• Victoria Chwa

in perpetuum

whence all the winds are silent,

and all the rain are fallen,

and all we hear are the songs of sirens:

so oft! I think of you —

You had hoped that, by this time, you would have everything sorted out.

The train would arrive at its stop and you would step into the most beautiful, variegated landscape life had to offer. The clouds would whisk into a comforting blend as the sun’s rays danced upon rich verdure. Hills were abound, as were flowers. Then, from the corner of your eyes, you would see a charming little cottage resting atop the highlands. It would sing of fresh, warm bread.

And there would be music.

You wanted to believe that, if there were a time and place for everything, then everything would have its own time and place. You wanted to believe that there exists an extraordinary serenity – a solace so pure and gratifying that it was free of anguish, misery and torment.

Yet, life’s greatest rewards did not come without trial. She had her own method of distillation. She eliminated those who did not prove themselves worthy to bask in her sunlight. She threw at you one expectation after the other, and those who failed her test were the ones who let her challenges overwhelm them.

She sees you.

You fought. You did. You climbed over much of the obstructions in your way. There had been many a trough of despair but you escaped nonetheless. You have the lacerations to prove it.

She sees you.

She sees your body.

She sees your soul.

And you bleed.

And you burn.

And you swallow the noise of the world.

O, detachment in the air today:

’tis calling for me!

like oasis on the Sahara

I am entwined —

And there would be music.

originally published: 7 Mar 2019

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