Photo by Vinicius "amnx" Amano
And all the sounds I do not hear, bury in the cockpit of my head -- A warplane strikes. A vessel floats. A glass breaks. A migraine rings. The runway is hollow deep. Some ants and flies slide where the wall muscled into a landscape. The garbage bin with eyes betel nut -- stir its tongue under the fan seeking water. It tastes lime.
In my head words hibernate in a routine. A few caterpillars sitting by the hinges eat bit by bit. And a few cushioned in the jar. Sunlight is a metaphor. I draw a line on a sheet. A splint looks at a lonely rail track with crooked edges. Lost prayers, lost pilgrims -- a search of a fishplate.
And a dozen of times like this, when silence tastes the air -- crickets murmur in the ears.
Can a pitcher drink the sea? A stubborn dream snubs without a shore. Agony and ecstasy clinch the jawline. A walk through a paragraph amidst a sentence of ruins. No one ever sketches an eyebrow of a rose. The forest explodes beneath the feet.
And then some ideas float -- cylindrical, square, flat, and middle class. They entangle in a spoon of trees.
The half crust moon trade her palms. The sky fills its mouth with insects and sparrows.
The monarch's rainmaker sings, Megh Malhar-- crossed-legged within the perimeter of my bedsheet.
"Upon the corner of the moon There hangs a vaporous drop profound; I'll catch it ere it come to ground: And that distill'd by magic sleights Shall raise such artificial sprites As by the strength of their illusion Shall draw him on to his confusion: He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear he hopes 'bove wisdom, grace and fear: And you all know, security Is mortals' chiefest enemy."
In these unreal times --
Hecate...Hecate...
Do you remember Hecate?
References:
The below-mentioned quotation has been taken from Shakespeare's Macbeth, Hecate's speech--
"Upon the corner of the moon There hangs a vaporous drop profound; I'll catch it ere it come to ground: And that distill'd by magic sleights Shall raise such artificial sprites As by the strength of their illusion Shall draw him on to his confusion: He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear he hopes 'bove wisdom, grace and fear: And you all know, security Is mortals' chiefest enemy."
-Macbeth, Act III Scene 5
Hecate's speech