Prelude
As you already know, most of my paintings and sculptures have very special meanings to me; and at times, you have read a poem or a story that accompany and compliment a particular piece.
This piece is my very first sculpture. It came to me as a vision; and it took me weeks to bring it to life. Though I finished it and named it a long time ago, it took me many years to bring its true meaning into words…
I hope you enjoy the sculpture and the story named: “Fallen”
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Fallen
It was one those dreary and gray colored winter afternoons…
The days in which the air is pregnant with a thunder storm that is not yet due for delivery…
The days in which everything appears to be in black and white and in shades of gray…
No special day…
Just a day we wish would pass quickly in hope of a new dawn.
The air was not too cold, but cold and breezy enough to be annoying…
…
I noticed him right away as I entered the café that afternoon. He was, after all, very hard to miss.
Seated at the best table in the house, he had a certain air of eccentricity about him. It felt as though he was at the center stage in this scenery and all the surroundings were nothing but a blur.
I grabbed a table nearby and sat down.
Right beside him, leaning against his chair, was a beautiful cane, looking exotic and dassy. Dark, shimmering black wood adorned with a heavy silver serpent head- a striking cobra-for the handle, and a heavy and pointy silver piece which resembled a serpent’s tale at the other end. Though it looked as if it was made just yesterday, one could easily tell that it was an antique, even a precious family heirloom perhaps.
Crouched over the table, a steaming cup of coffee by his side, he was writing something in a beautiful leather-bound sketchbook. The cover made of soft luxurious leather ornamented with tribal branding and markings. A long leather string-used to close the sketchbook by wrapping it around it-was coiled next to his hand.
I don’t exactly know why, I could not help but stare…
He, of course, never noticed me, as he was deep in thought…
Almost as though he was in a trance…
Writing…
Just writing…
His face, intensely determined, yet burdened. His eyes focused razor sharp, as though he was looking not at the pages of the sketchbook, but rather through them…
…
“Can I get you something sir?”
“sir?”
“Sir?!”
“Ah, I’m sorry”, I replied looking up at the young dark haired waitress.
Silence…
“Are you feeling ok?” She asked.
“Yes. Yes, I am fine. Thank you. I was just distracted for a moment”. I replied.
“What would you like?”
It took me a few moments to remember where I was and why I was there…
“Ah, yes a cappuccino please”.
“Would you like any pastries with that?”
“No. Thank you. The coffee will do for now”.
“Ok. I’ll get that for you right away. Would you like a glass of water?”
“No. Thank you”.
And with that she turned around and walked away…
Perhaps whispering under her breath something like: “what a lunatic!!!”…
My eyes followed her until she disappeared into the kitchen. When I turned to once again find my eccentric writer, he was gone…!
I quickly glanced around the café to no avail.
He was gone…
The cane was gone…
But the sketchpad remained on the table!
Instinctively, I leaped out of my seat, grabbed the sketchbook and stormed out the door...
There it was again, the grey winter afternoon…
Scattered number of passersby walking on the sidewalks…
Hunkered deep into their winter coats and scarves, busily and desperately trying to get to their destinations where they could find warmth and comfort away from the cold, gray and gloomy streets.
I looked to my right…
I looked to my left…
I double and tripled checked…
But there was no sign of him.
He had simply vanished into the grayness of that winter afternoon!!!
I returned to the café and this time sat at his table. The sketchpad in my hand felt lumpy in the middle, and when I parted it I found out why. Marking the last page in which he had written and nestled in the fold of the book there was a very small and simple pencil. Now, shorter than an inch, the pencil had written all it was going to write in its lifetime!
And…
He had written:
“It started on the 17th …
And 472 days later…
It ended on the 17th…
Today…
I thought of heaven and hell a fool’s dream…
An old wives tale…
My heaven and hell were here on earth, now I see…
I see…
My life, a quicksand…
The more persistently and indefatigably I sought my heaven, the deeper I sank in hell!!!
…
I am hanging off a cliff…
Afraid to fall…
I confessed to you long ago…
My hand is extended…
Take it…
I won’t ever let you fall…
You, so lovingly replied…
And so I did.
You said it aloud…
And you intended it earnestly…
But you couldn’t hold on…
I saw the hesitation in your eyes…
I heard the fear in your voice…
I felt the weakening of your grip…
I place on you no blame!…
For you not knew the heavy weight of my burdens!…
Today…
At last…
At the time I needed you the most…
The weight, proved far too grave…
Teary eyed…
Your grip loosened…
My desperate hand, you let go…
Plausible, credible, to my mind and yet ruinously shattering my heart…
I know not which is the greater pain…
The fall or the abandonment?!!!
For all I know…
Is that it is all too much to bear…
Far beyond my ability to cope…
I no longer have the will or the power to hold on…
And if I did…
There is nothing to hold on to!
Falling, finally inevitable and at hand…
I have no choice but to let go…
…
I thought of heaven and hell a fool’s dream…
An old wives tale…
My heaven and hell were here on earth, now I see…
I see…
My life, a quicksand…
The more persistently and indefatigably I sought my heaven, the deeper I sank in hell!!!
Falling, finally inevitable and at hand…
I have no choice but to let go…
It started on the 17th …
And 472 days later…
It ended on the 17th…
Today…
Forever silent…
From this point forth…
Maybe…
I find peace with the memory of those 472 days in between!!!
Goodbye!
I sat there for a while…
Puzzled...
Pondering…
Trying to solve the riddle…
Trying to ascertain his meaning and his aim…
But I could only go as far as my imagination!!!
…
Now...
I carry that sketchbook…
Out of respect for him I have not looked at all pages prior…
And…
The remaining pages…
As many or as little as they may be…
Will bear my written word as their predecessors did his!!!
Posts
Beautiful! I love your sensitivity!
ReplyDeleteKami...your writings are so touching...full of emotions...and you express yourself in the most simple yet deepest way....LOVED IT...
ReplyDeleteKami jaan! another wonderful piece! Missed you man! It was as clear as that white winter (for me though) that both were you! The guy who wrote with a burden in his eyes and they guy who was watching him! As if you were watching yourself! I have no clue what 17 means to you, but ...
ReplyDeleteThose remaining pages that are left from that crafty leather sketchbook, can carry so many beautiful sunny days that are followed in spring and summer! I believe there are enough pages there :)
Priceless
ReplyDelete