|Agonia.Net | Policy | Advertising||Contact | Participate|
|Poetry Personals Prose Screenplay Essay Press Article Communities Contest Special Literary Technique|
￭ s m i l e
- - -
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
2008-02-12 | |
I put my tears on the sun and they won’t go away… a yellow shadow is following me, it’s just my old book, I stole all the pages from it. How many times do you think your sun is going to fall? They should be home looking for the moon, watching the empty space that you left when you moved the furniture.
“Giving birth is just like writing” said an old lady but I wondered: How can she know that if she never had children? Who does give birth anyway? Mother’s mother of her mother and the old beech knew something about life and they never said a word. Maybe they didn’t have lips. How could they kiss then? They didn’t kiss, they just gave birth…
When she learned how to read, it was too late because all the books were gone. Are we here again? Please don’t mention that part, please, let’s forget everything, let’s forget we knew, forget we spoke, forget we dreamt and forget that we forgot. Reading after 3 o’clock is a little hard. The girl you were talking about was reading again, I couldn’t see if she read a book or just some words on the old willow. “Miss, you are lost!” he said. I know that the grass is not so green here, but I believe it’s not so dark and I’m not lost, I just don’t know where I could find my life.
And so, the girl went down to find her apple… her color… her eye, maybe her life.
There is a dog and some flowers, I can see some blue and the yellow on there faces. So, looking through this makes me want to close my eyes. I’ll imagine I’m blind and maybe I’ll discover something else… I see a face, a sad face, there is nothing in this grey that I’m seeing.
“Keep your eyes opened, miss!” he said. Whatever you say, I can still see something, I see an excrescence on his body. It’s hers! It’s hers! He loves the excrescence, he lives with it every day, I can only imagine him kissing the beautiful outgrowth. Going on this way makes me feel dizzy, I contemplated the lugubrious night, it was somewhere in Russia, a girl was lost and just like that, the ugly boy appeared. She tried to laugh but he made her cry. He was looking for this girl in an old photo, some blue green eyes…
She asked the willow’s roots what to do when somebody wants her to open her legs, but the tree never answered, it had too many moss, it had nothing that day. And so, the girl open just two legs in front of the hypocrite moon, she lost white.
This isn’t a story, these aren’t just sentences, and this is something a white person does. White does not mean pure, white does not mean good. Stop thinking like that! White is just a word, white is empty and full, it’s ugly but beautiful. Anyway, what can we do about this girl? She seems to be lost and in the same time, finding answers she never thought she could have. She didn’t run for the bus, she didn’t write when she had to write, she somehow opened her two small legs. She metamorphosed into a butterfly, then into a mermaid, but just when she wanted to become a human again, she transformed into…
“Welcome to my world!” said the yellow shadow. She never asked what was is like in the yellow world, even though her dreams were yellow and her body was shaking, she never knew what was the world like. “This is the biggest sun I’ve ever seen, these are the longest nights I’ve ever experienced. Maybe all these colors make people yellow, maybe it’s the sun, I shouldn’t worry about this, I just have to live it”. And so the girl lived her yellow life. She started to wear make-up, red short dresses, curly and straight hair, her hand touched things that no other girl would ever touch, her body was touched like no other yellow body was touched and her two legs were wide opened every time the sun wanted to make her yellow and full of light inside. She felt like no other yellow girl. How come no one ever told her that LIFE can be so beautiful?
In the morning, smooth, long, hairy fingers were delighting the girl, in the afternoon, she ate cherries in a big plate, only the night was empty and in the same time full, full of hands all over her body, she felt like an experiment, enable to use her hands to defend herself. She was as easy as she was hard to persuade in being with yellow men. Money, beauty, never love, never a mother, never a father, just fame, hazel eyes, graceful nipples, voluptuous waist. “If this is the yellow world, then I want to live in it forever!”
She gave up her immortality for the yellow world…
Daffodil in a glass of water, she rises, she smells the incandescence of fallen ray. This is the girl: yellow, rich, beautiful… always touched but untouchable, reached but unreachable, full in her body, empty in her soul, perverse and so childish. Naked on the bed, clothes in Heaven, penetrated, pervaded with meat, trembling every time. “So much pleasure” she said.
Yes, my dear, beautiful girl, you know pleasure, you’ll know pain. And the girl turned into yellow. “Goodbye!” he said. This is the yellow life, pleasure, beauty, money, gold, nakedness, cherries, 31 beds all this in 31 hours, nevertheless painful. Yellow… yes, you are sorry but this is LIFE, it’s yellow, it’s 31 hours of pleasure and the other days it’s pain. As penetrated as she was, the more she became a virgin, never touched, lost with an embrace, lost in yellow…
|Home of Literature, Poetry and Culture. Write and enjoy articles, essays, prose, classic poetry and contests.|