May 02 2009
The umpteen icons stayed secreted in the rocks, like so many fetuses united in consciousness. The sky endured blues in the earthen pots. The night whispered in the shade, as a horse’s neigh muffled the feigns of the galloping desire’s reign. The breathless ether tried to break the facades. The rocks became shores when destroyed to pull out idols to be tamed to eternal shackles; to lead a relic’s life. The sky was masked by blue and the sea obscured by waves. Pretentious clouds performed like quacks hastily disappearing to shelter. A chameleon’s rebirth as star was an apparent redundancy in the northeastern firmament; though the ever changing hues freed me from the clutches of many a symbol’s fetters. The dissonance of noises hushed the truth of silence. Then, ice was ultimately broken to make salt dolls to be bathed in infinite oceans. The sheaths, peeled off and heaped in, now became trees for men to perch on as birds.