STILLE RUNAWAY

For my fallen angel

[Artist: My Dying Bride]

As I draw up my breath,
And silver fills my eyes.
I kiss her still,
For she will never rise.

On my weak body,
Lays her dying hand.
Through those meadows of Heaven,
Where we ran.

Like a thief in the night,
The wind blows so light.
It wars with my tears,
That won’t dry for many years.

“Loves golden arrow
At her should have fled,
And not Deaths ebon dart
To strike her dead.”

Dis verlang-weer in die Kaap.

Die wolke huil hulself hees. My keel trek toe onder hierdie grys plafon wat skielik my berge, my bome en my suiderkruis in sy solder wegsteek. Die bicycle-spore op die vergete stofpad het weggereën.

Maar die rukwinde van onthou lei my voete in die regte rigting. Ek stap verby die rotse wat kenmerkend soos mylpale langs ons pad staan. En tog voel ek tuis tussen hulle. Onthou jy hoe ons halfpad sou stop en rus as een van ons moeg geraak het, of as ons sommer net wou sit en die sekuriteit van die saamwees in die vryheid van die vry-wees wou absorbeer? Hierdie rotse was soos ons meubels in die natuur.

Ek stap aan. Dit reën steeds en my deurmekaar hare hang in slierte soos swart kortgeknipte linte van my kop af. Die plantegroei word al hoe meer, hoewel die aankoms van die winter die vrolike gesiggies van die veldblomme kom haal het. Ek knip my oë om deur die wolke se trane te kan sien. Anderkant hierdie heuweltjie wink die bottelgroen ruigtes vir my. Ek skep moed.

My stap verander in ‘n hardloop. I am running away from winter. Running forward but back in time. Suddenly I hear a ripping sound and feel something pulling me back. When I saw the woods in the distance I started to run, forgetting to hold onto the seems of my black dress to lift it off the ground. It got caught up by the thorns of a bush which tore it at the bottom.

I feel my right leg burning. I don’t have time to look whether it’s bleeding or not. My heart is pounding I need to make my way to the trees. Our trees. There is a small clearing in front of me. I run through it and quickly look over my shoulder. I smile. The strip of material that got torn off my black dress is entangled in the bush. Another black ribbon. It feels right.

I am out of breath. My throat is burning. I am leaning forward and resting with my hands on my knees. I made it, I am home at last and I have escaped the wrath of winter. I start walking, the palms of my open hands touching the bark of every tree I pass.

Then I see it. One of the scarlet-toned wild roses you used to pick for me every time we set foot on this path. I kneel down and softly rub my finger over its’ scented velvet petals. I feel a drop of water running over my face. I look up at the roof of leaves .. didn’t I leave winter behind? Only then I feel the burning in my eyes and I realise it is a tear. One of my own.

I lean forward. Even closer. Holding the flower in my hand I softly whisper, ‘I’m sorry .. love said no.’ Then I picked it and carried it with me as I continued walking through the forest. The pace of my feet have slowed down dramatically. It became a stroll which, at times, came to a complete standstill.

Elke keer wat die hande van onthou my enkels omvou en my siel verlangend verlam .. en ek myself daaraan moet herinner om aan te hou met stap. Ek hoor weer water wat val, maar hierdie keer is dit nie die reën nie. Dit is ons stroom wat kabbel oor die ronde rivierklippe op die bodem daarvan. Ek sien die ou boom-brug waarop ons oudergewoonte gaan sit het, met ons bene wat afhang en swaai op maat van die stroom se simfonie.

I take a seat there, on the exact same spot where I always used to sit. This time beside an empty space, where you were supposed to be. After all this time this is still such a beautiful picture to lose oneself in. I figure if ever love had a grave, thís would be it.

I know I am supposed to drop the wild rose in my hands into the water below me .. to be carried away forever. Because you are no longer here beside me. For a moment I wonder if, all this time, everything we seemingly had was just my imagination. Then I shake my head. I look around me from where I am sitting and there are simply too many pieces of you everywhere. You wére here.

I get up and head back in the direction hence I came. The wild rose is still in my hand. I am going back and I am going to war with winter. And I am taking this flower with me. I am taking everything you gave me, everything you left me, with me. I am going to try and find her again. The person I was when I was with you. She was happy. She was really .. really happy.

Before I left the woods, I paused for a while. I lifted the wild rose to my lips and softly kissed it. I refuse to lie you down on the grave of a love that isn’t dead in my world. I may never find him again, but I can use what he taught me, I can try and be the person that he momentarily saw in me.

It’s cold. The wind is howling and the rain is pouring from the darkened sky.

Dis verlang-weer in die Kaap.