The following article was published in N-SPHERE April 2011 issue.


What will you write in your big black book when the time comes? Will you write that you are wise? Will you write that you are just? Will you write that you spilled blood and waged wars? Or will you write that you remained hidden between its pages, yearning for some divine intervention, or that you ran overcome with fear from the horrors of the unfulfilled pale sketches of desires? The poetry embroidered in your breath flows like quicksand through the carmine seconds… flowers wither and die, perfect retainers of a newborn clan leader.

You were being looked upon with vicious lustful eyes, wondering about the warmth of your thighs that spawned the creatures of rebellion, and your loins trembling with victory. Sentenced to relive the pain you felt that day over and over again, you find the path of atonement to be burdened by your own clueless nature, a poisoned nebula spinning out of control. And, if one were to ask, you still can’t figure out what suits you best, the twilight or the darkness, yet I recognize the jacket you’re wearing, the outfit of a simpler time.

You put up a sign, screaming for vengeance, in need of a pillar at the premature end of your time as an innocent scholar of celestial spheres. You put up an elegant fight with your mutation through days of thunder and despair. And just when you were about to give up and give in, someone decided it could not turn a blind eye to your endeavors anymore.

Late was the hour the puppeteer was hailed into the room…

text & artwork by Bahak B

Full article here.