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


A dying magnolia scent lingers around the hallways, mixed with bad cooking fumes from a cold kitchen. Old warm quarters barely invite you in anymore. The space filled up with junk, improvised cemetery for bewailing sorrows, holds true and dear the last image of a winter’s night’s welcoming moment. Soft piano in the mist soothes you and makes lounging in the past’s labyrinth seem tempting. And the thought hurts. It physically hurts and you can’t let go. And no one can shake the feeling or make it go away. You’ll have to find a way to live with it, carry it with you on your journeys. Professional wonderer or fulfilled man, be it either, suit you admirably, especially dressed so elegantly in hordes of violins’ sounds. It’s a perfect fit.

“Will you dance?” I heard you say with unbelievably familiar voice. Frigid dance floor sputters beneath feet never touching the ground, while the daily moment of magic in your hands pours flawless and undisturbed. Sometimes I wish I worked in guiding souls across to the other side, tranquil and reconciled to the passing. Words slowly fade, echoes wither in distant corners, and it feels like goodbye.

You cannot bear to take another step, and yet you must. Swirling and consumed, you turn your back to the darkness, at least for a moment, with beautiful memories imprinted deep inside. And with the first ray of light, you face the shadows once again, still divided and torn by the things that were denied to you. A mixture of fantasy and vague wishes is offered in exchange for the hesitation, a not so fair trade.

I find myself looking absently through closed eyelids. My own, someone else’s, with no regrets, except maybe for the things that should have been said and have not been said. Now we can fall…

by Bahak B

artwork by Vel Thora

Full article here.