Eva Colombo, Our gold, fourth chapter: Dawn cloud ( Inspired by Mikhail
Vrubel’s painting Siren or The Lilacs, 1900 )
You told me that you can’t love me because you love the sunshine. I love the
sunshine too, I replied. You told me that it can’t be true because on my face
there is a shadow which is like the shadow that obscures the face of the new
moon and makes the night black as desperation. You told me that you can’t love
me because it is springtime and you love life. It is springtime for me too and I
love life as much as you do, I replied. You told me that it can’t be true
because my eyes are like an abyss and who that falls into it is doomed to drown
into muddy waters which bear the colour of my iris. You told me that it can’t be
true because the melancholy which resounds into my voice is like the swashing of
a subterranean river that doesn’t feed any flower. Now it is night and I don’t
sleep. I am alone and in the dark I’m looking at a lilac - cluster which is like
a cloud imbued with dawn light. If its scent could insinuate itself into your
dreams perhaps now you would see me… You would see that the shadow on my face
which is like the shadow that obscures the face of the new moon it is a sign
that the sun loves me and he is about to present me with his splendor. You would
see that the abyss of my eyes is like the abyss into which the sun falls at
sunset and the muddy water of my iris is like the gold of the sun which changes
itself into mud in order to flow in the subterranean river where he is used to
spend the night. Lilac roots reach that river and feed on the sun… Otherwise how
could the lilac – clusters be so similar to the dawn clouds? And you would hear
the melancholic song which I sing on the banks of that subterranean river when
the sun, cradled by the river and tickled by the lilac roots, wishes to rise no
more… Then on the banks of the subterranean river I sing a melancholic song so
the sun may be nostalgic of the sky and would hurry towards the sea where he
will be born again, towards the horizon where he will rise again. If this night
you could be able to smell the scent of this lilac – cluster maybe tomorrow you
would love me as one loves a cloud seen in a dream. A cloud imbued with dawn
light, gushing with life. |
