Read this to me
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When did it commence stealing, creeping,
into Living, into Being?
Of a selcouth evening when Moon and Sky
turned strangers? Of an airless
matutinal moment when an unlit Star
allied with an irate Angel?
Was it born and borne like souls and bones
through lives and ages,
like the aggregate of yesterdays wreathing
Do its markers pattern the Elements as
they mar thoughts and fates?
It reigns like a lesser divinity,
this clairsentient, omnipresent Loneliness
I knew before my own name
as it purled beneath my skin like a restive
fledgling, carving my innards
Into its nest of fleshly Rubble.
Yet I contemplate its contours this iridescent
hour as an unthought realm…
It whelms the cityscape;
it thrums like a Heart within its foundations,
in its hallowed, hollowed bricolage
of concrete nerves and treeless core,
coldly glistening in Summer’s
tearing desiccation, yet lost as estranged
parts of somas that raised its fabric
of asphalt Allness and metal constellations.
A Silence of steel and exilement storms around
my slightness; I rise into a subspace,
the sectio aurea of these wordless Geminates
each protracting the other,
Twin Flame Arcs of man’s inherited Destiny
the Dance of Life and Death composited to a
lightless Shell. I stumble through
the cordate Void, bemused as an eye that
sees only out of its corner,
that sights only the knowable unnameable,
moving as a spectre over an
playerless stage. Does falling away of warmth
and belonging bind me to its Shadow,
that I may feel and seek in symbols?
Could I allegorise this Solstice of Stillness?
Not the soundlessness resounding
in caverns of Sorrow or Death,
but the un-quietus, the floating bedrock of Fear
that dims the Sun and limns grey as Blackest.
A desolate Continuum surges and swarms with
wraiths of moments dreamt and dreams
dispossessed implying motion and flow.
Absent voices stem my hands
rubbed raw, stripped of touch; ghost embraces
linger as pangs in my arms.
The Sun rises and rises to misted eyes and ears
that pare wagtails’ yellows and
kingfishers’ teals. A Mind ranges over measures,
six feet, clusters, seconds,
days. Pod wakes. I claim worlds within words
and pictures, imbibing bokeh and
chiaroscuro, inscape and interiority, willing such
to glut the saturnine hollow
ungrasped Expanses wrought into my spirit.
A greater Art now calls anew upon her Devices
of dark luminescence, opening her secret tome
across ever present chasms,
unveiling her daedal design to lost senses,
to depths that yearned for her burst of Beauty.
She crests and breaks;
in the breaking is a making, a renewal of Phase
wherein an exquisite gleaning awaits,
wherein I shall be led into my bright inherent
capaciousness a higher Expositor made.
Time folds Space into a Womb
that births Afterlives within Lives,
interregna wherein Story may pause, breathe.
“EARTHWALKER” is an attempt to concretise a surreal yet spiritual experience of a deserted city one summer afternoon in the midst of the lockdown.
Streets and structures I believed I knew well transmuted into an assemblage, an artwork that stopped me in my tracks and spoke in a not unfamiliar tongue I had hitherto failed to heed. The cityscape seemed to wear a melancholy, almost preternatural beauty, imparting at once a sense of immediacy and transcendence.
On returning home, I pondered how the pandemic has compelled us to re-evaluate our relationship with both peri- and extrapersonal spaces and the manner in which we occupy and navigate them.
The palpable absence of our fellow humans, the sense of separateness from others and the innate loneliness that pervades life and spaces that witness it in times of growing alienation from community and even ourselves are what I had hoped to portray in this piece.
&mdash& LILIUM CANDIDUM
Poet, seeker, and bibliophile. (India)
Illustrated By: Francis, @lov3lyg3nius
You’re outside looking at different buildings. Some have their lights off while some have it on. However, you see that some rooms are lit purple to symbolize that there are ARMY in those rooms. Even though we think we are alone, we never know that someone close by might also be going through the same thing.
Lilium Candidum. (2021). EARTHWALKER. The Rhizomatic Revolution Review , (2). https://ther3journal.com/issue-2/earthwalker
Lilium Candidum. “EARTHWALKER.” The Rhizomatic Revolution Review , no. 2, 2021, https://ther3journal.com/issue-2/earthwalker.
Earthwalker by Lilium Candidum is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.
© Lilium Candidum 2021