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Raven Black Mar 2013
Evening is the time when the shadows come alive and become crisp in a flickering light, that it is no longer yellow. White, neon, unnatural. No more it resembles candle flame. It looks like a ruthless moonshine which scatters from a ghost lantern. I wake up, not from a dream, but the reality of life and get up, not out of bed, but out of the chair of common life convict. I slip out of clothes and shoes worn by ordinary man. I released the tie, honorary sash won on vanity competition that made me tight, suffocating like a noose. It is not merciful to assassinate me in a flash, but squeezes the breath of life out of me every day, bit by bit. I put my true outfit, specially sewn soft seams on blue silk. My neck is naked, free at last, adorned by corrugated blue organza collar woven by hand, each thread is a smile and a tear streaked with golden sigh. I smeared my face with white paint to hide the traces of blush caused by shame over the living, high capillary pressure of too many emptied cups of bitterness and dark circles as a result of each conscious decision. Hiding clues of eyebrows and transforming into myself, the Harlequin. Painting white to cover the everyday life and return to the carelessness, to the easy present. With the practiced movement I put away my pomades of transformation and close spell cabinet. Last look at the silver reflection and I'm ready for a trip through the deserted streets of the matchbook labyrinth.
Triangle is a straight line
Wielded together over
The phantasmic ecstasy of
Illusions
The dusk comes
While dawn is still
Snoring
But, we never hear
The incoming calls of
Dangers lurking ahead
Well, do we ever care?

we walk on a bended path
Our roads are cracked and
Shaped with sledgehammer
We made 180• with curves
Time is never ours
Well, do we ever care?
at dusk, the sun leaves
pomades on our faces
Yet, we sleep unwashed
Hoping for the dew of a
New dawn to cleanse us

We own the key to great
Ancient path to tropical diadems
But, we are stuck in this
Triangular path of our
Creation
We are clouded with illusions
We choose our beliefs
We always do
Yet, we never choose
To break the loop

Triangle is
a three -sided straight line
We love 180
so, we are afraid of breaking
Out of this triangular loop
For the fear of losing our 180•
Maybe one day
Someday
When the dawn awakes
Forcing the understanding
of the golden principle of
Relativism
We may break the loop
And walk 180 down into
The Labyrinth that awaits us.

"We are captives
of our own identity,
leaving in the prison
of our own creation."

— The End —