September 21, 2023•845 words
THE VIGIL IS IN PREPARATION
we gather round the ruins of a sandcastle made by toddler god
and pick up the mess to rebuild it where the tides can wash it easily
we form a circle in an urn we believe is full of ash
only to find the most devoted had hid the corpse under his bed
we still sing praises to remember someone can be rightfully adored
but the one we had loved has been gone for so long
we accept these hallucinations as the remembrances of a dream
when that dream was the afterlife after all
we hang the banners from window to windowsill
hoping the blind ones can appreciate it
we play the music in its loudest forms
and now we become deaf to our worships
what comes and go sinks the moment it floats
forgets or too shy to throw us the anchor
believing that the weak ones should submit to the guide
we imprison ourselves in slavery forever
yet here we are feasting inside his bones
on top of the earth that is his heart and lungs
we claim the atoms of our ancestors as nourishment
and allow ourselves to consumed as well
what happened to good-natured prognoses?
it seems today all that's true is pain
and with that logic, what we believe in must be against progress
and with that logic, what we believe in must be fake
the festival awaits
Just about to fall over the ledge in a fantasy I created
With no one to catch me, I brace for the broken bones
For some reason, there was a comfortable texture when I landed
I landed on top of the eons you cultivated on your own
A gardener greets a lonely pedestrian
Stops for a while without sound, just the static noise
Of him staring uncomfortably on the face
Of a stranger that was frowning by roadside
But it was all the same, it was affection
From a hermit unable to learn harmony
And belonging and perseverance
In a world that demands such, this form of language is unknown to him
But it was all the same, for anybody at that street that day
Brown eyes of maya birds looking out vaguely not at the face
But another world entirely, another paracosm
That I wished you would one day tell me
I found your traces sitting at the bench where you once sat
I picked them up and memorized your fragrance
I only heard your voice before, not towards me, but towards the world
And that one moment was my epiphany
"How do people come to kneel down to an ideal
If not for the innate need of subservience?"
Sometimes flutterings are not accompanied by philia
Sometimes they just burn inside until the familiarity is known
And I searched hard and long
To fill up that cavity of deja vus
Somewhere nearer, somewhere everything is gold
Somewhere people do not fear to approach
I wished to finally speak with the honor I held high
"I adore you"
And if you were to hear, were you to nod, freeze or deny
Some form of insecurity of mine has met its closure
And became as light as feather
And somehow, in front of a plethora of lenses
Reflecting the shine of my faded dress
Made of diamonds in the shape of glass
In the hue I hoped would be rare enough
I destroyed fifty or more ideas to make this draft
Of a first time I imaged a hundred times
Made a script for every outcome, practiced the perfect smile
On the way to punish myself for having an ideal
I found you, you stood where the crowd could never reach your breath
At the boundary of the entrance and the exit gate
Murmuring a song that I once heard in another language
Yet your silent voice still managed to translate
And I enroached, trying to infiltrate your castle
Looking at a distance, yet you sensed my direction
Sidestepped out of my path, as if a valet saying, "Yes, you may come this way"
I stopped in the middle of your line of gaze
"Hey, the sunset can be beautiful sometimes
I wish I lived happily in this moment forever"
Unlocked attention, you were brought back to the ground
And remembered a thought, and smiled
"Unfortunately, there is no forever"
"Yet somehow it's pleasant to think of that."
"What truly did you want here that you came for."
"I had to be curious of who he is, who chose to remain outside the venue."
I knew the way you slept after midnight's tick
I knew the phrases you say to calm down quickly
I knew the pictures you kept out of the public's sight and the ones you chose to share to the world
But that isn't enough, for you, to trust my intentions
"He is an aberration."
"A mysterious one."
It was fleeting.
Fleeting was the best
Since the more we discussed how little it would last, the longer it lasted.