AainaA

“The conversation can start from anywhere,” I said. It could start from the middle of the sentence, the end of a lifetime, or the beginning of a long loveless affair. As long as it’s there, it will add dimension to someone’s life, someone’s pain, and joy, someone’s thoughts reflecting back from a Director’s contemplative reasoning before a Writer stamps an approval marking a semi-colon, for another to resume in a sequel.

The same can be said about living amidst an ocean of flavor.

If there’s not enough pain, add some salt, a rare spice, or just slowly let the leg be skewered over heat – translate the heat as an emotion, daily lived by a Shepard resurrected, awaken for the first time in the twenty-ninth century, where whatever is left of the world has turned into a potpourri of colours, scents and emotions…

Veiled, and back to the beginning of a cycle, breathing a last breath, a re-birth to be lived. The ending of a love affair could start from the beginning of numerous love affairs – failed or otherwise, where each emotion is sliced even deeper, until the separation between God, and human cease to be.

Until a pain is dissolved like sugar in tea, or dusk at the beginning of a new day, longing forever the touch of dawn the night before. Where love, and hate or black and white becomes a pattern especially designed to the most minute of details – this is how a living should be tasted, each line, expression, reflection from a lover’s eye, each word moving mountains halting clouds, leaving the beloved, desiring none but the One who has granted a perfumed innocence – clenched in its fist of rebellion, desiring a glimpse of attention, veiled from within the spirit, and body.

A continuation is like a conversation starting from anywhere – a life lived richly embroidered with love can begin with any colour in whatever dimension. The living does not end in a full stop – there is simply no full stop even if the body is weighed as heavy as gold on its death bed.

As music exclaims a feverish euphoria climaxing to a moment within seconds a transposition is commanded, so too, the words healing each despair – a culmination between an orgasm drawn from within. Would words just be dusts of our dreams – would we feel the heart beating from an image we form in our minds? As connected each and every soul is on ground zero, a poem or perfume that cease to incite an undulation unseen or felt, is aliken to an emotion yet to be borne. As vulgar a photo may be to the eyes that perceive it, that emotion translated to an emotion of rejection stems from a deep reflecting from within.

Parce qu’une langue est semblable au vent, elle poursuit sa fin mêlée de toutes les saveurs du monde et meurt vidée d’elle-même jusqu’à son renouvellement ~ Hafid Aggoune

Love is beyond a veil we hide ourselves accepting one, rejecting another. Life is beautiful – indeed the time is now to embrace both what we adore, and disapprove. For what are we but expressions of a conversation, between then and the sequel in a rich tapestry of Love.