woensdag 26 november 2014

Requiem : Prologue

There has been an error and the prologue of the story 'REQUIEM' has disappeared. So, for who follows this story, here comes the prologue once again

Rudi J.P. Lejaeghere


They silently live their own life
Those words that are making a way
Through my ear and whisper

How much I listen to them
Still, they escape through
The maze of my brain

Besides, how will it be?
When they melt
With the haze of images
That is burned upon my eye

Will the ravings in which
I lose them to my lips
Last long enough
To let them stay

Will the sound of their echo
Resist to the hardness
Of my sheet of paper.

Rudi J.P. Lejaeghere
Translation of ‘In mijn hoofd’
out of the collection of poems: ‘Perpetuum Mobile’


            We all have a lot of rooms in our head. It’s a big house, wherein some of them we keep our good, in others our bad memories. Another room is probably only designed for facts and data as faces, names, phone numbers and a few of important addresses. Maybe there is even one where we save our ideas about different smells, colors and tastes. Some people claim there’s certainly a little place for moments of pleasure in a piece of tasty chocolate or a glass of the finest whiskey.
            Most of the people possess a very special chamber. There they put all the suffering, the sadness and the pain, their darkest thoughts. They sort them in a particular place; the sudden death of a son who had an accident or the suicide of their daughter of eighteen. For another one, it is the place where he hides the memories of the decaying process of a sick father or mother. There are crypts, horror chambers and a hall of mirrors in our upstairs room, each of which serves another goal. Sometimes it is just a corner to hide his fear of spiders and snakes or to disguise her shame and aversion of the deviant. Not to forget, somewhere on the left behind a thick curtain, the repulsion for dissenting people is concealed. Ready to hit unexpectedly, this monster lies there, a beast that dislikes anything that is strange or different than himself.
            A human closes consciously all these doors and keeps the keys away in a safe that he buries for security in the cellar of his mind. Somewhere in a place in his head where he alone can reach it. Secrets and suppressed sorrow preserve the best behind closed doors.
            Sometimes you have people who widely open the doors of their chamber so that anyone can look into it. So wide, that their grief and pain flows away through a river of tears out of their eyes. Their mouth pulls broadly open while they howl like a wolf at the waxing moon. They scratch their own blood from under their fingernails in their incapacity. Extrovert in their feelings, as these persons are, they want to let the whole world participate of the anguish that is done to them, they witness day after day of the trials they have to endure.
            At a certain moment, these rooms in our head are congested. With this kind of persons, where no more room is vacant, where the doors bulge of exasperated feelings and the countless ghosts keep them awake at night, one day the inevitable happens. Some still find in a last but dubious attempt a solution in antidepressants or tranquilizers. Others don’t see a way back out of their personal hell and put at a certain point the barrel of a hunting rifle in their mouth and pull the trigger with closed eyes. Is it out of shame that they close their eyes or is it to not have to watch their cowardly action?
            These are some of the painful questions where family and friends will struggle for years after their death. Incomprehensible is the word coming from their mouth! How is it possible we didn’t see that coming? And still it happens so often we cannot classify it anymore as coincidence. There are several who shoot up with an overdose of shit and leave this world, blowing out their candle with a last kick and at the same time in a few moments extinguish a lot of their burning problems. Some courageous characters jump like zombies in front of the train of nine thirty. Brave because they have still the ultimate patience, taking into account the eternal delay of the railway traffic. Again other men or women cut their wrists with a cross as penance and they cry the blood out of their veins.
            The man who cried out in the semi-darkness, somewhere deep underground, safely in his self-made hiding place, shared another meaning about this. Now and then his figure was painted as a shadow on the wall by the light of the candles. A white sheet covered his face, except for two crazy eyes that glowed like coals in the scarce light. They gave him the appearance of a ghost in the night. He would never choose for that easy way of dismay and surrender. Not today, nor tomorrow! Just like he had set up a place for his practices, there was an extra little room in his head. A very special manufactured space. A room closed with a heavy door. One without a keyhole and with soundproof walls. There, he heard the voices!
            A complicated mechanism protected the entrance to this location. Only he and the voices were witnesses of what was happening in there. Happily for his friends or colleagues, this chamber of horrors was inaccessible for them. Behind this door, they didn’t hear the yelling of his embittered rage, they didn’t see the color of his blind hate or the bloody result of his in aggression given pardon. It was a rage and hate that painted the walls of his chamber red. The color of fright and violence. It was the color of the blood he shed by the sword that he handled as a master.
            His feelings rushed like a runaway train through his body. He felt called, chosen! He was the personification of the wrath, but at the same time the Angel who gave forgiveness in the death. Both feelings conquered in his head and made a pact.
            Hopping mad as a taunted and an injured predator he scratched on the inside of the door, word after word, a sentence… a scream:

Beware of the day that I break out of my chamber!!!

Copyright Rudi J.P. Lejaeghere

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