three sisters veiled in white:
the spinner, the measurer, the cutter
and i, my back turned to them - a blind eye,
trying to locate that place where fate enters life -
like an arrow piercing the soft flesh of time;
this is the beginning of all things:
fate and necessity - inseparable cohesion;
there is also the voyage
towards the loftier shores: perfection, order -
maybe just an imagined quest of discovery and knowledge
or a sign of hubris - the noble heroic striving
to defy a dark god who prefers us meek
and frightened of the unavoidable tragic end.
sinking deeper and deeper
into the black silence;
counting the stars -
milestones of loss,
constellations of mourning;
never-ending fall -
mysterious gravity
of a dying planet
burning somewhere
on the edge of the galaxy of pain…
i close my eyes and imagine
my true face in the soul’s mirror:
i see a gentle animal,
voiceless,
resigned to its fate.
we navigate the labyrinth of illusions with great care -
it seems that someone up there is constantly
shifting, re-arranging its dimly lit corridors,
burning blueprints, erasing signs;
we wait, we turn to stone, we eat the silence, what else is there to do?
and in that slumber of fear
we summon images of a passage to a dreamless winter
we imagine a love that cannot be
we unravel old mysteries
and gain a measure of clarity…
we hope to find the way out;
but aren’t hope and waiting
dark corners of the maze?
isn’t the quest just the universe
deceiving itself?