For the meantime, you can stare at my epic a la Cold Mountain letters of Inman and Ada.
The First Entry
It has been days since I had witnessed The Siege, yet I remain entrapped by its dominant power notwithstanding any other force. The Anduril’s strength was prominent yet it did not succumb to liberate my entirety. I remain entrapped in the haunted gap near the silent mountains.
Last night, I came under the labyrinthine catacombs for the first time in a very long period. I stumbled upon all glyphs hidden inside: I read all their testimonies; I read all their letters; I read my past scriptures – my once eternal expression of my passion. Once again I remember them… But most, I remember Her.
The memory of the letters of transit is incomparable to that which we had. Though a song of betrayal and conspiracy, I lingered to prolong the bittersweet symphony of agony and of a rekindled flame. I duped because it was the only chance I would finally have Her after a long epoch of frailty and the delusions of mediocrity. It was not my intention to hurt. But in the end, I was the one who became battered and bruised. What an unfortunate irony!
As I had lain in the crypts, I recalled all of which We had – the memories so to speak: the overture; the bridges; the symphony; the lyrics most especially the part where the word “vow” was mentioned. I sat there pondering whether we shall se each other once more and if I shall be given the chance to say The Three.
A kaboom, just know, I heard and could still hear. It’s like Lyna. Our meeting was unintentional but that was how it was. Oh… This Armageddon is giving me another fatigue. Nausea.
Once more let me go back. There. The Three. They say you need to say The Three three times and She must answer back three times also. I long for that day to come. I hope. I know it will. It will.
Before the next tremble, I sang Our song – The Love Song of Night and Day. (With words by Jenny Scott)
“Wrap yourself in your best bright clothes, your red and purple scarves of silk.
Run with me to the festival, where we will dance until sunrise.
The dwarves will beat their funny drums of zebra skins and hollowed trees,
while stiltwalkers perform, and the musician blows his bamboo flute.
And late in the night, the poets and storytellers entertain,
delight us with their dancing words, as we listen, clapping by the fire.
Enchant me with your tale-telling. Tell about Tree, Grass, River, and Wind.
Tell why Truth must fight with Falsehood, and why Truth will always win.
I will tell my father's stories: how the giant mantis fooled Death
by holding still as a felled tree; how the elephants trampled
the leopard cub, and its father, though he knew, killed nine goats instead;
how pirates gambled with a djinn and lost the thing more dear than gold.
Tonight we'll eat a farewell feast. Cold corn porridge is not enough.
Let's peel papayas, pineapples, and mangoes, drink coconut milk,
and bake bananas. We'll dine on crocodiles, wild birds, and turtles,
perhaps a hippopotamus--if only you can catch it first.
I'll build a palace made of stone. Two hippo-headed guards will serve,
and tigers carry in your meals. I'll capture flying zebras
for your steeds, and fill the stable with every kind of unicorn.
Butterflies and salamanders will decorate your garden.
I'll strand long strings of beads for you, blue, the color only kings may wear.
I'll carve a soapstone lioness, a wooden box to lock it in,
girded with sapphire amulets, ostrich feathers, ivory.
These things will protect you while I'm gone, remind you of my love for you.
Your voice resounds like a songbird's, every word is a sweet, soft song.
When you run you're graceful and swift, sleek as a powerful panther.
Mysterious chameleon, you're a thousand women at once,
sharp and strong as a lioness, yet gentle as a striped gazelle.
On this our last day together, let us walk across the grasslands.
Hold my hand and let's walk slowly, seeing everything as children.
Let's walk on the Daraja Plains, where leopards hang from trees, dosing,
tasseled tails swaying in the shade, near villages of tree-dwelling elves.
Glorious, to walk again across the savannah with my beloved.
A lion walks commandingly, a general among his troops,
camped the night before a battle. A snake, colorful and coiled, loops
around his bough, mischievous, hanging over the village path.
We'll find termites in their nests, hard tall towers above the plains,
and point-eared cats, taking their turns, guarding their many entrances.
We'll find the basket-nests of birds hanging from the acacia tree.
Rhinoceroses and dragons for once will let us walk in peace.
