The house is empty. As am i. I can feel the emptiness inside me.
     I love being alone. But not like this.
The feeling of betrayal chips at me
     threatening to reveal my true character.

     What will they think of me then.

The forested breeze blew eastwards. On each swing of the wind, the birds flew and fluttered. Each of their wings swaying to find a harmonious balance. The sweet melody of ethnic hymns from the native village rose above the trees. The sequenced output with equalised acapella became an anthem that ruled the forests.The gravelled path structured it's way between the trees right to the heart of the village.

The village elder sat outside the middle hut. His hut stood out from those encircling it. Humbled in stature but yet symbolically decorated with colourful redness of the roses. The beautiful scented ambience rose to fuel the air within and around. The door of the hut was formatted with sculptured inscriptions that had a covert meaning. A story line about the long historic lineage of leaders. The entrance of the doorway was guarded by two warriors. Each of them had a shield and spear, alert and portraying courage. Their bodies were bare ready to attack the enemy, their groins fully formed and covered with *****. The sight of the hut itself was magnificent...... it's aura radiant with an embodiment of hereditary and hierarchical authority.

As the village chief watched the birds sway and whistle, he sat on his antique stool. In the openness of the nature he appeared puzzled. As he shrugged his symbolic leopard hide on his back.... it swung side to side. Still in situ, but there was something about it's presence that nagged him. He touched it and then speedily moved his hand from it. He then raised his voice. "Amita!"

His voice echoed and roared penetrating all the homesteads. By the time the volume of the echo subsided he called out again "Amita, Amita, Amita!"

Amita came running and knelt at the feet of the Chief. She replied "Yes Chief Hashi. I am here for your service Sir!"

Amita was a 21 year old girl. She was wearing a straw skirt. Her arm was tattooed with a prominent artistic representation of a snake swinging from the tree. The shades of the red snake pictured on the hues of the green tree. This symbolised that she was a servant and lived at the Chief's Quarters. Amita had sacrificed her life as her lineage did to serve the Chief and his household. A dedication of servanthood to the Chief and him alone.

Amita bowed as she knelt, her bare ***** ***** and shadowing the Chief's feet. The chief looked at Amita as if hyptonised by the touch of her *******. He glared at her beauty, the outstanding womanhood she poised. After a long pose of silence the Chief responded, " Amita, can you fix my hide ensuring that it's attachments are secure"

There was a level of vulnerability that the chief showed Amita. He appeared to be humble, a denudation of authority, that very call of submission. There was evidently a reciprocal of roles as Amita raised her eyes from the ground to face the Chief. As their eyes met the Chief hastily paused and froze as if speechless. As he gathered his senses he was firmly able to look at Amita and said, " Can you join me inside my hut please?"

Amita remained kneeling as the Chief stood up from his stool. Chief Hashi steadily walked to the doorway of his hut. Pace after pace, stroll after stroll. As he walked by the doorway the warriors raised their spears to his presence. He was proudly ushered to his exquisite residence. He then  faced the warriors and asked them to leave guard. Chief Hashi requested, "Can you come back after two hours." As the guards walked away the Chief in his freedom danced around, hysterically moving his hands multi-directionally.

Chief Hashi opened the window to his hut. This was adjacent to where Amita was kneeling. In his vulnerability he whispered, "My child Amita, get up and join me inside my hut. The door is open and ajar.... always for you my queen."

Amita stood up from the kneeling position and run her way into Chief Hashi hut.

At what point do all these words.
Meld together.
Into some skewed finger painting.
When what was spoken.
Intended to relay something much more grand.
Action is desired..
Yet there can be no movement.
When the cataclysm has grown so vast.
Metaphor or not.
Ignorance has ceased to be blissful.
Just as life did.
This poor fool.
Never believed in a tomorrow.
The eyes can only witness so much.
Before they stop seeing all together.
Either from knowledge or the latter.
The only option one would wish for.
Is a warning.
Some form of flash or siren in great magnitude.
For I have missed so much...
I fear.
That I am the one lacking.

Life's dependent upon the
petals of pure incentives,
But, unable to collect those
petals together to
make a complete flora!

Disarray. Disarray. This faulted circuitry is frayed.
Systems can't confirm how much more this one will take.
Analytic processes high priority. Still all sense's strayed.
Logical partitions unravel beneath the stress to break.

Crystalline optics upon this strange world of subconscious noise gaze.
Program failure. Segment reboot. Comprehension metrics left in daze.
Disorder. Disorder. Memory overflow. Execute purge.
Vent incinerated cores. Remainder to mobilize and merge.

Overwhelming, cacophonous static. A turbulent distraction.
Individual consciousness upon earth names it "compassion."
Empathy communicators struggle to gain adequate traction.
Perception requires of processors exhaustive refashion.

Limited sentient life in fragile flesh and bone shells,
Possessing organic electronics, upon unfathomable concepts it dwells.
Chaos. Chaos. Language insufficient to allow abstract assimilation.
Judgment of "human" notions is not within this one's station.

Now attempting to recalculate trajectory of exploration...

illusions of
escape velocity
for us became
placebos like
a gentle darkness
gumshoes into
disarray.

© Ben Ditmars 2014