We came into this world, a turf they claimed to be owners of. We were defenceless. Vulnerable. And because we were eager, full of yearn and more thirstier in knowing the ways of this new-to-us world. This earth. They opportunistically seeped through the cracks of their greed and capitalised on our brokenness. Warped shames. They saw nothing in us that could be beneficial to them other than our labour which they used to drive and their aims and goals home.
All in the long – through service in obedience – we served in silence. We more than respected ourselves more than the folly, juvenile act of protest.
On those disturbing moments of hardship – I may not know, I couldn’t have known – we gained from a source that we did not know some powers and will. A certain strength seemed to be fuelled by our previous incarnations. Our fathers who might be in heaven.
On that needling mode of silence, we hummed beautiful chants that massaged our exploited spines. These were the chants that had nothing to do with our moist moods but of a longing of where we came from. Where we springed. The intensity of of those moments’ aura polished our tarnished prides, a bit.
And almost like a sheep that, through its senses would know and feel the inevitability of death’s footsteps approaching. The custom was not to give away glory. Our prides, no…I mean yeah…we were and still are those lost fathers’s prides. We were their only represantatives in this treacherous life.
This is the only glory they didn’t deserve. No, no. They are less worthier.
And the tears, the ones that were encased in our broody bosoms were the only waters left. The only waters left to wash away and quench our bruised and battered souls.
Then this agape spirit hatched on us all. Beside them. No.
Even the conspiring clouds that hovered over our weeping pores made no difference. A cheeky glare I embezzled told me it was swallows up there reahearsing a new move maybe, the spring had just kicked in. That, I can vividly recall.
Then, then again, the humming had to continue…there was this sweet…distant chorus. An enchanting chorus by the gones…yes, yes. Ancestorylike.
It’s melody in me had already started to perform its twists…it’s twirls. It was steepening, it was stirring a something that led me to avoid an eye contact with them.
” Hope is returning…Zucchero…she’s my baby. ” I love sound of this.
All of this, somehow has this jazzy feel, a soulful waill. A horning. Somehow flutelike. Just in a snap, I feel enveloped. In between. Both my worn mind and seasoning body seemed to be in a quarrel – they both were pressurising my heart, demanding an immediate response on who was to take full custody of my light-framed torso. Pressure, is everywhere. Ain’t it instances like these that a human heart could cheat on a beating ?
With my eyes closed, I wander in thick seek of this moment’s advice and later realise that even…minds of ancient gods process on time. Time is key.
And then…as if it was all in a sudden I tossed…then I turned and by then I distantly hear a cock crowing. Probably an intern cock. Of which by then I’d already been gaping on a tasteless wonder. Next thing I noticed I’d already woken up. Then I huffed in doubt will I ever catch that dream again ?
How times will I ever depend on doubting ?