When lightning tears the sky's dark cloak and heaven's bird beats the water
on the muddy plains with its big wings, termites and frogs escape their homes
toward the lamps in the nearest village. Spiders dry themselves indoors,
the spotted lizards that never fall from ceilings suddenly appear.
In the forest, fires light the sky as the black clouds unfold their weight.
The black-and-white sacred monkey holds her children to her, and waits.
Love, like lightning hits suddenly. It sparks the heart with blows of light,
its fire extending, bends, expands, beats and breaks your hiding places.
* * *
Remember when we were children, herding the sheep together,
leading them over the grassy hills with long sticks. Your silly songs
made me laugh, and in the evening, you'd enchant me with your stories,
lying on your back beside me. Even then my heart was yours.
I remember your sacred rites. You were so funny, so grown up,
so stiff and serious, all arms and elbows. You went in a girl,
but you returned a warrior. You marched back with the others--
your hair was cut, your eye tattooed with the red triangle of war.
Tomorrow I must go, my love. I will tattoo my head with braids.
My shield will bear a shining sun so you will always be with me.
Inlaid with gold, it will shine like glowing embers. I will return
with lizard skins for your sandals. Paint your eyes black and wait for me.
I am the sun, you are the moon. Wherever you lead I will go,
following across the wide sky, as long as I live and you love.
Sun follows Moon until she tires, then carries her until she's strong
and runs ahead of him again. I'll carry you, too, my beloved.
My love, we are not Sun and Moon. Instead we are like day and night.
The old ones say Day is a woman, who works only while it is light.
She herds her goats and catches fish, fills her fields with golden corn,
shows her children what is just and protects them from the cobra.
Day loves Night, who works in darkness, walking through heaven's milky sky
collecting stars with his quick arms, piling them into a basket
like a child collecting lizards and piling them into her pot
until the pot overflows with lizards, 'til the basket overflows with light.
Night wears a black cloak lined with fire, studded inside with gleaming stars.
At dawn and dusk he spies his love. Across the rolling hills of sky,
they glimpse each other--so briefly. They throw each other kisses, cry.
Their tears spill over Jamuraa. Mixed with blood, they wash everything red.
But once, with a magician's help, Time was stopped and Day stood still.
Night spread over Jamuraa, wrapped Day in his dark cloak and held her.
In their miraculous embrace, the two became as One. Until
pulled from Day's arms, Night sank, commanded by the western horizon that always beckons him to come.
I won't give up hope, my love.
Our love is like the river in the summer season of long rains:
For a little while it spilled its banks, flooding the crops in the fields.
But soon it will evaporate with the dry heat. Like Day from Night,
I'll live my life apart from you, just glimpsing you across the sky,
because you cannot change, my dear, and nor can I.”
The Second Entry
5 epochs and numerous horrid nightmares later, here I stand mindless; mindless of daze and confusion, of questions that breached through the inner depths of my vessel.
Awhile ago as the denizens of our civilization celebrated life, a maiden who stood there did otherwise. Death was all over her as she poured through the barrels and dug through the soils. Her being, tortured by an inconsiderate being – one that is selfish opposed to this selfless woman. As she could not fathom her existence in this new undertaking, she did nothing but drown herself.
It’s almost the end of the first stage in this era, yet we have never seen one another, even in photographs; even the sound of your voice, only echoes in the caverns of my skull. I have heard of thy exodus. I could not wonder why or how, albeit I remain happy for you and you alone.
As you fled, I have met this stranger that I had mentioned. I could see the effects of deception pouring out of her; each drop of rye were like that of tears that drizzled from her precious eyes. I felt the pain burning out of her; reminded me of my own familiarities where indeed the victim was not I; I now truly see the inner brute that was me then.
As she boozed out, I tried to intermingle, share her burden. It was awkward at first as I later found out that she saw arrogance beforehand, specifically the times when I was still the commander. But after time paved way and she having had several glasses, we had our connection. It felt totally strange as she poured out – not her wails of aching but of how much she admired me in the past.
I could not make out whether it is pity or a tinge of stranger splendor I felt towards this young
I could never say that I am finally letting go of you, with everything that happened between the two of us – it is indeed a hard undertaking. But just like your movement, I could now say that the ship is moving.
Kram's cut at 9:29 PM |
