My eyes follow the trails made by the stars…

My eyes follow the trails made by the stars. I break open the walls that hold me in. I seek the scent emanating from stems bursting with sap. My eyes collect the colours in unopened flowers. My ears listen to the music hidden in unshed clouds. To the sun telling me endless tales with his golden rays. And the moon weaving tunes in my silver dreams. I hear the birds singing sweet, of the joy and the bounty of life. I dance with the trees dancing in the breeze, eager tendrils reaching for the sky. I look at the sky. What is that song I hear? Is it out there, somewhere in that opaque blue? Or is it within me?

The papaya seeds I had planted some summers back have grown into tall plants. Now they’ve borne bulbous fruit. I’ll crawl inside the ripened fruit, bite into the orange pulp, and tell you a story. Of juice glory. I’ll drink the purple wine from the bursting grape. Heady and tart. And I’ll sing a song to you from the secret parts of my heart. Of the splendor and wonder of tender things. I’ll pour musk oil and caress with silk fingers the throb of life. The throb of life bursting, erupting, spurting.

So don’t tell me about rot and death and the passing of time. Don’t talk to me about regrets and pasts and what could have been. Don’t tell me about growing old, the tremors of flaccid flesh, the quaver of failing voice, the dimming of fading eyes. I don’t want to hear about the despair and desolation of the dying light. I don’t care about setting suns and dying moons and withering stars. And, don’t, don’t, don’t tell me about a God who has never been there.

I want to break open these walls of lost hopes, lost dreams and lost time. I want to set me free. And set you free. To go beyond life. Beyond time. Beyond dying. To dream of eternities. And I’ll hold your hand and think of you. Sleeping and waking and living and loving. For you are a dream outside my dream. And I’ll close my eyes and listen to the songs you sing in the secret parts of your heart. Of gypsies, and moths, and desert springs that gush and quench thirsts. And I’ll live my dream in your dream. And I’ll show you the trails made by the stars…

-by Rita Putatunda