Storyteller - piece
“Spring blossomed at the foothills of solitude,
The caves were lit once again, for the feast,
That bid adieu, to the joyous smiles of yesteryear,
Invited none, seek none, for once again his soul is above
all.”
Rubima
Searching among the last remains of Rubia, I stumbled upon the inscriptions of Raima, The words printed in bold, smeared in parfum, My eyes rigid on the sketch of love, Rubima. Set when the women were young, They held an affiliation too close, Fear in their eyes, dampness in their breath, They met behind the barn near the cellar. The creeping vine, a safe haven, from the observer, They engaged in recreation that the society turned their back on, They explored the thinness between their clothes, They shared the revelation that once stayed with them. They searched catlike, they squeezed with ease, They bared to illustrate felony of law, They undressed with nothing to hide, They exposed their better parts, with emotions untainted. They slowly moved to mutualism, They shared belongings not meant to be though, They sensed the need though the fear loomed, Yet the old barn kept the worship undeterred. They painted castles on the barn fence, With colors unknown, they ...
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