Come in around and go through the all,
the maze will be your dream catcher in dawn.
It is a pale black night upon the garden where the two sit by the trees, shrugging each other in canopy. Spacer shows the photograph of his beloved and says, “He visits me every time here, we have spent time together in bliss”.
Patuna cries aloud, “But he visits me every time and we taste the universes beyond”.
The air grows tense, fractioning with spark and they march to the nearby bus stop where Rikad will get down to smoke some to the air. The two march up on the gravy road, with mist of the moonlight and red soil. Trees confluence daunting above them. Patuna’s eyes are drawn wide, seaming with hot tear and a crack goes down by the hammer as the nail goes through his heart. At the edge of the road, at a small shop, smoking a cigarette Rikad stands confident arching against the hustle bustle of the city.
Spacer whispers, “Let’s get him round from either sides and he dismiss into the crowd in the left there”.
Patuna jumps at Rikad, holding him by his collar, he blares open the bottle of ancient bugs upon him, “How could you throw such ruins at me?”
Patuna holds Rikad in and drags and throws him at his bed.
Rikad remains silent, his dark hollow eyes staring at his foot, the cold sweat drops against his eye. He murmurs in swoon, “Only if you could trust me Patu, it isn’t about you, the whole world knows that I will never fall for Spacer”.
“Did you meet Spacer every time you came to meet me?”
Rikad sits down upon the warm cushioned bench. He says, “Yes, but it wasn’t anything, I came to meet you”.
There is a sudden tap at the door. Patuna’s mom and her friend Chauter enter in parallel joy. Patuna excuses himself with Rikad to another room.
The angst of separating fires, splitting souls,
casting shadows of tomorrow’s dusk roads.
Patuna confides in his father. The wise man advises him to talk it out with Rikad. His father drives him to the square, where a bunch of artists perform in jailed monotony, moving limbs in a previous vengeance and discordant distress doles out.
Patuna gets out of the car and moves past the group of school students, with ties unmuzzled, nostrils inflating chalk powder and bloodshot eyes hanging in despair.
There in the spectators at the street, Rakid sits by the stair motionless as the puppets dance in mechanical symphony. Their eyes unblinking and parched lips tired of constant, 1, 2, 3, turn and 4,5, 6, movements.
Patuna approaches, “I wanted to talk to you”.
Rakid gets up and moves down to the foot of staircase, jolts up in torpor in front of now blushing Patuna. He smiles at him and before could say anything, Rakid whirls left to the street. The sturdy one, apparent like a bodyguard, follows Rikad and, Patuna and dad follow them too.
Hearts twist and turn, eyes swirling in thousand floods
Draughts surround you in the flush of every cloud.
The sturdy one opens a door in the street and Rikad enters saying, “Welcome to my palace!”
They enter and the sturdy man shuts the door behind them. The tunnel turns black.
His dad touches the tunnel wall, “It is silky soft like meshes of butterfly wings”.
“Indeed, mother only loves the best”, and he claps. The first room brightens up on the three. It is a big empty hall room, no windows, just dark green walls like moss covered tapestries.
The first room contains, broken chairs, walls like the inner lining of a dragon’s gut and a big painting of an old man on his chair, his pointed shoes piercing the eyes of a native, as he stands gallant over the dead man’s body.
Rikad heaves, “That’s my grandpapa!”
The walls wave, the metallic gleam shines in the room. Rakid leads the way. The door coyly shuts behind.
Whisper, whisper, wind sings in peace,
the sweet murmurs of the suitor’s sleeve.
Leaking sewer flushes your feet, you’re swamped in that feast. ‘Hurry, hurry’, Rikad screams. Patuna follows the man’s lead.
They crumble the marble pieces of the lavatory, treading past the broken pipes. The urinals hang as ornaments on the wall, the one-piece-marble sits in the casket of the floor. Finely polished floor of the room. No windows to be seen, yet the shine flickers the room. They cautiously tip-toe against the mess. Shattered toilet booths in corner, washroom debris, cement, broken tiles, acrid stench, suffocating space.
Patuna holds to his dad. Rikad guides to another door, as they step on the fine mess.
‘Quick, quick, the water will overflow, the house is under repair, you see’, urges Rikad.
