Tag Archives: time

Time, dust, life

Stories (2015)
 Time, dust, life (2015)

I like to tell stories. It comes from my grandmother. She was a storyteller. When we were little, and she would tell a story, everyone would hang on her lips. If any of the adults would be walking by, they’d stop too for a moment, couldn’t help but listen. So growing up like that, I like to tell stories too. Sometimes what I tell is true, sometimes it’s completely made up. Sometimes I am so certain that as I’m weaving the words here, somewhere they are breathing life into real people and someone somewhere is living as I’m writing. I can’t be the god of a new world, I can’t be the goddess of the ages but I would love to be. I’d write them, my people, stories of love and longing. I’d write them, my people, stories of romance and high in the clouds, I’d sit and I’d watch them, I’d sit and I’d sing. Songs, songs on the wind, hopes in their hearts and dreams like a nightingale. I’d tell them this story.

I walked along the paths of this fair, not very long ago. I walked along the lanes of my memories. I walked along and I walked along and suddenly, awoken from the absence of my wandering mind, I saw your face. About to step up onto this ride, threw back your head and laughed. You stopped me in your tracks, you stopped me. I had to stand and I had to watch you for a while. Hundreds of people but my eyes alighted on you. Hundreds of sounds but my ears caught your laughter like the sound of that first wave. Flows, it comes, flows and flies back, yearning; it creates a yearning in my heart. You are not alone and so I see you, holding her hand, reaching out and tucking her hair behind her ear and she looks at you with love and I’m just an outsider.

You take care of her, see, how gentle you are, how careful, watching her steps, treasuring her, keeping her. She makes a joke perhaps, you smile, and you step up. The ride would leave soon, you’d sit on that chair with her, you’d touch your fingers to her face and I see on your face, the part where you feel like the ride will begin, and it’s the ride of your life. The part where your love will bloom and you’d love her for all your days to come. And it all began here, here at this fair, as I watched you. I see, perhaps, the way the time will pass. Didn’t I say this will be a story?

I see, perhaps, the way your life will unfold in front of my eyes. One day holding hands, the next, holding each other. Waking up together, in the same bed, going to sleep, in the comfort of each other, burying yourself in the familiar, burying yourself in all the things you’d do together. It makes me remember… In another life, when we flew kites together, when we ran across the green, green grass, laughing and the kites chasing us, the wind rocking us, gently, so gently. I remember it like it was yesterday, I remember it like it was my life and now I am reincarnated. You see, we were together. You see, we went up this ride together and I was afraid so you joked with me and held me close and told me nothing would happen. You see, I saw the world through your eyes. I saw the truth dawn and I saw it through you. You taught me, you loved me and we wove together like strings, red strings, of a warm, warm wool. Intertwined, together, we wove together, we knotted together the worlds, we created the spools that revolved around us, until we were in the center, right in the center and the world revolved around us. Do you remember? Do you remember?

The waves crashed and the storms broke and time thundered by. The horses rode and the sand was swept up and the water drenched us through. Do you remember the storms we faced together? Do you remember the lightning that burned marks on our hands but we didn’t let go? Do you remember, do you remember, the clouds of rain that made us wet, the clouds and mists we walked through, danced through? Do you remember?

Jerked awake. Back in my reality. Back in this world. I see you, still standing there. Ready to take that step, into the fold, into the beginning. Ready to walk inside, ready to breathe her, take her. I see you.

I see you and I have to walk on. I have to walk on. There is no place for me. There is no ride waiting, it’s already gone, flung away, in anger, in fury. Have to keep walking, walking so fast. Glancing back, yes, that’s what I do, glancing back and seeing through. I already lived, I saw you and I lived again. And now, now keep walking on…


Flight of the Gypsy

Autumn (2015)
Autumn (2015)

I am falling in love with you.

