Faithin Omaha eBook Collection

Download or read book EUPHROSYNE written by Cecep Syamsul Hari and published by Penerbit Buku Sastra Digital. This book was released on 2021-01-01 with total page 121 pages. Available in PDF, EPUB and Kindle. Book excerpt: EUPHROSYNE When I awoke very early, one day, I was amazed to find grass growing along my thighs. My body was shrivelled and pale, the rain had run through my hair all night; someone with a pale face, crowned in light, had poured a red liquid into my cup, it may have been wine, or possibly blood: “To our good health!” We toasted each other, I toasted her and felt very sad. But by God, by her own true self, she was so cute and funny. I thought of my mother, and asked her if she had ever seen the tree in heaven that was the source of good and evil. But my dear mother was far away and couldn’t hear a word I said. A fierce wind blew me somewhere I had never been before. Perhaps I was in heaven, perhaps I was in hell. There was no end to it. The hands on the clock ran backwards. I may have wept, I was so alone, night after night, my head pressed against a table, my soul was tortured. The petals of the baobab tree fell from my swollen eyes. In the distance, mosques praised the name of God. Angels flew behind the veil. Leaving their wings on the highways. I was chained in my room. The philosophers talked of the world, I called it a prison, or a poem, or the jealousy of autumn time. Someone, with the light wound in a circle around her head, vowed to love me forever, then ran away one evening. I was shattered. I became sick. My kidneys failed me. I waited, no, I couldn’t wait, I waited, no, it was impossible, I waited, no, she would never come back, she might come back. An extraordinarily beautiful face stuck into my dreams. It was like a harsh rain falling during a drought. On other days, I was tongue-tied, my mouth grew moss, and I was silent. Grains of wild wheat dropped from my nostrils and scattered in all directions. I was blind, and continued to wait. Resting in a rocking chair, day after day, then week after week, and finally month after month. “You fool!” a strange voice whispered into my ear. “Everything changes. Time no longer runs at your back. Sit here quietly and think of all the innocent things you did when you were young. Curse those who demonstrate in the streets, curse the political parties, curse anything at all.” Darling, darling, don’t call me a cynic, don’t call me Mephisto or Samiri[1]. Please, darling, don’t. It doesn’t matter who I am. I am neither Aaron nor Satan. I love the faces which have come and gone, leaving a series of brightly shining lights, like Orpheus’[2] lyre as he accompanied Euridice’s sad song. I am the food in your belly, the lament in your grief, the retina in your eyes. All I heard was the sighing of the wind. I told him: “Sail to the furthest land. Find her for me”. I shall endure my sorrow wrapped in the sweet bud of a smile. 1999-2001 [1] According to the Koran (20:86-88) the Samiri made the golden calf which led the people astray during their journey through the wilderness under Moses’ leadership. [2] According to Greek legend, Orpheus was a great poet and musician; he descended into Hades to rescue his wife Euridice, but lost her again when, at the last moment, he turned back to look at her.