"Then I said, I shall die in my nest, and I shall multiply my days as the sand." Job 29:18
Sand. Its waves in a desert sea, roll roughly over, frothing dust foam, laying salty tastes on thirsty tongues, guiding winds through living fingerprints of impermanence, God's identity. Few know this, but from its grain grows fauna and flora as vivid as our own.
Our story starts in a wasteland where aught is squandered, where ruin is rebirth, where dying dunes pour onto progeny their ardent, arid love. A world of ageless autumn, mantles moulting, layers slipping off as leaves. One power endures in the eye of eternal change, finding sustenance in rasping, sharp sand.
Sand. Its waves in a desert sea, roll roughly over, frothing dust foam, laying salty tastes on thirsty tongues, guiding winds through living fingerprints of impermanence, God's identity. Few know this, but from its grain grows fauna and flora as vivid as our own.
Our story starts in a wasteland where aught is squandered, where ruin is rebirth, where dying dunes pour onto progeny their ardent, arid love. A world of ageless autumn, mantles moulting, layers slipping off as leaves. One power endures in the eye of eternal change, finding sustenance in rasping, sharp sand.
Ere Desert knew boundary or beginning, the first seed of sand was sown in a pocket of night, sealed by a celestial pinch, sewn by a comet, as by needle and yarn. There it swigged the sparks of starts, twining each into a fiery feather, the first dune drawn from their gritted crackle, its matter erupting from solid sound. The first plume rose as a petal or leaf, gorging on the Sun, miming his mane with her own tangerine bristles, curling as ribs enclosing an empty chest, but not for long. Following this first outstretched finger, foliage unfolded, burst into life and flame, then coiled over the sandy nest, caging blaze in a hive of dactyls.
Gilded orb, mocking and psalming trochees to her Lover in the sky, she desired to rise to his side. Her nascent vanes braided themselves into wings, barb clutching barb, nets to trap air, a haul of light hooked within, melting no wax in its wake, illuming waves too slack to drown in. Her embrace did not eclipse her Lover, but gyred his rays, carrying day to each corner of Earth. He let two tears fall onto her skin, turned to umber obsidians, Phoenix eyes, sighting the radiance sifting through scissures in the passion of existence.
Curious to witness what pith was planted within, she veered her Vulcan orbs inward. In the darkness of black glass drifted burnished dots, atoms of her water. Realisation draws demise. She smiled, bent beak of siltstone, shrewd smile, tasting the last feather, tongue to drink the keen elixir of her cradle, now deathbed. One seif after another she quaffed until her thirst was quenched and her Realm gone, replaced by Eden's grove, a jungle of jade veiling the empyrean, its teal tiles roofing her mausoleum. Among the Orchard's woods, she chanced upon a tree of Cinnamon, whose bark reminded her of home, and nested in the broken twigs beneath it, engrafting and licking them into animation. In igneous terpsichore, Firebird and forest ashed into a waste of cindered barrows.
Upon a mound, an egg of myrrh lays, surrounded by stone blossoms, as poppies, spotting the sepulchre. Bred by maelstrom, built and sculpted from eddies, scratched into bloom, it feeds the fledgling born and dwelling in Desert's heart, where the newborn Phoenix drinks the dusty dew of Desert Roses.
Gilded orb, mocking and psalming trochees to her Lover in the sky, she desired to rise to his side. Her nascent vanes braided themselves into wings, barb clutching barb, nets to trap air, a haul of light hooked within, melting no wax in its wake, illuming waves too slack to drown in. Her embrace did not eclipse her Lover, but gyred his rays, carrying day to each corner of Earth. He let two tears fall onto her skin, turned to umber obsidians, Phoenix eyes, sighting the radiance sifting through scissures in the passion of existence.
Curious to witness what pith was planted within, she veered her Vulcan orbs inward. In the darkness of black glass drifted burnished dots, atoms of her water. Realisation draws demise. She smiled, bent beak of siltstone, shrewd smile, tasting the last feather, tongue to drink the keen elixir of her cradle, now deathbed. One seif after another she quaffed until her thirst was quenched and her Realm gone, replaced by Eden's grove, a jungle of jade veiling the empyrean, its teal tiles roofing her mausoleum. Among the Orchard's woods, she chanced upon a tree of Cinnamon, whose bark reminded her of home, and nested in the broken twigs beneath it, engrafting and licking them into animation. In igneous terpsichore, Firebird and forest ashed into a waste of cindered barrows.
Upon a mound, an egg of myrrh lays, surrounded by stone blossoms, as poppies, spotting the sepulchre. Bred by maelstrom, built and sculpted from eddies, scratched into bloom, it feeds the fledgling born and dwelling in Desert's heart, where the newborn Phoenix drinks the dusty dew of Desert Roses.
Hi Ale,
ReplyDeleteIt is beautiful and in a very smooth writing. Congratulations for it! I will read it a second time, more carefully and then I post something more detailed. So far... great way to start a new day :)
Beijo,
Nina