Sunday, home by 5:43 that time of day when dusk slowly shelters the earth with its dimming rays like dark hands reaching into great lengths over mountains, making fearsome shadows out of trees and monoliths and of other things that breathe, live and skulk in broad daylight, transforming everything into diabolical creatures that stood like humungous guardians of darkness. In this lurid interval, the night beckons like a sinister guest, clutched tightly in her arms are dreams that shaped your book and peopled your thoughts, but not a word! not a word lest they unravel the riddle! Let the wind blow like a soothing lullaby to those weary ilks that creeps by day and soothes everything to a rest and shelter them into a dark quietude of a nocturnal suite until the earth in utter exhaustion lets out a yawn and resumes its subtle spin, but pray tell not a living soul. At night shadows sink all shapes into an infinite color big, fat and black, the ominous rain is a rough matter gnashing into surface and you are metamorphosed into something, something with a name, a name you know you do not deserve. So like those things around you that are shaped by darkness, you with a hungry heart behaved of those anthropomorphic beasts that grew wings and haunt like greedy vultures and succumb to a nocturnal wretchedness, licking words on paper and wrote and wrote and wrote as if the world is forever cold and sad and dark. This is how you wander the night. And then by day, you shall be well again. Should one fear the night for the shapes it took or should one delight in darkness and the things it conceal?
June 22, 2008
pic taken by me at Panaga December 07, 2009
