The sand dunes before me seemed endless, I could feel my rapid heartbeats. Every muscle in my body was tensed from this unfamiliar reality. A part of my consciousness was aware of this point in reality, but I did not know whether I was dreaming, or if I had awaken from my life. Was the clock ticking backwards, then? Was there a glitch in my timeline where I went back in time, centuries ago?
My mind must have taken me there for a reason, or I have taken my mind with me. It didn’t matter. Because everything is a metaphor, the wildflowers thriving on their own are a metaphor. The rain caressing a blade of grass is a metaphor. People who walk into your life are a metaphor. In my reality, I seem to forget this. The blueprint of existence. I seem to believe that I am separate. I seem to forget that I am a poem, and everything around me writes me as an epic poem. My intelligence fools me. It separates me from this truth.
Those hands were not mine, this withered cloak I was wearing, was not mine. I did not think to recall my name. Where do I go from here? Why was I brought here? This voice in my head, I’ve never heard it before. Is my wandering around here, the opening verse of a new poem?
“Focus, breathe, you are here, you are now” I told myself as I rushed forward, the grains of sand were terrifying. The number of them before me, which my human brain was not able to digest, was frightening. Steady steps, let me summon my sanity. I looked upward and wondered; why do people always look up when they pray? as if this entity you are praying for resides somewhere, in a distant universe, in its material form.
Steady steps, walking forward but my soul crumbling beneath my feet. I had forgotten everything. I was afraid.
The presence inside my mind was so vivid that I did not notice the man standing in front of me with his turban. The moon was so bright that I avoided to look in its direction so it wouldn’t hurt my eyes. I could hear the sound of a waterfall some place far, I tried to detect its source, but then he told me:
“There is no secret cascade,”
And I was in a state of trance.
“This is your heart weeping, you’ve silenced it for too long.”
He held my hand, gently, and looked into my eyes, I had the same notion to avoid this eye contact, as I had with the moon.
His deep voice echoed in my ribcage,
“At what age did you lose sight of your beauty?”
© 2018 ALIA S. F.