Posts Tagged ‘sorrow’

Deeper into Melancholy. Bearing the fragments of my heart. Embalming myself with my own hands. Burying my soul, one inconsequential inch at a time.

I would be like those red autumn leaves… falling silently to the ground. Almost glad to die. I would know how to cease to be.

I would be a ghost that sees everything without participating. Without contributing. I would feel emotions through a veil. Nothing would touch me, except like a light farewell kiss.

So disenchanted that reality would seem like an illusion. I would walk like a phantom through the mist. A body without substance. Without thoughts. Without heartache.

I would gaze and gaze… without being perceived or pitilessly dismissed. I would cry, clamour, sigh, or laugh… like a storm petrel lost in the clouds swirling over the sea.

Cocooned in my own invisibility. Impregnable. Invulnerable.

The blemish on my face, the squalor of my person, or the poverty within my soul… would not be of any import. Because, I would exist high above these fallible human concerns.

Sorrow would be a kind of happiness. Soft and soothing. A self-indulgence. Not angry raging, tears that drip like corrosive acid into the soul. It would be a pool of sadness that is deep, dark, and calm.

And, happiness would be a kind of gentle sorrow. Not filled with desperate hopes and tainted dreams. It would be surrender and acceptance.

I would not possess. I would not know the crippling fear of loss.

I would not be possessed. I would not be abandoned.

How would it be to escape this vale of human dreams and grief? This cup of agony? This utter and complete loneliness? This devastation of the soul?

I would not wish what is good in me to become the instrument of my undoing. I would not want love to turn into despair. Longing into spite. High regard into malice.

So, I would refuse the sweat and blood and crushing repercussions of life.

My melancholy is not defiant or redemptive. It is merely a departure to keep the bright images intact. It is an attempt to protect that which should not be mutilated.

I would sink below the distant horizon… beautiful like the dying sun. Beyond the reproach of human emotions.

I would be an angel again.

Copyright © 2015 [Violet Dolui]. All Rights Reserved.


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The Sound— as if a storm was brewing somewhere outside and was being forced by the demented spirits of the night to beat madly against the tremulous door. Continuous as the unceasing motion of my heart. The meaningless constancy of the act was disturbing and unbearable.

The Darkness— intense and absolute. The Stygian blackness rendered me blind and helpless— yet my senses were so tuned up, that I could perceive impalpable figures all around. The shadows were animated with the infernal light of a strange life. They were visible because they were even blacker than the gloomy night. The darkness was alive.

The cessation of the Sound— without warning it stopped, just as it had begun. Images commenced filtering through the darkness. Innumerable faces— some, devoid of expression— vacant countenances with glazed eyes— as if staring at some distant spectacle of no consequence through my transparent body. The other unknown faces appeared agonized—-  in grave pain— perhaps condemned to bear the terrible afflictions of hell, in a timeless realm of constant suffering and aimless wandering.

I was unable to recognize any of them, although I could see that they were trying desperately to communicate with me. Did they know me?

Those countless, gruesome faces— dissolving, melting, and moulding themselves into a single image, just like a phantom with a thousand faces or manifold identities. Or, probably distinct entities brought together by a common bond— a union of sin and sorrow.

Their lips were moving— enunciating words that could not be heard— chanting phrases of Celtic sentiments perhaps, for they were solemn— as if performing an ancient and forgotten religious rite — to initiate me— I was cold with horror.

The Silence— was pronounced and malignantly still. It was enhanced by the failure – on the part of the nocturnal figures to convey sense through their arduous but arcane gestures. It was likely that they wished to give voice to their thoughts and managed only to send forth a silent cry of frustration or distress. I know not what. They kept moving their limbs in a fluid manner as if trying to ward off some evil influence— beckoning me to join their throes.

My mind was deeply disturbed by this singular visitation. The exhausting experience of viewing the ghastly troops and their baleful presence, was most tormenting. The extreme blackness was now being invaded by a crimson glow— stealing in from an unknown source.

The Apparition— out of the anarchic maelström, arose a figure— more disturbing than the rest— more recognizable. I can recall the man— nondescript— except for the eyes, which were large and round like those of a clown. Only his— were not happy— they appeared distended— as if in recognition of something or someone. He regarded me not with malevolence but almost apologetically, with a look of ineffable sadness.

Even though an ominous shudder of fear ran through me, I remained near him. Something primeval within me responded to his mystical influence. I was a subservient slave— drawn to him— not physically but by mental correspondence. He required no speech— I understood him perfectly— I was a part of them— those doomed figures in the dark.

The faces disappeared— leaving only the silent night behind. Without a murmur of surprise, I realized that even I had lost my shape, my earthly form— my individual consciousness for I too was now an integral part of the night.

The Sound resumes— unexpectedly— the same monotonous, diabolic sound— ravening forces of the darksome world— beating against the doors of homes— to gain entry and disrupt the complacency of ignorant minds— to destroy the façade of peace and security— to drag others into the cesspool of suffering and shame.

Nothing but blackness visible— I could not see even the shadows for I was one of them— the foremost among them— striking with my unseen hands and face and head and form on the fragile barrier that separated me and my kind from— one— other hapless victim— a subject to his own perverse desires and sins and thus condemned to atone endlessly.


[I had written this article a long time ago, for my college magazine.]



Copyright © 2001 [Violet Dolui]. All Rights Reserved.

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