Graphic: Sheep clouds hasten towards the Light by Jera Nour
Reflection: We Have No One
an abstract fiction
an abstract fiction
Teachers don't teach anymore.
Mentors don't have the time.
And mothers milk.
Babies grow like trees, in a forest full of people, each absorbed in their own growth. Growth. In every artificial meaning of the word, reaching for the sun, the sky, Venus. But no one reaches those places. No one reaches for the impossible that has been programmed in each of us to be possible. But yet we strive, you and I. For years. For our eternity. We strive until the earth calls for our names; until it pulls one leg to its underground, while the other holds on above it – holding on so we can strive some more, looking for some kind of meaning. We struggle to maintain it – one leg in, one leg out, still trying to reach for that sun, sky, Venus. That leg standing on the ground will give way, you know. Without fail.
And then we lie there, the sky looking down upon our faces at foolishness that had tried to reach its infinity. If we can still think, we think: what was that all for? Why try to fly when gravity never failed? Like a fly swapped to the table surface. So undignified.
There'll be no one. Else. Just you, or me, the ground, and the sky staring down into our faces. Without judgement. It rains; it clouds; it clears. But the sky never judges.
What next? What next when teachers who never taught, and mentors who were never there, leave our resting grounds saying their work is done. We hear their footsteps becoming echoes and we shout for their supposed wisdom that they never gave, have none to give. Even if they hold the secret to what comes next, will they talk to a tombstone? Sorry, they have to go – gotta reach for the sun, the sky, Venus, while their one leg is still holding on.
Fathers who worked, leave. Mothers who milked, leave. They made you tall. They made you stretch. They said reach for the sun, Son – reach for the sky and find your Venus. But they never tell you what comes next when both your legs give way, what the sky knows. We have no one now. Those who mattered don't anymore. I have no one. You have no one.
What next? We lie down, fear creeping in. Counting every second. Every minute. The sky still looking down in silence as if it has a thousand eyes and a psychic mind. But it's not telling. Our futures beyond are our own business.
If only when both our legs were standing on solid ground, we had made the effort to find out what comes next before it comes.
Post a review at Smashwords