Maidens, Mothers, Crones
DISCLAIMER: Never owned it never will. Not even in a hostile takeover.
From Rasetsunyo's POV. I always wondered what Kou's mom would be like.
***
My veil is counterfeit serenity. Cast--frozen--sculpted--
Cursed.
My face: a mirror to the cataclysmic storms that rush by. Tumultuous stillness reflected in the empty slate that is my image.
Locked in this alabaster prison, I await my only pilgrim.
He has grown from a surly boy into a pensive man. So quickly. To one captured in everlasting beauty, the years are but drops of water in a Timeless pool.
A barren shrine, I cannot hold him or comfort him or nurture him as any mother could. I gave birth to a son yet I do not have him.
He speaks to me daily. Hoping, perhaps?--to make flowers bloom from rock.
But at least he has learned to love and respect. I see it in the maidens he treats as sister and lover. He brings them here: for a mother's approval. I taste both the sweet and the bitter. Watching him learn passion, fury, hatred, love, regret and sorrow prodigiously; I just wish that he could live unburdened.
In a moment of rage, he lashes out. The ragged cries of my child shake the foundations of my tomb. He curses the woman who locked me here.
I long to soothe his troubled heart and give him the luxury of trust.
He is a man now. But he hasn't grasped the fullness of confidence.
He is a man now. He has tasted the first pangs of love.
He is a man now. But not having mastered rationale.
"Haha. . . "
I long to tell him that he doesn't have to grow up so fast. Mothers teach their daughters to be clever but their sons to be wise.
I hope that the moment will come soon.
DISCLAIMER: Never owned it never will. Not even in a hostile takeover.
From Rasetsunyo's POV. I always wondered what Kou's mom would be like.
***
My veil is counterfeit serenity. Cast--frozen--sculpted--
Cursed.
My face: a mirror to the cataclysmic storms that rush by. Tumultuous stillness reflected in the empty slate that is my image.
Locked in this alabaster prison, I await my only pilgrim.
He has grown from a surly boy into a pensive man. So quickly. To one captured in everlasting beauty, the years are but drops of water in a Timeless pool.
A barren shrine, I cannot hold him or comfort him or nurture him as any mother could. I gave birth to a son yet I do not have him.
He speaks to me daily. Hoping, perhaps?--to make flowers bloom from rock.
But at least he has learned to love and respect. I see it in the maidens he treats as sister and lover. He brings them here: for a mother's approval. I taste both the sweet and the bitter. Watching him learn passion, fury, hatred, love, regret and sorrow prodigiously; I just wish that he could live unburdened.
In a moment of rage, he lashes out. The ragged cries of my child shake the foundations of my tomb. He curses the woman who locked me here.
I long to soothe his troubled heart and give him the luxury of trust.
He is a man now. But he hasn't grasped the fullness of confidence.
He is a man now. He has tasted the first pangs of love.
He is a man now. But not having mastered rationale.
"Haha. . . "
I long to tell him that he doesn't have to grow up so fast. Mothers teach their daughters to be clever but their sons to be wise.
I hope that the moment will come soon.