On The Wings of Hope : Prose

“No faith, no trust, no beg, my friend, but carry insults through heart’s land”, - calls for humility the tenth.

“Love is like a dream – yet dreams die. Just money help us reach the sky”, - is proud of his cost the eleventh.

“I love myself, and that is cool. To love the others? I’m not fool !”, - secretly admits the twelfth.

“Gods gave us love and paradise – stop lying now, just rise, rise, rise !”, - frankly raves the thirteenth.

Graves, graves, graves …

This is eternal cemetery.

Almost everyone comes here before taking his true place. He silently digs cold dead earth with his own hands, and so silently digs in himself.

The ones who came here died voluntary. And those risen from dead looks like humans no more.

No one knows if there are resurrected ones. But risen from dead often wander the streets of yet living cities. And it’s impossible to put the pain, tormenting them, into words.

There is a legend that those risen from dead can only be cured by the one who made them. But few resurrected ones know different truth.

They know the truth of the Alive City.

It does exist – and yet it doesn’t.

It always was – but they preferred to keep silence of its existence previously.

It first averts you as something intolerably bitter – but few ones have time to feel its true sweet.

It’s similar to an ancient mountain towering among lowlands, yet less and less are willing to climb to its top.

It grows outside and inside of you invisibly, lightening all corners of your soul. And that is why so many consider it as nonexistent.

Its fragrance seems stench from distance and illumination – as its fire.

Practically no one came back from it. And those few who did were humans no more.

So much has been told about it … yet this does not increase the number of its pilgrims.

It never died - and that is why it doesn’t know such thing as death.

It has been born long before the human.

Will he once remember it ?

29.09.2010

The thirtieth day

The thirtieth day …

Yes, the thirtieth day has passed since he has got here. Into his new home. HOME.

The frozen tongue refused to pronounce this painfully familiar and once causing an anxious delight and joy word. How unimaginably new it now sounded in consciousness !

Despair. Despair, dimming the mind.

Tears – what about ? Maybe of those long time gone and irrevocable days of simple man’s happiness ? Of sonorous men's voices and happy children's smiles ? Of a united family, which he was eager to have ?

“Father” … He has, actually, never heard this wonderful sound – and will never hear it now. NEVER. The mind gloatingly hinted, that this is so – it can be no other way. But the heart, the heart, which have suffered so many torments and suffering – his heart refused to believe that. It always refused to trust in pain and grief. Always. Or … until the 30-days old events only ?

And still … nevertheless, it’s his new home for now, no matter how blasphemously this word would now sound.

A street. Almost constantly locked up at night doors of buildings. City dumps, where it was seldom possible to find some sort of food …

No, no, NO !! This cannot be with me, only not with me ! Why, why, why ?!

Silence. Deadly silence. Silence of night. Words have left a withered throat into a darkness of night and have died out in a far distance.

There is no response. He will have to search for answers himself.

Then – weakened, wasted, with scars all over his body – traces of struggle against colleagues by misfortune and city’s thugs, with a face, covered by purulent scabs, - he has fallen to the ground. He hasn’t even noticed, how suddenly the earth approached and his body, having hit it with dull sound, kept lying motionlessly …

* * *

… He did neither remember, nor know, how many time has passed. And, probably, didn’t even want to. What’s the reason ? To find livelihood and a lodging for the next night – were his needs not limited by this only ?

Then he opened his eyes. Tried to move – and desperately screamed from a sharp pain and a bloody haze in his eyes – a hand, his right hand. The one, which has rescued him time and again in fights on dark alleys for a piece of bread, the one which helped him to sometimes open not too qualitatively made locks of city buildings – he felt it no more. Totally, completely. A bone fracture, a dislocation ? Most probably a dislocation and a pain shock, which has followed it … that’s good. Could be worse – much worse.

We will make it. We will survive, reason – I tell you !