He turns the knob and blinding light seeps in.
Glimmer, glitter, gleam and guise,
The time trickles with the aging lies.
Patuna asks, “What is this room?”
Rakid replies, “The finest ball dancing room to be made. Gossamer walls, grandeur of the moving chandelier and you, my dear”.
The crystals sparkle against the mirror walls. Chandelier swirls in mesmerizing mood. Slow, very slow music of the deflating dolls echo in a fumble hue.
Dad pushes Patuna to dance and the duo in each other’s arms, move round and round the central piece. Revolving around the sun of the room, the mirrors become an endless kaleidoscope of ecstasy.
‘Look’, Patuna shouts, ‘There is someone in there’.
‘No silly, that’s your shadow in the mirror reflecting in thousand directions’
Dad laughs over his jolly.
The chandelier stops rotating and with a spiral squeak, moves oscillating.
Patuna in the warm hands of Rakid sees the chandelier still swirling in his iris.
Mirrors around, mirrors with Rakid, mirrors with Patuna, Mirrors with dad, mirrors with the chandelier oscillating.
‘You can chase time away in here, my father says’, chuckles Rakid.
The pendulum finally cracks a new door open.
The mirror falls in pieces, disappearing in magical sparkles of thousand fireflies from the smithereens. The flaming fireflies whirl and wheel in strands of two as the new door opens to the new room.
Silk slouches on the old couch in grandeur,
Majesty rests upon the fall of the endear’.
The door like a skeleton hangs transparent. The scratches all over the floor and wall.
“Interesting’, dad says.
“You see, we painted the room with flesh of only the best afresh”.
The walls crimson red, maroon in the corners, like fresh blood in gallons spilled over the panels. Sharp chiselled nails etching patterns in that wall. Trenches of blood being formed.
A sofa sits in corner.
Patuna smells the glistening wall.
“Like the perfumes of civet, ain’t it Patu?”, asks Rakid, tying the metal laces of his shoes.
“Indeed, honey, very sublime”.
Walls oozing fresh blood fountains, smearing the etched marks in patterns. No windows, no way of contaminating the veins of the room. In the corner, sits a small spider weaving a cob web.
Patuna points to it.
Rakid replies, “Don’t worry, it is a pet. Come to this new room”.
Channeling through countless doors of palace,
Winds of reversing woes, bring ahead the final place.
“This is our last room of the house, the 140th room in making”, Rakid said in glee.
Patuna sighed at the large hall. No ends, no beginnings. Just a big empty hall.
“How big is it? Seems endless!”, Patuna cried in awe.
“We are still limiting its ends”.
Dad turns to a feeble sound, “What’s that? Sound like someone is coming.”
The door opens with thrust, and there a man and his woman stand in alike pose, undifferentiable from attire, twinned together like halves of the same kernel.
Rakid holds Patuna’s hand and says, “Father, Mother, meet Patuna and his dad”.
“How lovely to see you here!”, they say together, “What’s happening here?”
The clock ticks sharp shrill somewhere and the roof above starts to crumble.
“We must leave immediately”, says Rakid.
They run towards the door, the glass knob falls to the ground as the door is flung open.
Rikad with his parents ahead, Patuna behind them with his father. They run together out through the rooms, past the paintings, the bloody walls, the leafing walls, wind chimes, silk tapestries, crushed toilet seats, broken clocks, spirals, floating knives.
Patuna trips and falls, his dad long gone behind him, Rikad gives a hand and drags him ahead. His parents fall too, dropping into the chasms of the bloody room, falling safe on the web of the spider, that waits them to move.
Rikad pushes Patuna ahead, as floor begins to crumble, doors flashing open and close, like the maze cells in doom.
Rakid falls to the chiselled marble floor, gliding to a corner, smashing within himself, a pool of blood being consumed.
Patuna reaches to the final door, when his leg pulls in, his hand turns the knob quick.
At the street, in the bare chest of the sturdy man by the door, a little fleshy man like a small doll attached in the skin of the man, turns his head to the left and the door knob shuts forever.
With the closed eyes and his red skin, the small man hisses,
“The maze runs in parallels, collateral in every tangent,
No space, no days, no ways, the maze runs forever in a pageant”.
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