning, an image: a warrior of unrelenting strength and compassion. Then it was like a three-way mirror reflecting my past, present, and future. But the light was reflected on the wall, so that I could only see the faint, blurred images of my life playing out. And in the midst, inextricably entwined, was a flashing yellow, green, and red figure, the only bright colors weaving in and out of the ominous, menacing abyss of the swirling, haunting black of the void and crimson of blood. I searched for you everywhere: in my books, in my dreams, within my weaknesses. Then, I lost faith. From one hurt to the next I fled, running into loneliness, rejection. The people of the planets were throwing me out, calling me the curse of the worlds.
At last, you surprised me, a tapestry of three bright colors flashing out of the shimmering purple shadows.
From the silence of our hearts we hear each other breathe. Days are short and nights are warm. Good fortunes smile upon us. Life unfurls like a red carpet, and under my rusty demeanor, I frolic and dance, dismiss bad omens and laugh at skeptics. My hours are drawn in arabesques, hyperboles, and curves. My body fills with abundant joy.
I raise my arms to the sky and thank the sky for making me so fertile. I have given birth to hope.
How many times did you save me from allowing my heritage to consume me from within? How many times did you show me that despair is not the only path? Too many times. But once, you failed.
…
She had been writhing and battling with the pain and burns for three days. The sheets, which had been changed twice, were already drenched in sweat. A soft light bathed the small room as a machine recorded her now steady heartbeat. The flowers had opened and some petals littered the small bedside table.
He looked at her and he knew he loved her more than ever. He could hear her weak and regular breathing which echoed like a distant refrain. How long he remained like that looking at her suffering, he did not know. How long he would remain there like that, helpless, feeling her trickle away, he did not know.
He felt like screaming, so loud that the sound would pierce the walls, its reverberations would silence the city and time would recoil. He wanted to submit his body to the same suffering – feel the same pain.
Then, he prayed. He knelt down and prayed. He had not done this in a long time. There was an age when simple words lifted fear. Days when time was not of the essence. Now he was hesitant. He had a strong longing for his childhood prayers.
He placed his hands together, not so much to call to a god, but more to gather his strength. He stayed like this until evening. When the last sounds had been heard and the city seemed to be sleeping, he looked at her and found that she had woken up.
I can hear a voice. The sound drifts from far away. Yet he is here, nearby. I can see him in my mind. And the same thing is repeated over and over – I can tell from the cadence and syllables. He keeps reciting. Incessantly. It stops me from thinking.
Last night I dreamt that I was kissing him. He was faceless, but I knew it was he. When I woke up, it was evening. I could hear his voice.
It all began with a smile. A way of speaking. A way of moving. And that was it. I was in love.
And I have this fear in the pit of my stomach and I tell myself that it has got to stop. That I had better leave, soon.
I must leave, I must die, before the flame that ignites hope fades. Leave before my demons enter, before my father enters, before all that we have worked for is destroyed, and the only sounds to be heard are screams and the crackling of fire.
I want to die with love in my heart, not despair or hatred. I want to die with his loving face in my sight, not with his dead face haunting me to the end. I must leave while there is still time with my desire, which conquers the sea. Powerful. The sea, nothing but the sea. Supreme and beautiful. An immense placenta, a liquid prison.
There will be no more tomorrow, but only the sea and sky paving themselves a passage across the horizon.
...
She lay there, watching him. Finally, he spoke.
"I will go with you to death," he said to her. "I want to love you till the end of your suffering."
"You cannot stop death," she murmured. "It is too strong. Do you remember Orpheus and Eurydice? What shall we do in this city, abandoned to despair and non-believers? You know it: this disease is devouring me."
"I'll go to the end of our story."
"Very well," she said, and fell asleep again.
...
He placed his two hands on her forehead, and vanished into her mind. He knew the moment had come and prepared himself for the final voyage with utmost care.
Then he picked her up in his arms and walked through the city. He crossed deserted neighborhoods. He walked above roads, above rooftops, through the green foliage of the trees. After traveling for several days and nights, he was exhausted. He placed her on some thick grass in a garden.
"Don't be afraid, I won't leave you. There is still a long way to go, but together, it will be easier. Drink some water, it will make you feel better."
He gave her water, which she drank in small sips, and when she had finished, they continued on their way. She dozed in his arms. This time he crossed streams, small and large rivers, he hopped across swamps and ran on lakes.
They came to the sea. They marveled at what they saw, and she said:
"I want to die here. What can be more beautiful than this dancing foam and engulfing water?"
"No, please, not yet," he said and listened to the waves which seemed to show him the way.
...
They traveled for seven more days as far as the white mountains to the north. The silence and cold were one. The awesome void swallowed all vision.
"I could not die anywhere else. This is where peace lies. Just look at immensity where no impurity can stain death. Even the soil rests beneath the cold. My body will retain its youth. The passing centuries count for nothing. Leave me here".
"No," he pleaded, looking at her with desperate love. "This solitude chills my soul. I could never leave you on this carpet of ice. I would feel as though I had betrayed you".
He still had a long way to go on this painful journey. But then, before he came to the desert, they knew they had now reached the end of the earth and there was nowhere else for them to go. She looked at him straight in the eyes:
"This is it. Now leave me. I must cross the gates of Hell alone. Beyond those are the souls of the dead. There is nothing more that you can do. Following me would be futile."
His heart began to race. He suddenly felt that he was going to lose her.
"Let me love you one last time."
And so it was there, between the earth and the sky, that they loved each other so intensely that the sun was eclipsed and a cool wind swept their bodies.
She heard a flute playing, and it gave her hope.
And so, the lovers died, entangled in each other's arms. Together, hand in hand, they crossed the bridge of swords toward their destinies in the second world. A second dream. A second chance. A second hope.