Strangers. That’s what we were. Outlines, figures, passer bys maybe, with no thread in between. We arrived in a foreign land, with our luggage only, and a head filled with scraps- expectations, fear, excitement, and intimidation. No thread in between.
Then came the ceildah, the dance night; clacks of shoes on wooden floors, music melodies dragging us right into the core of that foreign land we just embarked on.
We met that night; we conversed, sugar-coated words were passed between us; few; yet, they marked the beginning;
somewhere along that night, a thread, was tied.
I was drawn.
They were those kind of people who were overwhelmed by existence, by beauty, by idea by thought and memory; those whose life sometimes became too much because they couldn’t bear to accept reality as it was. They’d doubt, they’d question, and they’d weep for it all.
In castles and palaces, they’d slow their pace, and listen intently- to every wall, every statue, every canvas- to the curves in the doorknob, the engravings on the fireplace, and the words embedded in between. In their wake, everything, everything, became impeccable.
They’d talk literature – of words they’ve swallowed once upon a time, of plays they’d marveled on, of characters, of places, of scents and textures lost in time. They’d disagree, they’d reach out and hand ideas, they’d flip them, mold them, and dwell upon them for a while.
They’d talk politics – of nations they’ve mapped, of presidents, of policies, of civilizations, and empires. They’d tuck the globe under their arms and wander with it.
They’d talk society- of flaws they’d wish to scrape off, of molds, of broken hopes, of ideologies they’d wish to demolish. They’d create a momentary utopia amongst themselves, and watch it disperse in seconds.
There was :
The phenomena- eccentric to a world, that knows nothing of the chaos she could bring to it. Truth perhaps, one, the universe itself wont be able to bear.
The spirit- She’d see that line, that’s placed so far beyond our existence. She’d know of it, touch it, and simply believe. Leaves would speak to her, branches arch their way for her to lean on, and trunks would yearn for an embrace. The heart, of everything, and everyone, lies right there ; inside of her.
The sunshine – Surreal, twirling around life, with that enviable tranquility; it drags you in and makes you wonder “ what is it, I was worried about?”.
The melody- she’d leave a trace of colors behind , everything would simply
float around her; lyrical, whimsical, and light as a drizzle.
The reality - She’d know of those footsteps left behind, of wars and battles, and she’d tell it all. Intact she’d keep everything, past, present, and future.
The mystery - Behind her eyelids, the world lies, with all its miraculous wonders, for she sees it all. She’d crawl into poetry lines, into realms only pages know of; she’d tiptoe on pavements, and whisper to buildings. She’d dance in the rye, and find God there.
The life of them all – She was the equilibrium that held them all together; the norm, falters in front of her, for she was the change it always feared. She’d reach far, she’d reach very far.
Nothing, could be quite as beautiful.
Friday, July 23, 2010
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