Tuesday, 23 April 2013

In the twine of our lives have my decryption of life.

We had chips, I vivified the last remaining non Chinese fish and chip bar here and returned to her joie de vivre, we enjoyed the simple odour and flavour, the salt and vinegar, no tomato, I left her to fill and then, selfishey, enjoyed the crisped remains of her remains, eyes to big for her belly. I was happy and left the wraps emptied.

How many years will it take to armour you, how many seasons to battle, so much shot peening to be done, to make you stand alone, invincible. Victorious, for that is how I named you. Alarmed and gentled in the fluidity of our quiet discerned, the love of the two who lay and brought you into this phase of non existence. How much care can be lavished, from both poles, unasked, unquestioned, given freely to you without debt, how many years until you catch fire?

Does the useless of this world not invite your mind to execute the perps?

My flame waxes and wanes, it gutters. How much time does it take to strike our flint? Your grandfather cleared mine fields in Korea, your grandmother suffered the poverty of life alone in Japan. Your grand father designed far flung ships, naval architect, and the one to whom you will honour and bear fruit, she scrubbed floors when younger than you, in love for you.

Where is your fuse to be lit and destroy the heathen?

Perhaps I ask too much, maybe I should shut up, forever to forget the endless lines of the slaves and poor who you, me, mummy-chan, the sires and bearers of our burden fought themselves, free, without aid nor prejudices.

Look at your empty hand and relate to me what you see. Show me your hardened main; let me place in your trusty palm the truth in this absurdity. Clear your view, observe the unseen enemy, descry the unlamented free fire zones. Keep to the deck, unchecked.

And fly into all the infiniite affection that is stored for you, awaiting uncorking on the topology where you will metamorphose.