Spellbound
She said, I should slap her,
if I really loved her.
Instead I listen to my heart,
which hurts so much,
that I take a flight
down the stairs,
running away from it all,
down the spiraling, steep stairs…
This is where I find
some long awaited silence,
but what trickery it is,
to my surprise, I hear
pervading voice inside me,
the voice that used to always guide me,
but haven’t heard in years.
It startles me with a gentle whisper,
tempting me to take this trip,
“This is something new,
you never have encountered,
watch, observe, and most important –-
remain silent –-
for silence here is golden
and has to be obeyed.”
So I run ahead,
descending spiral steps
in total darkness,
for some knave in mischief
removed the light bulbs
from the chandeliers.
Taking careless steps
I stumble,
and luckily I falter,
for an arrow!
Yes, an arrow!!!
Zips right pass me!
Merely missing,
it flies over my head!
Then I hear some shouts,
coming from an upper landing,
squawking, bickering, and bitching,
followed by a loud knocking sound,
pervasive and obnoxious,
the tooling of some hammer,
wrecking something old.
Why is there so much uproar,
I wonder, in the place
where silence’s golden
and ought to be obeyed.
This is not a church, however,
This is not a temple.
This is just an old staircase
leading windingly
down in the spiral stairs…
Yet every instance here
is an instance of creation,
and silence is golden,
and has to be obeyed.
“Beware, my friend,
of what you’re thinking”
someone out of the dark,
whispers near me,
“You think
and there you are --
you have created…”
So I turn to him,
I like to thank him,
but then alike
the Cheshire cat
with a crooked smile,
he vanishes away.
I can’t believe
these stupid shouts and
this obnoxious racket,
prompting deadly arrows
to fly right pass my head.
So I crouch and hide
near a wrought-iron rail,
trying to quiet my heart,
beating very load,
for the noise out here
is punishable by death.
Who are these spirits
shooting arrows
out of the darkness?
Are they my brothers?
Are they the searching souls,
alike my own?
Are they my sisters,
or some vengeful phantoms,
hidden in shadows of lost,
forgotten, and never found love?
Is my lover there,
that I will find among them,
born into this lifetime,
or is it, once again,
an empty promise,
and we are pulled
apart by karma,
separated by the never ending cycle
of our birth and death?
It seems that I can not
proceed any longer,
there is a grand piano
pushed onto a landing,
blocking the staircase
and any further chance
of my descend.
So I sit behind it
and I play it gently,
the shouting quickly stops,
and the arrows
cease to fly abruptly.
I’m in the open,
there is no need to hide for now,
they must like my playing,
for no one shoots me
in between the eyes.
All I can do is finish my recital,
I never played in real life,
but here I’m really very good.
Alas, as soon as
I stop my playing,
the hammering above
starts off again,
and a deadly arrow
zips right by me,
yes, you’ve guessed,
right over my head.
So I hide once more
and listen,
feeling like a child,
lost, a bit naïve,
and scared.
Someone else starts off
playing the piano now,
something old
and painfully nostalgic,
and my heart is torn,
and I can’t help but wonder
why these stairs are endless
why must silence
has to be obeyed?
Then at last I get it,
as I hear silence of my heart
in between hypnotic notes,
and all my fears
vanish an instance,
and I recognize the phantoms
as my kindred souls...
Every instance here
is an instance of creation,
like an arrow flying
toward its target,
aiming for a kill.
In this world of
ultimate conjecture
only silence binds us,
this is where
my love, my life, my art
originates.
Alas, all else
falls short of a slap
across the face.
if I really loved her.
Instead I listen to my heart,
which hurts so much,
that I take a flight
down the stairs,
running away from it all,
down the spiraling, steep stairs…
This is where I find
some long awaited silence,
but what trickery it is,
to my surprise, I hear
pervading voice inside me,
the voice that used to always guide me,
but haven’t heard in years.
It startles me with a gentle whisper,
tempting me to take this trip,
“This is something new,
you never have encountered,
watch, observe, and most important –-
remain silent –-
for silence here is golden
and has to be obeyed.”
So I run ahead,
descending spiral steps
in total darkness,
for some knave in mischief
removed the light bulbs
from the chandeliers.
Taking careless steps
I stumble,
and luckily I falter,
for an arrow!
Yes, an arrow!!!
Zips right pass me!
Merely missing,
it flies over my head!
Then I hear some shouts,
coming from an upper landing,
squawking, bickering, and bitching,
followed by a loud knocking sound,
pervasive and obnoxious,
the tooling of some hammer,
wrecking something old.
Why is there so much uproar,
I wonder, in the place
where silence’s golden
and ought to be obeyed.
This is not a church, however,
This is not a temple.
This is just an old staircase
leading windingly
down in the spiral stairs…
Yet every instance here
is an instance of creation,
and silence is golden,
and has to be obeyed.
“Beware, my friend,
of what you’re thinking”
someone out of the dark,
whispers near me,
“You think
and there you are --
you have created…”
So I turn to him,
I like to thank him,
but then alike
the Cheshire cat
with a crooked smile,
he vanishes away.
I can’t believe
these stupid shouts and
this obnoxious racket,
prompting deadly arrows
to fly right pass my head.
So I crouch and hide
near a wrought-iron rail,
trying to quiet my heart,
beating very load,
for the noise out here
is punishable by death.
Who are these spirits
shooting arrows
out of the darkness?
Are they my brothers?
Are they the searching souls,
alike my own?
Are they my sisters,
or some vengeful phantoms,
hidden in shadows of lost,
forgotten, and never found love?
Is my lover there,
that I will find among them,
born into this lifetime,
or is it, once again,
an empty promise,
and we are pulled
apart by karma,
separated by the never ending cycle
of our birth and death?
It seems that I can not
proceed any longer,
there is a grand piano
pushed onto a landing,
blocking the staircase
and any further chance
of my descend.
So I sit behind it
and I play it gently,
the shouting quickly stops,
and the arrows
cease to fly abruptly.
I’m in the open,
there is no need to hide for now,
they must like my playing,
for no one shoots me
in between the eyes.
All I can do is finish my recital,
I never played in real life,
but here I’m really very good.
Alas, as soon as
I stop my playing,
the hammering above
starts off again,
and a deadly arrow
zips right by me,
yes, you’ve guessed,
right over my head.
So I hide once more
and listen,
feeling like a child,
lost, a bit naïve,
and scared.
Someone else starts off
playing the piano now,
something old
and painfully nostalgic,
and my heart is torn,
and I can’t help but wonder
why these stairs are endless
why must silence
has to be obeyed?
Then at last I get it,
as I hear silence of my heart
in between hypnotic notes,
and all my fears
vanish an instance,
and I recognize the phantoms
as my kindred souls...
Every instance here
is an instance of creation,
like an arrow flying
toward its target,
aiming for a kill.
In this world of
ultimate conjecture
only silence binds us,
this is where
my love, my life, my art
originates.
Alas, all else
falls short of a slap
across the face.