Shades of Sorrows

I have come to realise the gift of melancholy only after her first departure, yet how her memories haunts me as a familiar stranger, as my shadow morphs in time both forwards, and backwards. I again sense the chaotic rapture of my being, anew, albeit all past misfortunes, for this is a crimson giant engulfing all of its surroundings, as a war within the self reigns. I hear the fairies playing their flutes from afar, the green woods serve as a land of refuge. It’s a dream – a daydream, the dream of consciousness

With every finding and retrieval of my self, I loose another part of me.

This cycle torments me till the end of time…

This, is the shades of sorrows, my shades of sorrows.

My dear Melancholy, she always accompanies me, I have fell in love with her, ever since her first departure. It was not so long ago, when the leaves were born, far from this shattering winter wind. The sun never shone so bright, so warm, with the rich taste of citrus fruit! It was then, when I expressed my eagerness, and hope, to a dear old sir; confessed my loss, only days after, to her. I was in gloom and bloom, a world of tragedy, void yet full, did my will succeed? I somehow lost her, and lived lightly, floating aloft, and the thunderstorm quickly came. He alerts me, with a grim face and an unyielding firmness, that I am facing my eternal doom. He was right.

My clever tricks never lasted – for myself. I the master of deception, yet failed to deceive my self, or perhaps it is due to this deception, that now deception has deceived herself. The artist spoke: “Let thy knowledge deceive thee not.” The philosopher replies: “Let thy senses deceive thee not.” I did not fall. I simply stand, unable to move – a freezing winter, blinding white snow and frost, a dark dungeon, demons singing their weary tune.

The story continues… I longed for a loss, I found some notes, I sketched and ran, across fields and rivers and victory was at hand. Absurd is absurd. The music sings. The story flashes forward, the foundations are set, the building rises, rises, it rises and grows, strong and firm, I soar above the clouds… These portraits, of faces, not friends but faces, (perhaps or an unseen shadow dares me not to sketch his face), they’re pinned to the wall, like prisoners, like ghosts… The rehearsal begins, the pieces are here and there, they come and go. Now my friend, this warm yellowy lamp is here, it sits besides me, never leaving my poor Augen lost and blind. Oh my dear lord, my dear Melancholy, you’re here, yet I miss you. I miss you so much. I feel so alone! Why did you leave me for your dressing room? To wear a different lipstick and perfume. To whisper in a different tone! How strange! How cruel! O! My dear love, you enslaved me; you tortured me; I cannot escape; I fell in myself, and now I pay, and never will repay, till my death – and perhaps even beyond. You laugh, I weep. You whisper forte I cry in piano. Seemingly you hear me not, yet you know, only you know, but you are deceiving me, as I tried to deceive myself for you…

The waves are gone. The sea is calm, and rather fair; the moon dust fall upon the shimmering blue, in ivory in gold in violet. Lavender tea is good. Rest, let thee rest, let I rest. I love you. Melancholia – in all your acts, your faces, your voices, your shadows. But how can I be not sad for you? I am sad for my Sadness.

And I fear dream.

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Published in: on 16/08/2013 at 12:05 AM  Leave a Comment  

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