Tuesday, June 14, 2011

Under the same canopy

It is through the iron grille that we see the full moon tonight, through the floral concrete patterns that we smell the cultured, sieved, and polluted air tonight; we see the trees in a deprived state of solitary abandon; and then mix these images with the drone of the electric wires above, the cacophony of human commotion, the sight of admonition of towers towering above these trees and lurking as a challenge to the yet-unconquered skies, the sight of human needs, the sight of right angles that menacingly threaten to pierce through the chest of the thin air and wipe out the fractals, of things both harmful and tender constructed together, a pervading wail that comes from the crores of dead souls underneath the tarmac and the concrete, of a smell of a large funeral pyre of all that we produced for all that we burnt away.
Subdued reflections, scattered moonlight among scattered people with scattered interests and intentions mysteriously couple together even without any properties of magnetism or human nature; scattered people apologizing over their scattered world and then submitting to the chaos once more.

And then the mind travels and feels - metaphysical experience - of fingers sifting through blades of grass at midnight under a full moon, along a placid maroon lake - that is a namesake to this moon itself - absorbed in the nature's accord. Sheep bray in a moment's chill, some dreaming; like pillows of wool all over the landscape that glisten under the light, occasionally making cute sounds. Giant shadows, giant isolation, giant expanse of unobstructed planet under the giant imaginations of us little men.
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