Poetic composition that draws parallels between fire and touch. |
One of the ashes lands delicately on my arm, light as a feather, small as a mite, but undoubtedly the most significant piece of life I had ever crossed paths with. Furious that this piece of ash was the sole remnant I would be left with which to remember the victim - my victim - I marveled at its shocking delicacy. Formerly an unapologetic rock of a woman, this ash exposed her true, vulnerable, human nature - more so than any combination of expressions and poetic phrases in the English language. This woman built a wall between her soul and the rest of the world, making it earthquake-, tornado-, hurricane- and meteor strike-proof, strengthening it with all the titanium known to man, and equipping it with traps, spears and poison arrows for any intrusive language; the worst words, the most hurtful tones and the longest-winded attacks that forced up deep-dwelling insecurities and traumas could not make a single scratch in her wall. Yet, one lick of a flame, and the wall disintegrated instantaneously to make way for the primal emotions and instincts that demanded to be heard. Against the acid of the flame, this wall may as well have been no more than a sheet of virgin skin, burning, tearing, and boiling up into clouds of murky mist - the reluctant escape of life before its end. Her skin, that had never felt the touch of fire, bowed down, surrendered, to its undeniable power over her. Because when the fire is only touch, and the ashes are only tears, and a human being, who emerged from the womb, ashes streaming down their cheeks, refuses to be burnt by touch, what good are words? What good are the blocks without which our society would have crumbled before being built, that paste our thoughts and tape our feelings into little, strange pictures that our ears can see? What good are these words when a woman, denied fire, refused a spark, and frozen to the core, does not know, does not accept, does not feel the touch of her own ash? Words may slice and stab like knives, but touch scorches, burns, sears, and destroys either to perfect an envied rare, or turn flesh, once tender, to brick. |