KAY Hay
Reeling in years past, a flashing scene urged me to rewind my whole being and erratically setting myself again amidst a bustling, chaotic day in Sydney's Airport, my attention snagged on something unexpected. Fate, or statistical probability led me to stumble upon a handful of paper scraps left unattended on a seat. With curiosity piqued, I couldn't help but wonder about the mysterious owner, whom I imagined as a lost sibling who might be watching me over from afar. No mattered how much I tried with my dog like sniffing skills, I failed to locate the author amidst the sea of faces. Yet, instead of discarding the scraps, I made the decision to carry them with me, determined to unravel the story they held within. Like an archaeologist deciphering ancient papyri, it took me a year to piece together the fragmented narrative into its current form. And now, with the tale brought to light, I address you directly, beseechingly. " No matter how cruel, rootless creature I am, my mysterious lady, an ever-wondrous spectre looming over me, please forgive me. I am sorry for sharing your memory. But to honour you, as they say, every great story needs a rogue Jonah, and I meant to be yours
"Dogs, had later pulled his corpse into pieces and hauled him as far as they could. And then floods swept him down the valleys and dismantled his grey bones. That was the end of his short life. Then they came - the soldiers came- and took his wife and sold her to many Muslims. She was pregnant.And when we were certain she was dead- we read a thousand verses on her empty grave. " 1986.
"Aftermath, aftermath!"
******
***
*
"Past is a venom coursing through my veins."
In the somber labyrinth of recollection, I found myself retracing the paths of our ancient town, each step a journey into the veiled depths of time. Amidst the ethereal mists and the poignant odours of ceaseless strife, I groped my way forward, descending further into the abyss of perpetual conflict. Pursuing the spectres of my forebears and erstwhile acquaintances along the dolorous passages of the Walk of Death, we, as unwitting fools, incessantly excavated the sepulchres of our shared history.
"Well," I reluctantly say 'yes,' to everyone's notation, amidst the silent expanse of my innermost being, but proclaiming, "Embark upon the voyage to the farthest reaches of existence." I pondered the meaning of that verse countless times, I pressed on with unwavering determination, traversing the boundless expanse until I reached the crossroads where our cautious gazes intersected with the spectral echoes of our ancestral homeland – reminiscent of a time long past, conversing in the tongue of the wind like ancient highlanders. In the cryptic rhythm of our native language, pregnant with concealed truths, they declared, "Behold, there is no escape... you are tethered to the holiness of the collective fate." With resolve, I clutched my restless heart,"...yet you cast me aside" I said yearning for a place beyond reach. "I renounce the confines of tradition and the shackles of servitude," I declared. Despite their incredulity, my conviction remained steadfast. "I am not deceived," I countered their doubts. "Then you are resigned," they lamented. "I shall depart, never to return," I pledged. "And what of your lineage? Will you forsake the memory of your kin?" they questioned. With a heavy heart, I replied, "My kin dwell in the realm of the departed ...scratched words."
And above the humble imperial avenue, I glide, Laden with memories of pain, Inhaling the essence of the season's cry, I shouted. "You!" "Even in deserts you might meet a friend." "Hold on." My husband's poetic stream emerging, Echoing, shyly through the mist of my wandering path, Struggling to merge into my current being, I shall confess (Missing Words) I am but a futile scum Squandering moments in life's fleeting gleam.
"That might bring you back, dear," he softly pleads,
Yet I, the true one, in silent rebellion, lead.
"Get out of my life," my resolve, a steadfast creed,
As I vanish, like whispers in the breeze's heed.
With the wind, I flee, 'neath the silver rain's embrace,
He implores, "Bring me back," his voice, a trace.
"We are but strangers," in the downpour's grace,
"I know," I whisper, as memories fade without a trace.
I , vaguely , whisper ." Never let ...Missing word."
"Agile like Comte de Lautréamont." ...( Missing Words.)
"You are not clear, my man!" I say
" I am, I am," says he.
( Missing Words.)
( Missing Words.)
After all those years, I only recently have known; the tiger's frame was my mine. The brutal-est beauty - the toughest alive female of the clan, who was once fragile and weak with such a splendid name in the eyes of a thousand suitors. .
" Three Symmetry rows, " says he.
"Did he hunt me with his spell?
" Stop it ...stop it ."
And then in that moment of reflection, I unearthed the truth, my beauty, a bewitching force, woven into his youth. The man was mad, conjuring me from naught, In the alchemy of his mind, my essence was wrought. "One thousand years ago," I screamed.
"Oh, Great God, so long time he lived in me! "
"Our frames, dear," says he.
"My love," I scream.
"Cruelest, dearest; you are dead."
I heard the very stroke of my heart with his name.(Missing words) Fear, I looked into the deepest eyes.of the time. (Missing words).