I am afraid, and ultimately I realize why. Because I fell in love with you as the night passed by. Because I saw the grief you hold inside. You told me not to say a word, you told me to keep my silence. And I was afraid so I didn’t speak, I was afraid so I turned away. I don’t have an explanation, I have nothing to say. I don’t have the answers and I can’t solve this riddle. I spoke words of love to other people before you and my storms were not any less in their intensity. I sang to other people before you and my voice may still haunt them, and this I won’t hide from you. I loved before you and I will love after you. But I am, in the end, still at the beginning of my journey and what I wouldn’t give to walk it with you, what I wouldn’t give to wake up with you.

But life has taught me that spring is not eternal. Life has taught me, if nothing more, that summer showers seldom last. Life has taught me, clouds turn to wisps and eventually disappear. Life has taught me, life has taught me, there is hopelessness in our hearts and there is an end to every beginning and the honey from the beehive, the water from the streams and the life from the flowers eventually dries out. Barely scratching the surface of our infinite passions and promises, which in the moment are heated like ore from the core of this earth and only tomorrow, wither away like the blind flight of a gypsy moth.

Gone are the dreams of the girl who was barely awake when life took her in its grasp and shed her down, sped her down, wore her out. Gone are the notes on which her hopes rose next to the music that dawned with every new day. Gone is the laughter that traveled far on the wind, that embraced and swallowed and allowed and let her become. Gone, gone are the sounds, the bloom, the water falling on scattered rocks and breaking into a million gems before accepting that brittle and broke, there is nothing more.

One last time, I saw you, one last time and then I turned and I walked away, and you walked away, and all I saw was your silhouette, the back of your head, your long stride, your wonder and your sadness, all I saw was you walking away from me.

of stillness and dreams

Dreamscape (2015)
Dreamscape (2015)

It was a festival of lights, of laughter. It was a celebration of friendship, of love. It was where the lovers met and the crowds cheered. There was smoke and there was fire. There was an onslaught of cold wind but no one gave up. There were echoes in the arena, there were blasts and bangs and booms. The lights popped and flashed. There were drinks and long walks. It was easy to hide among those people. I was nobody, lost in a reality I didn’t wholly own. Behind that laughter, there were tears. Behind the cheering faces, there was truth and the truth was sadness, the truth was loneliness. On the journey on a stolen pathway, there was no one, there was emptiness.

A foreboding sky hung in its entirety, threatening a storm, threatening rain. People began to disappear, one by one, the crowd grew thin. The rides were rolled away, the stalls closed down, lights went out, slow and steady; one, two, three… Then all. A darkness descended. The sounds of the storm grew louder, the lightning glowed from afar, the shadows thickened. It didn’t last but it ended; the laughter only ghostly, only in my memory. Everything stopped. Trapped in time, I stood while everything went still around me. It was yesterday and it was today. No time ruled here, no hours passed. There was stillness as the images flashed and burned; opening and closing; rushing in and rushing out. It was only alive in my dreams, and the rest was gone; time had frozen and the rest was gone.

Dialogue. I

Time is a surgeon, old and wheezing. He sews you up and fills you in. Your cuts and craters are cleaned and mended. The clinging words pulled out of you, your nostalgia amended. The losses and stories you held dearer than gold? They’re tweaked out of you like a bit of mould.

Your image belongs in a storybook, a play. A Goya painting perhaps, a scene from Wilde. You cannot describe Time like a child. A graph would do, solemn and straight. Precision is Time’s only trait. Time is cold, agreed, but give it not a guise. Dressing it up in robes is not too wise. It deserves a representation true to its form. A graph, a clock, to which we all conform.

Why replace the costume with a sober chart? Does not role-playing appeal more to the heart? There was a beauty to it when the pagan gods were assigned, the power to be cruel, the power to be kind. The planets were attuned with their tantrums and whims, not with a science sung in numeric hymns. Time fixed me up as good as new. I see him more as a surgeon than a numbers few.

Then it is not Time but a poem that you see. Time transcends every image, every simile. Time is colourless, don’t colour it in. Time is a spectre, don’t give it skin. Time has meaning, but not a part to play. It points and marks but has no words to say.

Sharp surgical tools arranged on a tray…?

No. Just mechanical fingers pointing away.