If sleeplessness was wealth, we would live in palaces alongside the moon. From our windows, we would see a gracious spilling of light, over everything that crawls and flies. A sidereal breeze would herald mornings, sprinkling stars on window sills, and music, delightful like smiles, would spring in lover’s lips and dreams.
We would walk all night, awake while everyone else is asleep. Imagining ways to dare to let go those impulses of forever to dissolve the tribal context of our minds -the spaces of our ignorance. We would dance with the svelte night, elegantly dressed in her dark cloak, adorned with sounds of mystery, stories of love, shadows and memories. Tender rains would pour on us; maternal woos, sensual lips, laughter of children in eternal play -a total feminine display.
Our bodies would collapse. All jars within the mind would pop open their lids, spilling silly things, like pride, irony, sarcasm, wittiness, cynicism. All that insistence to show off, would vanish like vapor, through the windows of the mind-heart, open ajar.
For whenever we dance with the Splendorous Night, our shadows are diluted by her Shadow, our dark side devoured by her deep darkness. Carriages with damsels, would gaily cruise in front of the palace, as Beauty, dressed in woman, walks the universe. All the tribes, of our collective imagination would parade incessantly before our open eyes, Jews, Shiites, Sunni, Kurds, Tarahumara, French, Aztecs, Mayas, Masai, Kikuyu, Japanese, Chinese, American and Thai. And so many, many others that we don’t remember or never knew.
All parading in carnival’s caravans, dancing, whining, laughing, suffering, struggling, murdering, justifying, guessing, forgiving, loving, each in their tribal script. In sleepless nights, we will dream of you, awake Begging for the deluge again, to drown all and everything perishable with the flood of our derelict passions. We would recount our happenings, remembering everyone we have met, every thought that crossed our minds, everything we should have said but didn’t. Our hearts would feel sad when embraces become evasive, as we reproached our diversity of approaches on this or that. Whenever we forgot, that we are not apart in this slumber.
If sleeplessness was wealth, everything would have been forgiven we would live alongside the moon making light to shine. We would illuminate over all the marvellous things, with our long moon fingers. Laughter would fill every instant and bitterness would be a flavour in a British drink. We would dance all night in rounds of day and life.
Existence would be the essence of every glance and word. Pillows and beds, just imaginary fluffy things to whisper stories into our ears as we dance so closely the sensual rhythms of the naked night. Night would be so intimate, profound and authentic, that everyone would be unique while being the same. Our sleeplessness of love would burn so intensely, that the sun would wake up, before daybreak, in an unexpected rave never seen.
The sun and the moon would then dance together their steps of light within the night. Our souls circling them in a merry go round conceiving a whole new universe again.
Out of an endless love…