SHINIGAMI

   

The following article was published in N-SPHERE March 2010 issue.

 

I remember the first garden, the stairs I felt protected and abandoned on by my own free will and the dim, regretful, fragile lights, obsolete guardians of an ancient wood aroma. It felt good in the twilight, secure, almost detached from the haunting past, only to begin anew.

I wish I could say I’m ready to take you in, comfort you and wipe away the treacherous tears of your puny contempt, but I am not. I do not want to be. I have seen your half faced hooded miracles and witness their aftermath. I wish I could say that I’m awake, you wish I would say that I’m awake because of you. But I am not. The howling of the slippery hours finds me numb and sleepy, wondering yet again “Why?” and “How?”. Limbs severed and chained to the ground by the small box I’m purposelessly wandering through, I guess you would happily take this guitar string and wrap it around my heart to keep it together and in place, while sliding alongside the chords of an unknown tool designed by some Good Samaritan. But sometimes it is not up to you, and maybe not even up to me. Focus, create a void around you, push everyone back, locked doors, barred windows, this is your playground for now. I wish I could say you are my angel, sent from high above, to deliver a fresh pair of vintage style wings. But all you bring are Japanese sandals, when I needed a katana instead.

I miss and desperately need my stairs and the dim, regretful, fragile lights, obsolete guardians of an ancient wood aroma.

by Bahak B

artwork by Vel Thora

Full article here.