The look runs, following the thought’s outlines, driven down from the barren hill rolls up to reach the shores of the lake. On a late winter morning that still has the bitter taste of coffee, sipped with pleasure; it’s a new day in which the mind trapped in this body, will find its limits, fears… and will compare against the ancestral muse.
But for me everyday it’s like that. Rays imbued with soft amber, injure the eyes that shouldn’t look at those shiny swords made of flickers and dances among the palms’ branches.
But how to hold on your thought? It flies, fast, beyond the lake’s shores that now quiet as a mirror of slate, also disdain the wind blowing. Then passes through time and space, escapes to rummage through where memories are waiting of being awakened and then led out by the hand. Crosses the boundaries dictated by human dimension, there beyond, the infinite space of perceptions oblivious of constituency. Thus radiant, so hungry to relive feelings, the thought pushes me to grasp the emotion and then throw my conscience into the cheering arms of a dream of the past.
At first I rebelled, then I let myself be seduced by the sweet and passionate numbness that only the thought knows how to transmit. I smile to myself, aware, once again, to give in too easily to its flattery that inevitably bring me back to suffering. Every memory, carries with it the ineffable duality of good and evil. Both traces marked into focus on the skin of all Beings, sometimes handled inconsistently since they do not follow the course of virtuous wisdom but to the dissolute and disrespectful of the Passion. We are unable to learn from the mistakes of the past, we tend to always persevere in the dullness in a pattern that we carry saddled to our spirit… But already the thought starts to fly with the proper dignity of its nature, I abandon myself for a moment in a initial panic but then, as light as the inconsistency of the air, I grab it holding me clutched to its many nuances…
I close my eyes, I entrust to the its scent of fear and boundless pleasures as oblivion and peace of mind penetrates into myself. Then the memories of previous lives returns, scenes ever forgotten from my mind assume consistency; slowly I let myself enthrall, drag and gently fall asleep.
And in the dream, the sun arabesque the coolness of the palm trees embroidering on the sand long shadows. Resurface the horses with the manes to the wind and the knights-errant owners of the endless stretches of sand.
I observe the scene from a respectful distance, trying to hide the face with the long blue gauze wisely wrapped around the head. A single tiny slit, so that the eyes can look with marked amazement and curious admiration.
I should not be here. I was banned several times to move up the east bank of the Euphrates in search of hidden treasures. But my rebellious spirit makes no compromises, the pungent desire of escape and emotion is the price with which to pay a life of luxury and quirks between marble’s walls of the palaces with thousand rooms.
I’m what I’m, blessed with noble rank, but in these places I’m just a woman, who in the eyes of my people means submission.
The breeze has turned into piercing wind that with each gust fills with sand the folds of my dress, blinding me. But it’s too exciting to watch the riders, hear their cries praise “bism Allah” and “Allah Akbar” (God is great) I feel as if paralyzed and my eyes follow the frantic racing horses. Freedom at last! This sublime indescribable feeling that can’t be bought or bargained for, but rather only conquered with determination… and sometimes with death.
(To those who asked me the translation, here just a foretaste… I hope you enjoyed!)