Thursday, March 15, 2007

ocean soul

Haven't been writing here for a long time. It's been an extremely busy few weeks...what with creating an authentic (as close as it can get anyway) late Roman Republic newspaper, conducting a seminar on romantic relationships (how ironic), getting involved in Fiesta Feminista and a whole load of other things.

Time to take a break.

I'd like to tell a tale of a girl singing a grief-soaked song of loss and longing. Here it goes...

~
She sits on the curved root of a tree on shifting sands. The sea breeze caresses her hair, warm and gentle as a lover. She waits till the moon rises, a glowing orb lighting up the sky slowly like the flame of a candle brought into the darkness of unexplored terrain. Underneath the soft gauzy light, she sees him walking out from an indecipherable mass of shapes, which looks like the tight embrace of trees and brambles.

She longs to call out his name, see him turn towards her, and embrace her with abandoned desire. She longs to see, touch, feel his affection--the untasted ambrosia of her foolish fantasies. All that she has ever known from him is the cool detachment of an uninterested god living in his own realm, separated from her by a thick black line of unspoken words and man-made inventions.

She has always been content though, watching him emerge from the darkness at moon rise while she lay caged in silence. One night, the moon does not rise. She waits, hoping against hope that he will appear. He does not. But perhaps, it is only this night, she tries to reassure herself. Other nights, he will appear at the rise of moon.

The next night, the moon fills up the sky with such glory, she is like the magnificent sun of day. But here, she is the Queen of night. Where is he? she wonders, twisting her hands in anxiety. He does not appear. She waits the whole night, but her persistence goes unrewarded. She never sees him again.

The loss strikes her with the sharpness of a hundred swords. He was never in her possession, but the realization did nothing to abate the pain that snaked through her like poison. She wonders what to do. How do you heal the fresh bleeding wounds of loss?

She discards her black garments and dresses herself in white. Gazing out upon the glimmering sea, she takes a step forward. And walks, one slow step at a time, utterly alone on the entire stretch of shifting sands...
~

Written at 3:14 AM

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Thursday, March 01, 2007

the demise of a god

She sits by the fireside, watching the orange flames dancing in front of flickering shadows. A tear is rolling down her cheek, warmed by the fire so close to her. Her hands clutch her black dress, a subdued funeral gown that makes her invisible among the shadows of her grief. She is mourning his demise--the death of a god. Stabbed by an ancient unknown dagger till it spills the last drop of his immortality. He is only human now...like her. Like other men. A head among millions of other heads, a grain inseparable from the sands of humanity.

A thought strikes her...deep and unpleasant. What if it was she who stabbed him? Robbed him of his immortality...

Another thread of thought weaves subtly, but emerges bright and strong like pure gold. What if he was never a god?

Written at 3:09 AM

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