Is this where I find you?
Is it your resting place, where you found solace, at last?
Is this your reflection, mirror of a soul forever lost to us?
Have you now found peace, away from the terror of this world?
Were you so impatient, or so desperate, to seek evasion, a door to elsewhere?
Are these trees your friends, there to protect you, and, perhaps, to warn us?
Have you succeeded where we have failed?
Inside was a blissful, cool darkness. As we stepped in, and the heavy door closed behind us without a sound, we admired the immaculate spiral staircase, and wondered. How long would we have to wait, and, perhaps, how far would we have to climb, before meeting the master of the house?
It was so quiet we dared not speak a word. Sun rays filtered through the curtained windows. The sparse furniture was polished to the extreme, the mirrors on the walls seemed to be veiled – or was it our imagination?
There was only one way to go, and this was upstairs. We looked at each other, and smiled: we hadn’t got thus far to abandon our visit. After all we were invited. We were invited, even though we did not know where the invite came from…
We were young, and beautiful, what did we have to fear?
We took the first step, and you took my hand. It seemed that the house had gone a little darker. You went first, I, as ever, following, it was not the first time we’d ignored a warning…
We retrace our steps, without intention, it just happens: suddenly we see ourselves, there at that terrace, one evening, or there, along those walls, pushing our bikes. It’s later at night, and the Neue Gallerie is not yet closed, we meet there, in a concert of bright lights and laughter.
That was three years ago, then it was Spring; how fast time goes in this City? Those ghosts are us, or perhaps, we have become them. We know those streets, we can follow our shadows. They, us, look at us, interested and tender, those younger faces, ours, so familiar, now observing us from the other side of the mirror.
But which side are we in?
Photo: inspired by the beautiful blog https://streetberlin.net/, street photography. berlin. kulturforum. 2016 © martin waltz
An extraordinary vision… and of course her reality is… in the attic: superb! In fact, flawless
She had a way with mirrors
She tamed them with one look.
No periwinkled gape emerging, unplanned, confusing,
No fairytale abasement of princess lost and found.
She knew the score, the path, and scaling
Was her day job, to step on meek cadavers, to pursue, victorious.
Each face thought out,
Lip drawn in cupid perfection
With dervish undertones.
Eyes framed with agate offerings,
The brow? A work of art, unfurrowed and unhurried.
Regrets are someone else’s,
A sleight of mind, eclipse of hands,
And back we are, unwrinkled,
To smooth-held opinions and shifting granular sands.
Meanwhile, the portrait in the attic
Waxed crueller by the year.
Well, I had to do something! So here we go, thanks to Tracey… So this is Tuesday May 1, celebration of Labour in most countries, except of course in Britannia – you know, the old lady. And this is what I wanted to say, for today, about myself: as a mixture of tastes, yeah, am an eclectic person. See for example what I am concocting here. As a (real) person I’m probably older than you reader. In fact I am ancient, though not necessarily in wisdom!
Yet I keep trying, hence participation to #BlogMeMaybe. Tomorrow it’s your turn!
