In a room with no walls, where light is felt but not seen, a child slumbers peaceful. Lying in fetal and strewn across crumpled heaps, he dreams lucid and exquisite visions. Blanketed by a quilt of dripping parchments, and scored vellum, of gaudy canvasses and soiled newsprints, he is kept balmy. There, here, in this space of nothingness he can exist oblivious to the enmities of the world, devoid of the encumbrances of being and of becoming.
Hidden in a labyrinth of exotic sikats as intricate as Marrakech, in forgotten dunes as distant as Petra, across mountains of pallid barrenness, this room lies. From its window of twigs and emaciated leaves, an ocean heaves immense and amorphous. An infinite lullaby of waves and foam shower his deep eyes. Moist from the winds that playfully tussle his locks, the child awakens and begins to hum a faint melody imperceptible but there.
An aria begging to be heard. An incomplete tune seeking impervious ears.
The melody, vague and foreign, is unintelligible. Fragments of lines and thoughts, cryptic and dense. Their sounds a crescendo of fibrous tapestries luxuriant and unfinished. He persists, perseveres, with the guttural imploring of a fallen angel, a castrati. A dead language unspoken, unheard, unlamented.
Lachrymose and stirring, this fecund melody is swept by the winds. Sublimating into the ether of his eternal sunrise. Glaring and resonant across the expanse of this nothingness. His voice becoming the scape, the sand, the sea, the serenity.
Yet he remains in this place, somewhere, nowhere, his Neverwhere.
Image from here.
10 redmarks:
take his hand. :)
@Alterjon I wish I could. But there are no more hands to fill mine. No more fingers to hold me steady. No more palms to warm my own. Or did you mean God's hand?
then its the best hand there is!
@Désolé Boy In many ways, it is. I leave it to Him. But I have to say, sometimes waiting can be a burden.
i always wonder how would it feel to be back on the safety of our mother's womb.
@the geek Me too. Not in a marsupial sense, for there are days that all I crave is my mom's embrace. And when I do get to hug her, everything seems to be alright.
Like I said, yours is my bedtime entry. You never fail to lull me with your words.
@Mu[g]en Oh thanks bro! Yours is my wake-upper. A taste of reality from my foibles and imaginings.
these words, like dreams, are splendidly beautiful.
@Yas Jayson Xie xie ni peng you. Your too kind. :)
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