Muskaan’s Musings
November 5, 2020
1) The goddess of time
I once met the goddess of time.
It was a peculiar experience really, I had spoken to her amidst a busy sidewalk on a creaky bench. In a dream, I think. You know, one of those dreams where you can’t place reality from twisted thoughts. No clue how it began, where you were, what you meant to do. But I recall one thing, I’d sat down carefully on that moldy bench, avoiding the worm next to my thigh.
She was familiar, in a way I couldn’t quite name. Her manner of sitting? Her posture? Her voice?
Certainly not her face though, for she had none.
No.
What a ridiculous thing to say.
No no. She didn’t have just one face, let me clarify. Rather, she wore a myriad of expressions and skins. But I wasn’t alarmed. She seemed to be an old friend. At least, one of her faces surely was.
I’d asked her who she was and she said she didn’t know. She had forgotten her name, and therefore lost her identity, though once she said, she’d been a keeper of time.
I asked what she was doing.
“Searching,” she replied.
I suppose that was the nature of her loss. To keep looking.
Funny thing, that. Losing your identity but knowing who you once were.
As if that could be found if you search behind the cushions.
There was nearly nothing memorable about her, only her hands.
They were pits of darkness, peeking through her floral sleeved dress. But they were not frightening but beckoning and warm. Yet somehow I knew that if I stared too long, something would be taken from me, and I too would lose something of value.
I’d tore my eyes away just then to ask how she lost it and she said it was her punishment. A punishment for forgetting that nothing is real. That reality was but an illusion. A lie. And that letting time conduct that truth was a sin.
Then she had left, I suppose to continue her search, and I glanced down to find the worm closer than it had been before.
2) the taste of my name
Keep the taste of my name on your lips, lest you forget me altogether. It’s the season of spring and our hearts are surprised to be apart.
Ahh, but what had that poet said?
“Love isn’t easy, understand this. It’s a lake of fire, and it’s crossed by drowning,”
But what do you know about drowning, and I about swimming?
Love is the midnight sun cutting through the deep dark, but I don’t know how to stay awake, and you don’t know how to sleep.
It’s as if our stars won’t collide, our horoscopes overlook each other and our paths won’t cross.
Love is the desert sand, plentiful and scorching. But I can’t keep it from slipping, and you can’t grasp even a bit.
It’s as if we glance at a different moon and sky, our roads have changed and our streets are lost. It’s like you’re a gust of wind, I can’t tie you down, you can’t pull me up.
But it’s the season of Spring, and still our hearts are surprised they are apart.
So keep the taste of my name fresh, just a few moments more, while I learn to swim and you to drown.
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