by Ladi Soyode on September 26, 2015. © Ladi Soyode, All rights reserved
He spoke of a place where love was the worship of kings and rage was the vilest sin, in this land, he travelled on the saddled back of unicorns crowned with silver horns and the Pegasus whose hooves were gilded with gold and amber shoes, and of sands whiter than sea shells and of stars that glittered like diamonds on dark and moonless nights he spoke, of the kingdom where love was a god and lovers were saints and nightingales composed serenades to bring back the souls of the undead from the depths of the hour of pain to the mirth of the garden of olives trees and breeze in which Aphrodite made an haven from the labyrinths that made sour the desires in cupids quiver.
He then spoke of the passions of flames whose purity is drowned in shame, a passion without a name whose waters can never be tamed, that flower even in chains, that simple folks pronounce insane, that towers above the courage of the damned and the deeds of the charmed, he found that blood is thicker than water and love is stronger than blood and virgins could be unchaste and in a brothel could live the heart of saints, he spoke of the rich fool that sought to buy honour and the poor fool that begged for honour, he spoke of virgins he spoke of saints in both a passion reigns
He spoke of the evil of cages then he spoke of the reason for bonds and bridges and of vows, that shackles the essence of souls, love for love sake or love for sale, love for lust sake or love for grace, if concealed time shall reveal loves rage, speak not the dialect of snakes, not even for love sake, for it is only in suicide love avenges itself if killed before its time, it dies forever never to again smile it dies forever it does not fight for life, and only in death can it find re – birth, the sunny side of a poisonous suicide, then he spoke of a solemn garden of dark and comely lips that sang hosannas and psalms and lived for the eclipse of dawns, for the day he returns escorted by the temper of storms, and the red birds of paradise with the proudest hue of beaks that all the days of their lives are humbled by the mangrove swamp.
He spoke of the glory of breezy dawns by the shores of a tropical sea, and the honey colored suns that heralded thunder storms and of the people that say God is dead and the others that say he is not because he never lived and a strange tribe that worship cows, and slaughtered men on the alters of crimson gods, and a race that waged wars in the name of the only god of love, and where the aged are scorned by the young who will also get old in turn, of slaves that were born strong and masters that shall die young, of the kind hearted that did not live long and the wicked that outlives their young and a place where souls are sold for the price of a harlots devotion, he spoke of the love that forgives and the mind that never forgets, he spoke of the love that’s stronger than sin and all these scenes that the earth has seen, he spoke of the scented flower that blossomed, in the very heart of a bitter battle battlefield, and the warrior that died for a virgin rose found in the vanquished’s back yard, of parapets and moats, of mud dwellings and palm fronds, of spears and fears and the tears we share within this sphere, beneath this atmosphere. He spoke to clear the smoke.
He spoke of the beauty of the beast, then he spoke of the beasts of beauty, he shared the tales of Triton and Poseidon in cities of glistening crystal, beneath the whales and tireless waves, and the mermaids of the salty oceans whose mansions where of stained glass, with pillars of the rarest blue marble enhanced with topaz and pearls, and of the swift tiger sharks that make prey of seals and stingrays on the great plains of the obscure deep, and the sea turtles that fly above submerged mountains, and of the flower of many colours that can only be found on the summit of aquatic hills, and how a rainbow shimmers at dawn in the firmament of the Neptune sky, of the sea beasts and sea folks, and men who have no souls, he spoke to tear the cloaks, in the deeper masquerade, of this moon light dance, in this phrase between our birth and death, a phase of strife that mortals call life, he spoke of the many sides, of this place we have found breath, and of the lamb whose crest of mercy was perfected by death, he spoke of the moment of the doves, the paradise of the creators rest.
He then spoke of the one that journeyed through the stars in search of eternal peace, from consternation to constellation, from the planet of many moons to the celestial hedge of Saturn, to the jupitians that live within a great spot of red, creatures that neither live on land nor water but build castles in the air, whose bodies are shaped like men and whose faces are that of a child, whose legends and myths points to the sun as the realm the master race made home, and of those whose skin are of pure golden chrysalides among whom there is no infirm nor lame, no war or blame whose souls are as pure as the passion of suns, he spoke of the untruth that warms and the cowardice of guns in this world of many wrongs from outer space to cyberspace there is nowhere to hide or run, to conceal the truth of thorns, the truth that stuns.
Then he reached the crossroads of memories, of haunting remembrances, the confluence of melody and malady, where heaven and hades embrace and demons seek an angel’s kiss and then he spoke again “what does it profit a man to gain the earth and lose his soul”.
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