Tuesday, April 7, 2015

Remember Rwanda

This is A tribute to mark the memory of the Rwandan Genocide. 


It felt vague.
Image from Wikimedia Commons
Like dew on grass.
Like water gracefully meandering down a sloping mountain.
Like voices murmuring far away.
There, but not quite. Solid, but not quite. Silent, but loud.
The most beautiful meadow lay before me. Picturesque Debauchery, a hedonistic dream.
I ventured forwards, listening to a babbling brook sing a paean of praise.
Perhaps of itself. Who knows, who knows.
Everything seemed so full of sorrowful pulchritude, as though Melpomene ran silently with it all. Pain seemed writ large on everything, as it outwardly appeared calm, peaceful. Like the surface of a lake. Gentle ripples outside. Simmering tensions inside.
The green leas vanished.
A dark gray passage. Portraits on the side.
Faces vaguely familiar. Some benevolent. Some glaring. Some gloating.
Calm outside, seemingly. Their eyes betrayed them.
Pain within, writ large and clear.
Silence. Deafening silence.
I was moving forwards. My feet thudding, but no sound ensuing.
Phantom shapes moved around.
The ground seemed to wind upwards, higher, higher, higher.
I found myself before a large wall covered with the most exquisite tapestry one could fathom.
Laughter. Cold. Mirthless. Shrill.
A flash of light.
The tapestry falls, revealing the largest mirror possible.
I see my face.
Magnified manifold.
Contorted with fury and pain.
The glass breaks, shards of glass pierce through my body. I cry out in agony.
Something white flies past me.
One Fleeting moment, something white, a flutter of wings.
And then a voice cries out. 'Beware the dove's anger.' 
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