Musings. Ex Libris

As soon as the gate opens people will be rushing in in droves. People with faces askew, unwittingly disclosing their abhorrence of the hustle and bustle of urban life, although, saying one head to another, “we seem to live like that for so long a time we cannot recall the time we truly find peace.” The continuous din of traffic, to the ears of the uncomplaining commuters, is a deafening silence. A train hurtles by and this pervasive film of noise is suddenly impaired- it is then broken into numerous particles, which glide the gloomy heaven about gleefully. As noted by one head, identical to the previous one we just encountered, “the sky today seems greyer.” I’ve wandered for hours about this lugubrious city, searching in vain a lonely and hollowed-out soul like me onto whom I can unload my woes. Here is an old tavern where a middle-aged individual secretly mixing his drink with his tears, probably weeping for something incidental but irrevocable, or, as

They carelessly entered a great forest that seemed to have no path leading out of it. Things they encountered along the way, things they could not name but had the faint knowledge of what possibly could be, were the same kind that recurred in their worst nightmares, in which familiar faces invariably wore the most horrible, inscrutable disguises. The palms that gripped tightly together were already drenched in sweat; occasionally several large beads would escape and form an ephemeral trail on the ground, directing to the destination of the unknown. But the known is always scarier. The Known is the invisible monster that tugs benignly at your sleeve and entreats you the listen to a music audible through nobody’s but your ears. The music told her to perceive Time which, like an aging tree, will be robbed of every leaf and twig piecemeal, until one day when this thousands years of life is finally reduced to a naked and barren seed, something within it still qu