Tuesday, 17 August 2010

Places we return to time and again...

The meter is running, the clock ticking and I am partial to neither. I once had tears for times like this but now I have answers. These are the times when the old me would have sought solace in a well of reason. The new me is the head of the viper that dances in the rhythm of the magicians flute. Ah! But time has a reason for things, especially to those that cheer it on. I worship the clouds that open to rain showers of virtue. My beloved father once said, son that voice you follow is your path to me. Never was a truer word said. We shouted, yeah we did, our hands raised as we echoed men of old, their strength, their courage and their woes. The memory of these men now empty corridors, shaded by dying leaves twirling in the yellow dust of forgotten sands.
My steps are further apart, my heartbeat slower but now I cover old ground here, endless laps of honor and dishonor. I challenged the best I won and lost. Now I recline in a shadow of my strength. Athens burned with inspiration, the trams, the acropolis, the lone walk to the park, the pebbled track in the moonlit night.
‘What’s your point maiden,’ I’d ask.
‘ I’ve used many routes to find you,’ she’d reply. ‘That’s me all over, that’s me, Athens.’ she’d say.
‘You can’t keep me my darling I belong to one and to many.’
Yes I do that’s why this happens! The kayak without a praetorian guard in sight hidden beneath the brush and trees, I stole a glance and then was on it. Sailing on the blue river that flowed through the hills and covering my tracks wishing to forget and then I remembered the reasons not to. The past served its purpose, oh dear, but the present wishes it could feel the same. Are we meant to make sense of things? Why? The explorer gives the new discovery a name and that’s where his legacy begins. That’s what ours can be for each day we live. All things were created for all men alike and all things mean much and nothing when we go. The dark moist of grease stains the white floor. The bird droppings on the car are a blessing. One stain serves no purpose, the other an infallible tale.
‘Open your eyes,’ her voice rings out clearly.
‘Open your heart my darling,’ is my reply from afar.
‘I own the skies, the land and the sea so why should I brawl for so little. This is my inheritance, can be yours to if you want it to be.’
‘Why, I like what I have,’ she observes obstinately.
‘Then don’t be afraid when I pass by night. In me are your dreams, your true reality, your heart.’
‘But I am your daylight,’ her laughter is deafening.
‘Then its an endless debate, my darling. Seems like I will always find you as you have found me.’
The steps go on for eternity with no unequivocal answers but just more truths. The choice is ours to break the shackles and the bands of time. Yes! Once upon a time in an old city was a church called Beautiful, beggars still sat outside to seek help for food. The times do not change, the days do not age and where they start belong to who find them. However, we can…(Dedicated to who we once were, sometimes are and can be…)

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