. ****
I had to sit down alone, under the quiet, cool dusk, where hazily tetrahedrons shells were discarded everywhere ,and glittering the pale burgundy light of past. I had let an old Greek master engraving the names of my beloved ones on the faces of the stones. The old man said." Men forget but stones don't."
He used to call me . " The Lady of Stones."
The man was a real history, ancient and tasteless without stones..
" You are not Greek, are you?" said he..
"No I am not Greek, I am a stone," said I confidently.
" It is not bad to be a stone, my lady, " said he.
" Ay," said I. " We are stones."
In my solitude I sat beneath the quiet dusk's embrace, where the tetrahedron shells lay scattered.Their forms hazily outlined, in the fading light, bathed in the pale burgundy glow of memories, bright. An old Greek master, with his chisel, deft and sure, engraved the names of loved ones, on my stones, "secure," I said.(Missing Words)"Forgetfulness befalls men, but stones endure," he said. And thus, upon their faces, our histories were spread.He dubbed me "The Lady of Stones," with reverence deep words. For in those ancient forms, my essence seemed to sleep. "You're not Greek, are you?" The Greek master inquired with a smile, I replied, with confidence, devoid of guile."Greek blood does not flow within my veins." " I am a stone, unmoved by mortal scums ." "Is it an everlating curse?" he mused. " No, it is unyielding," I say. "Perplexed," he says. "Aye," I agreed, with a nod and a sigh,"but in our stone-like hearts, truth never dies."
(Missing Words).
" Nothing, baby, nothing, nothing,"says he.
In my time, you could often find them congregating, whether near the dunghills, along the barren creeks, or within the tranquil confines of the Mosque's courtyard, their gaze fixed skyward toward the mist-shrouded canopy of the ancient cemetery and the towering oak trees. Clad in somber hues of dark or khaki coats, they stood, their rifles shouldered with a sense of purpose, their fingers tracing the contours of long prayer beads. Amidst the tendrils of smoke, they engaged in spirited discourse, weaving tales both eloquent and embellished, each word a thread in the intricate tapestry of their camaraderie.
A swelling wave of a renowned symphony washed over the wide boulevard, engulfing me in the relentless embrace of dusk, tears welling in my eyes. Amidst this harmonious crescendo, I discerned the solitary resonance of my own existence, akin to the lonely snowgum, its voice blending with the distant melodies echoing from nearby brothels. Their haunting songs wove a captivating spell around me, ensnaring my senses in their ethereal web. "I am a lonely snowgum," declared a voice in the night's embrace, to which I softly murmured, "Indeed," baring my soul to the star-strewn heavens above. As shadows danced and stars adorned the celestial canvas, I surveyed the bustling street below, witnessing a mosaic of faces illuminated by the kaleidoscope of a thousand races. Yet within this vibrant waves of beauty, I harbored a deep-seated sorrow, a sense of being marred by unseen blemish. Caught between the call of freedom and the weight of sin, I shrank within the confines of my own skin, tears flowing as I delicately traced the contours of my scarred breast. "I saw a man." "Missing Words"
"What might happen to us?" (Missing Word) "Have I revealed my secrets?" I wondered. "He scared the hell out of me." I thought for a moment that the goddamn beast might be my man. I knew the bastard had started the poem since he arrived here. "I dare to say, let's reserve a place for yourself in the Genocide Museum," he said. "Are you insane?" I screamed. "No, I am serious," he muttered. "Get the hell out of here, now, bastard," I screamed. "I'll go and never come back," he said. "Wait, wait," I said furiously. "How dare you say that?" "I am crucified," he murmured. "So what? We all have been crucified." "We crossed oceans, spaces, and skies," he said. "Alone?" said I. "No, with Ely Banister Soane," he said. (Missing Words) "I am tired." "I am tired too."
“The storm erupted, and trod on the city's underbelly, beneath the blue cloud, until brutally the wind crushed the city’s wings," says he.
" Crushed her chest."
" Flattened the walls of her heart."
" Stop it bastard," said I.." All were children,"
(Missing Words.)
"The wind hit the trees, schools, windows, and our doors."
"It squalled savagely and crushed my husband's frame."
" Right, right."
" Gone with tears."
" He is here." He clasped his heart.
" Bastard."
"He was the home of a thousand virtues, allegories, poems, and epics.- flowers of mountains, songs of mountains, our fragrant bower... yours, and myself's , and was my own sibling, ” he says.
With a bitter remembrance, a giant like I stood up(Missing Words). We recount the tempest's fury, it raged and clamoured relentlessly, and billows of smoke swirled swiftly, while under the scene the town was reducing to mere fragments.( Missing Words). We revealing our shared experience (Missing Word). Yet, then in an abrupt moment, the man vanished into the ether. (Missing Words). "Goddamn." I was in shock, murmuring steadily, "how dare you?" until was startled by a passer-by startled me. "Are you awaiting for the arrival of the Happy Prince, your majesty?" "Inspiring a wayward soul, perhaps a denizen of the street, veiling his mockery in a gentle jest. (Missing Words). (Black Symbols.) I regarded his figure with a bitter gaze, finding it nearly as flawed as my own.
