Sunday, September 5, 2010

From behind the cage

a strange journal into the unemployment of S.Kandaswamy 
chapter 8: From behind the cage 
The black butterfly that flutters around the circles behind my eyes and with its wings do I play to the changing colours of the light. To shield the sneering sun away from my gaze did I raise my hand and the shadow of the day has found its rest upon my face. Lying on the grass and I wish for the wind to sweep my soul along with the rush of my every breath that decides to pass through time after time.
The entertaining illusions of the clouds that chase the dreams of wild men across the sky, and all I see is the lions dreaded fangs of the hazy white and the sight of its bearing on me, to steady its haunches to defend. The steel fence that cuts my skin as I graze my head against the wires, and its shaking and twisting in the agony of my lesser freedom from the ground. The snarling beast and its mourning howl that pours every dream to their ends that left me to linger in the empty moment. But from afar can I hear the children’s laughter that echoes like the calling so often suggested that I may never understand.
The mane upon his proud head that shivers like the wisps of smoke, gliding like the mist that falls so quickly before me, cloaking my terrified eyes inside that dreams of the hallowed angels seem to beckon, mocking and chaotic. The thunder that rumbles deep from his throat as he roars from the frozen horizons in terror, as my heart slowly rises and falls to the stop.
In defeat and in loss, should my tears seem so significant, though the world has stopped moving, I cannot but help to smile at the bristling feathers of hope, falling and flying through the open jaws of emptiness. She soars above the crescent demon now silently stepping aside. She that rips the fragments between the centre of the clear blue sky and she knows of no fear and bows not before the giant eye that watches the world that sleeps peacefully.
The blind to be freed to watch her careless wings that flower of grace and freedom and the light of their hopeful sight will find them soon.
The delightful dreamer is perched upon the highest cloud and he waves his hands to crave my attention and I wish, I wish but the cage grows bigger and my fingers can reach only so far.
I scramble to my feet before it’s too late; to dust my face for it seems to have been so long time. A glance at the watchtower hovering weightlessly in the west and I shake my fist at the still burning sun and I turn around walking backwards into the abyss.

No comments:

Post a Comment