Belial: I'm not that confident about my English, I hope I didn't mess up
the translation of this fic too much ^_^. Anyway, I've always loved Kujaku,
but in RG Veda he's personality isn't explained that well… We don't really
know what he thinks, why he does the things he does, so this fic came
itself. One night it just happened to be written. Let me know what you
think of it.
The very first sentence is the translation of a dialogue taken from the end of the Italian Version of RG Veda, so it might be a little different from the actual Japanese one.
***
Standard disclaimer apply
***
"Me? I have learned that sometimes it is possible to depart from the road chosen by the stars. And then, Ashura has shown me that useless children do not exist and it seems enough to me"
He had shown me that, in the end, nobody is what he is born for, but is what he has created with his life and his dreams.
Dreams… mere illusion of eyes too wet by tears, of wasted sighs in nights of loneliness. Am I allowed to dream? Am I allowed, then, to lose myself to the notes that the sun strikes up for the stars? The haze of my never- ending thinking, of my never-ending whisper to the ears of deaf, has tired me, tired of the one companion that has collected my prayers and that has interlaced them though its fingers.
Solitude.
The man which all it has begun for, the man which all it has ended for, made it his mistress and she had enslaved him.
I look in front of me and what do I see? Only dew that bathes the protagonists of a vicissitude that is not mine, of a life that doesn't belong to me… and, for this reason, it has lost its sense. The heavy curtain of my lady has wrapped me and warmed me, taking away hope from my heart. What do I live for?? Am I useful to something? Or, perhaps better, to someone?
Nobody.
Neither love, nor passion cross the road of my life, they have always run away. Betrayed by what I believed in, I don't have tears left, I have wasted them in the nights when I was hoping. This time has passed, now, and I'm not allowed to waste more of it, I'm not allowed to scream nor to suffer, only to observe.
If, when I was a child, I deceived myself that happiness meant my mother's smile, now I think it means embrace. The feelings of strangers' hands that caress your skin, delicate breaths that run on the neck, this must be the word "happiness".. Am I maybe wrong? It's only an embrace what would revive the colour of my spirit, the lymph that, asleep, lies in me.
Embrace.
Denied to a child because he was the tangible proof of the abhorrence, denied to me now, because it is the price I must pay. A desire revealed more than once, now I'm prostrated before the evidence that nothing so sweet will be a part me, the obscure servant is locked up in the depths of the crystal palace, the obscure servant will be forgotten because of love and smiles is not made his life. The twilight never cross those slabs that divide his jail from the world, because the sun, scared of darkness, gives up the fight and turns aside its way: the main road has been lost, nobody knows where its light will be lead, what I'm sure of it is that it will be far away from me. And my spirit is the dwelling of the dark.
Darkness.
Staggering I try of walk between these invisible walls, the emperor died and he has placed one indelible cross on us. His extinguished eyes have already soaked the earth, his tears have already bathed the fields. He will catch up with the person he loves, the man that has plucked the cords of a lyre and that has composed his melody. They have found theirselves and the symphony of them being together has caress their ears. Who will wait for me, once dead? Who is waiting for me now that I'm alive? Who is at home thinking of my eyes, of my words, hoping to spend some time with me?
A house doesn't exist, a person that's waiting for me doesn't exist, myself doesn't exist because I can't be embraced. I want to stop the time, lose myself in love… But I cannot.
I bleed from invisible wounds, my heart has stopped pumping long ago, my knees collapsed under the weight of the nothing that I tighten in my hands.
Sometimes it happens that I'm watching the sky, I look at its different shades of colours and I try to understand its secrets. And while I'm concentrate looking up, I feel something that slides on my palm, I feel the scent of something of unknown but delicious, that caresses my face. And then I tighten the hands, in the vain attempt to catch that breeze that has caressed my senses. I tighten strong, I bring it close to my skin and I close my eyes not to forget it, but then I watch my hands, I see that they're empty. It was the wind
Everything has faded or, perhaps, nothing has ever been.
I don't know it, but does it matter now?
Heavily I went in front of what I'm not, in front of the man that, for love, is waiting for his soul to break free. The evidence that this exists is the evidence that my life, my spirit and my thoughts are vain, are useless, are silent.
I smile, I see Yasha's eyes full of what I don't know, of what I would have been able to give but that has been denied to me. Perhaps he knows why, I would like to get close to him and ask him, I would like to cry clear tears. But I don't do it, I can't, the chains of what has been are too strong to be broken, are too evil to loose the grip. In my lymph run meshes of a night that won't be undone, ever, by any fire, because no fire is for me. Ashura and Yasha's pentagram is still immaculate, their embrace is still unripe, but so harmonic that vibrates on my skin painfully. The black mistress in my blood has dyed the most hidden mazes of myself, I left the candour behind and now I ask the gods for help so that I will be able to borrow a silver star beam to light my soul, if just for once, and to be able to offer my love. No melody is written in solitude, the harmony of the notes' succession doesn't have any sense if a shadow is your only companion. Therefore, my song will be out of tune, will sound discordantly, but take it anyway, listen to it anyway, because my blood will break your chains to let you transcribe your notes on your souls.
My blood will be for you what I have never felt, nor I will ever feel. The disharmony of my song will reach the sky, the confused notes of this score will not be gathered, but they will mean freedom for the two people who I have loved as friends, which smiled at me, once.
