Scribbling
Tragedy of
wanderer:
“As he watched
the rain washing the day off him, as it washed down the light off the night;
could it extinguish the fire day sets every dawn, to watch one burn while it
carries the flame asking to be seen, to accept its reign, follow its dictate
and become alive, alive? Alas! Day’s light being too bright cannot do anymore
than to wipe the half-burnt body of him, hiding the scars off the horizon,
removing any small signage which could lead the darkness back to the night,
where he could make love with self for once which the day considered a crime
worse than blasphemy; he carried a little of him in his burnt-out pockets,
where he had kept small pebbles of darkness along with few raw words hidden off
the day, it was his survival kit…”
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