Little, Emerald Life


DiAmaya Dawn
Jun 20, 2019 · 2 min read
Image by freeillustrated from Pixabay

Sad April rain floods our street, storm-grey rivers absorb in silence
The soft pitter-patter of the drops, and the delicate sounds
Of the black, wondrous creature that steps lightly her paws
On the brick-paved path — sylphlike, her soulful eyes
Reflect the lightning, silver strikes her emerald windows
To a soul most mysterious, a soul I will never forget.

The way she walks, a signature, tracing what she won’t forget,
when her most honest, treasured thoughts drowned in silence,
and their ghosts, cursed to haunt forever, fly through windows,
through the bodies of all those who try to own her — sounds
Of their greed, carved envy to possess, you can see them in her eyes —
The only one who could, will not ever, so she hides her paws.

As I watch her, I wonder how much strength is written on these paws,
How does this slender figure bear such fortitude, such will to forget.
If cats dream, I know she must be suffering merciless terrors, her eyes
moist late at night, she cries, and just before another silence
drops hurtful, her tears fire bullets lost in emerald stars make no sounds,
tiny sparks that will fly along with the ghosts through the windows.

That silence, those ghosts, the white, tulle curtains of those windows,
Fervid scars gracefully hidden under the little creature’s paws,
Thoughts, dreams, once ardent, now relinquished — they too made no sounds
And when her smile died, they were bequeathed to her eyes — a vow to forget.
But on days like this, the vow is broken, surrendered to the vicious silence;
On days like this, the grey of the clouds hides her emerald eyes.

The nostalgia, the potent wish that hides in those prominent eyes
Is that simplicity she had tasted long ago when the windows
Hid and shielded from the torrid sun, and bore no atrocious silence,
And she sensed no malice near, no urge to protect herself raising her paws,
There were no wicked monsters, no dreams she strove to forget,
She let her heartbeats free, her thoughts to sing — she did not stifle the sounds

Now she’s standing here before me, reminiscing those lively sounds,
Ghost-like wandering of the mind overflows her brisk eyes,
It joins her thoughts, her dreams, the rest of the ghosts she tries to forget,
She exhales and lets them be carried by the wind through the windows
On which — wistful but spirited — she languidly places her tiny paws,
With no signs of regret, she lifts her tail, finds comfort in silence.

And I, marvelled at her world of no sounds, of wide-open windows,
Of scintillating, emerald eyes, and pink, time-scarred paws
Where she veiled the pain to forget — all that I will remember in silence.

Lit Up

DiAmaya Dawn

Written by

Reader, writer, editor, poet, dancer, music addict. Japanophile, pluviophile and attracted by darkness. Part normal, part Greek.

Lit Up

Lit Up

Welcome to Lit Up -The Land of Little Tales. Here you can read and submit short stories, flash fiction, poetry - in brief, your own legend. We're starting little. But that's how all big stories begin.

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