****
Years had to pass.
Yet, through it all, he refused to allow my venomous words to shatter his spirit any further. Seeking refuge in doorways, he hid his face from the world, clinging to his craft as a writer, his sole sanctuary amidst the chaos. Stripped of worldly possessions and confined to the stark reality of prisons and battlefields, he bore the scars of his tumultuous existence, a testament to his resilience in the face of adversity.
With each savage scream and venomous insult, I sought to break him, to reduce him to nothing more than a hollow shell. Yet, he remained steadfast, his resolve unyielding, his spirit unbroken. As I stood amidst the wreckage of our relationship, consumed by bitterness and regret, I was reminded of my own flaws, my own shortcomings. The days passed in a blur of anguish and longing, he continued to see me as a paragon of perfection, blind to the depths of my cruelty. "I am a bitch," I declared, the words heavy with self-loathing and regret. "A terrible woman, mean and cruel," I whispered to myself, the weight of my actions bearing down upon me like a suffocating blanket.
And as I stood, lost in contemplation, my gaze turned towards the northern bay, where the lights danced upon the waves like stars in the night sky. In that moment, I found solace in the hazy silhouette of my former self, standing tall and resolute amidst the storm of my own making. "I won't ever be ...," I vowed, a silent promise to myself to rise above the chaos and reclaim my humanity.
In my moments of solitude, I found solace in conversation with the queen, her silent gaze a comforting presence in the chaos of my mind. Returning to stand beneath her feet, I felt a sense of grounding, a reminder of my place in the world. And as I gazed upon her stoic visage, I found myself drawn to the words of his poem, a poignant reminder of the pain we both endured. "When I stare unto thee, further up to thy grey face, a kin to me..( Missing Words.) My bleeding wounds may torment thy conscience.
"In the midst of the disquietude permeating George St., (Missing Words), I wandered with a sense of disconcerted purposelessness, yet my instinctual compass remained resolute. Whether traversing leftward or northward, I was ensnared by the sublime majesty of St. Mary's Cathedral (Missing Words). My diary stretches farther, more than this; for no sooner do I go farther than I revisit the imposing presence of the Statue of Queen Victoria the Great, awaiting the waves of eerie recognition to sweep over me. (Missing Words). It was something akin to childhood longing; I had internalised an indescribable bond with the austere visage, resonating or tethering me to The Heights, the realm of melancholy. There, then as I read the bastard's poem, I can't help but wonder, "Who the hell is walking by my side?" "His poem concludes and I find solace." I murmur with deep breathe, wondering if that might happen as it reaches its conclusion, enveloping me n a comforting embrace. "What are you doing? The manager may return soon." "What can he do?" " He inflicts your mind with more cracks," she muses. With a sense of resignation, before adding,"Perhaps someday." I contemplate the prospect of confronting him directly, uttering those defiant words, "Fuck you, Mao," fully anticipating the inevitable consequence of dismissal. Undoubtedly, by then, I will have aged beyond his expectations. (Missing Words.) Behind this meticulously maintained facade lies no trace of my tumultuous past. I have even managed to washout a smallpox scar from my face. (Missing Words.) At times, I arrogantly question my own shortcomings. "Was it not my own weakness that led to this?" Yet, upon reflection, I am reminded of the intricate map etched upon my skin beneath this delicate pink underwear. (Missing Words.) Nevertheless, his poem continues to resonate within me, like fingers delicately tracing the contours of my soul, reaching into the deepest recesses of my being.
I perceived his poem as a visceral imprint upon my very being—a savage impression that always seemed to resonate with my sighs and the rhythmic pulse of my heart. (Missing Words.) Meanwhile, the cacophony of the dissipating crowd echoed in my ears as they vanished into the gaping maw of the city. Like industrious ants, they surged forward, disappearing into the intricate labyrinth and hidden chambers of urban life. Each race fixed their gaze upon vacant faces—looking forward but seeing none—disregarding the humanity of their fellow travelers, save for a lingering undercurrent of animosity that one day may be washed away by the relentless tide of time. (Missing Words.)
I am unequivocally certain that we inhabit the correct celestial body. (Missing Words.) Yet, as I set pen to paper, it feels as if I am composing a missive to my departed siblings and the myriad next of kin I once held dear. (Missing Words.) Standing at the precipice of existence, where the frigid embrace of the ancient ocean meets the celestial tribute to the Sun Goddess, I am overcome by a somber longing. (Missing Words.) Here, amidst the vast expanse of the firmament, I am reminded of Dante's words as imparted by my late husband,
"I turned me to the right hand, on the other side, to behold the other pole, and saw four stars ne'er seen before save by the primal people."
"But, but I can see them: hence it is time to transcend the shackles of the past," I said.
The End
Autumn 2004
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