Echoes of Melancholia


I have made a boat and the sea gets dried. I have broken the boat and the rain started to clatter down. Where am I supposed to sit my anchor.? At the bottom of the deep when no one dares to or somewhere between hope and despair.? I have been sandwiched in between.. like a mountain that the earth divorced and the sky neglected. I feel like a red dot, a grammar mistake in the text of the world. I roved forlorn in boundless spheres and weary paths, I refrigerated my mind, microwaved my brain cells, sliced my winks...Just to meet the coldness of the world and the icy souls of the land. A coldness that is so dull and motionless. Even the rain doesn't fall Charlotte, it is a mimetic act of people's sorrow. As long as it raining you can imagine the amount of losses. It is like that Charlotte. It is portrayed in the accumulated water pools, in the leaves, in the streets and above human thought, deep, so deep where nobody dares to see or behold. I have always felt that I belong to the desert Charlotte, a whirling desert inside my soul. The dunes of the desert and the state of timelessness urge me to go ahead and find a way for change, like a vagabond, a cloud, a nomad or a host of gathered stars...I have been hand in hand with the blues for so long.. for so long my dear.

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