Jekyll and Hyde - For Slam |
"Jekyll" You sit cross-legged on the sands while your fingers run gently across the strings of your semsemiya planted firmly on your lap as if it’s your precocious upspring; you play lyrical love tunes and tender moaning songs extolling the desert and your chant touches my ears with mesmeric fingers. When arid images come to you, you fill them with fantasies and your enraptured fans go into trance listening to single notes, minor scales, and monochromatic tones of your lyrics written on gazelle skins. Hearing your music and your sorrows dripping, camels have come to a halt, maidens in Bedouin tents have stopped their weaving and even Orpheus has silenced his harp. Now, only you can charm the moon to come out at night and the sun to shine even brighter, so love can be nourished. "Hyde" What is this? Why did you change so abruptly? When did you exchange your instrument of sweet music with horror and dread? Since when domination of naked corpses in unmarked graves became a metaphor for love? See... your departure from compassion makes the moon slip behind clouds and stars shiver with fear. Still, You keep serving us bad news on a plate of rockets and bombs like spices that burn, demolish, and destroy so you can become the martyr of a nightmarish fantasy. Do you think you can keep trembling with ecstasy in dark nights at the sight of blood and tears, forever? What made you forget about gentle desires, adoration, and true worship so beautiful at dawn? Why, why, you’ve become an addict of sudden strikes? You don’t answer and you don’t look at me but you gaze upon your carpet, counting beads. Yet, beads can’t soothe sorrows and carpets don’t return gazes. Come back from rage, come back from pain, come back from your swelling tumors, so your beloved desert doesn’t curse you, too. Come again to peace, to listen to songbirds at night and feel closer to life, for your own good. |