Wednesday, October 1, 2008

untitled story of

There is an escape route that takes you to secret lake much smaller than any other lake I know. 

I heard scant music coming from a vent through a thick grove of spruce trunks and I followed my ears. 

I discover this lake that is cold and clear, the lapping water on the rocks like rain on clean fingers. 

Sound that washes your thoughts and drips your fears cool.

No one bathes on its water. No, its too far for the human legs to take him. 

It is not the distance, but it is very far. You need to hear the music. 

Close your ears around the rugged trunks. 

There is no one who plays the music. 

It is just the wind running through the trees and their tresses. 

And it is only meant to lead the inquisitive ear to the lake. Glass. Rippling.

But the horror.

It burns. It burns. The lake dries up. The mountain melts. The water singes my skin. My escape burns.

Disenchantment hates my world. And conspires against it.

And everyone on earth upholds disenchantment. And they win always.

2 comments:

Navarino said...

I don't know! Very deep, meaning-purpose driven; you have actually shared a secret. I just don't know what it is.
So many things come to my mind...And I am sure that all are wrong.

Ning said...

yeah i think every dreamer has a place, and may interpret such things differently.
The shock is that the world doesn't want you to own that place. One day you wake up to find that its burning.
I don't know how to go about it. Let it burn, or just dive in and forget about the world.