And now that the blood runs, that my chest is pierced through, my so longed embrace gets lost in the thought, in the memory, in the dream and it becomes, itself, wind
The very first sentence is the translation of a dialogue taken from the end of the Italian Version of RG Veda, so it might be a little different from the actual Japanese one.
***
Standard disclaimer apply
***
"Me? I have learned that sometimes it is possible to depart from the road chosen by the stars. And then, Ashura has shown me that useless children do not exist and it seems enough to me"
He had shown me that, in the end, nobody is what he is born for, but is what he has created with his life and his dreams.
Dreams… mere illusion of eyes too wet by tears, of wasted sighs in nights of loneliness. Am I allowed to dream? Am I allowed, then, to lose myself to the notes that the sun strikes up for the stars? The haze of my never- ending thinking, of my never-ending whisper to the ears of deaf, has tired me, tired of the one companion that has collected my prayers and that has interlaced them though its fingers.
Solitude.
The man which all it has begun for, the man which all it has ended for, made it his mistress and she had enslaved him.
I look in front of me and what do I see? Only dew that bathes the protagonists of a vicissitude that is not mine, of a life that doesn't belong to me… and, for this reason, it has lost its sense. The heavy curtain of my lady has wrapped me and warmed me, taking away hope from my heart. What do I live for?? Am I useful to something? Or, perhaps better, to someone?
Nobody.
Neither love, nor passion cross the road of my life, they have always run away. Betrayed by what I believed in, I don't have tears left, I have wasted them in the nights when I was hoping. This time has passed, now, and I'm not allowed to waste more of it, I'm not allowed to scream nor to suffer, only to observe.
If, when I was a child, I deceived myself that happiness meant my mother's smile, now I think it means embrace. The feelings of strangers' hands that caress your skin, delicate breaths that run on the neck, this must be the word "happiness".. Am I maybe wrong? It's only an embrace what would revive the colour of my spirit, the lymph that, asleep, lies in me.
Embrace.
Denied to a child because he was the tangible proof of the abhorrence, denied to me now, because it is the price I must pay. A desire revealed more than once, now I'm prostrated before the evidence that nothing so sweet will be a part me, the obscure servant is locked up in the depths of the crystal palace, the obscure servant will be forgotten because of love and smiles is not made his life. The twilight never cross those slabs that divide his jail from the world, because the sun, scared of darkness, gives up the fight and turns aside its way: the main road has been lost, nobody knows where its light will be lead, what I'm sure of it is that it will be far away from me. And my spirit is the dwelling of the dark.
Darkness.
Staggering I try of walk between these invisible walls, the emperor died and he has placed one indelible cross on us. His extinguished eyes have already soaked the earth, his tears have already bathed the fields. He will catch up with the person he loves, the man that has plucked the cords of a lyre and that has composed his melody. They have found theirselves and the symphony of them being together has caress their ears. Who will wait for me, once dead? Who is waiting for me now that I'm alive? Who is at home thinking of my eyes, of my words, hoping to spend some time with me?
A house doesn't exist, a person that's waiting for me doesn't exist, myself doesn't exist because I can't be embraced. I want to stop the time, lose myself in love… But I cannot.
I bleed from invisible wounds, my heart has stopped pumping long ago, my knees collapsed under the weight of the nothing that I tighten in my hands.
Sometimes it happens that I'm watching the sky, I look at its different shades of colours and I try to understand its secrets. And while I'm concentrate looking up, I feel something that slides on my palm, I feel the scent of something of unknown but delicious, that caresses my face. And then I tighten the hands, in the vain attempt to catch that breeze that has caressed my senses. I tighten strong, I bring it close to my skin and I close my eyes not to forget it, but then I watch my hands, I see that they're empty. It was the wind
Everything has faded or, perhaps, nothing has ever been.
I don't know it, but does it matter now?
Heavily I went in front of what I'm not, in front of the man that, for love, is waiting for his soul to break free. The evidence that this exists is the evidence that my life, my spirit and my thoughts are vain, are useless, are silent.
I smile, I see Yasha's eyes full of what I don't know, of what I would have been able to give but that has been denied to me. Perhaps he knows why, I would like to get close to him and ask him, I would like to cry clear tears. But I don't do it, I can't, the chains of what has been are too strong to be broken, are too evil to loose the grip. In my lymph run meshes of a night that won't be undone, ever, by any fire, because no fire is for me. Ashura and Yasha's pentagram is still immaculate, their embrace is still unripe, but so harmonic that vibrates on my skin painfully. The black mistress in my blood has dyed the most hidden mazes of myself, I left the candour behind and now I ask the gods for help so that I will be able to borrow a silver star beam to light my soul, if just for once, and to be able to offer my love. No melody is written in solitude, the harmony of the notes' succession doesn't have any sense if a shadow is your only companion. Therefore, my song will be out of tune, will sound discordantly, but take it anyway, listen to it anyway, because my blood will break your chains to let you transcribe your notes on your souls.
My blood will be for you what I have never felt, nor I will ever feel. The disharmony of my song will reach the sky, the confused notes of this score will not be gathered, but they will mean freedom for the two people who I have loved as friends, which smiled at me, once.
And now that the blood runs, that my chest is pierced through, my so longed embrace gets lost in the thought, in the memory, in the dream and it becomes, itself, wind