Dedicated to arts of Gentle Zacharias
This room is a half-sea. Not because it intended so, but because seas are only ever half. If they were to be full, how would consciousness find its way here in my hands where I pick a book with a poem in it that you translated and re-translated until I found it in our language?.
For a small minute, let us step into a new room they have decided to keep lights on for. My friend of snow asks me who is they. And I tell her it must be the same unborn lovers who stepped into this new room just as both of us in this small minute, and couldn't find their half-seas. I am not saying they made bad art. I am just saying they never made art at all.
I am not saying we are the last hope. I am saying that you and me, only you and me together, are the only hope.
Here I am seated as the first reader with the only poem ever written. It is written by you. My eyes are rivers of worship and timelessness.
Here across me is the empty chair of a possible new world that sits over the deaths of all stale worlds of a bird. The chair will never be taken by anyone else other than you. But it will always stay invisible.
“We get so damn lost out here, don’t we, dear
Adrift between stars on wings so vast
whole worlds ice over in the shadows we cast —
lethal only because we won’t come near.
Come out to where the stars are far apart,
where you can stretch out all your hands and wings.
Forget about those planetary things –
out here we only care about your heart.
Something like a whale made of solar flares —
Something like a song with a meal inside —
Something like a dream you can take away –
– so at home in fathoms, she sings without air.
– a song so liquid you can imbibe.
– a fatal, mortal hope that we can stay.” — Gentle Zacharias
Sometimes readers violate the choices of an artist to stay unseen. There is a certain selfishness that cannot be controlled or explained. In that apologetic light, I want to to highlight the corner of this wonderful philosopher and artist Gentle Zacharias.
We have been having a dialogue on diversity for a few weeks now here at Medium. Art like this adds new realms to diversity leading us to our growth and higher potential. As we celebrate the relatable and the visible, let us celebrate equally and more the experimental and the risk-taking invisible.
“And so I swear it: I will love this stone.
Each time I am hindered, I will rejoice,
call it an opportunity for choice,
a chance to show that I want what I own.
I swear that I will never have my fill.
I swear that I will never see the top.
Neither loss nor victory will make me stop.
I swear that I will die upon this hill.
I won’t chase your mechanical rabbit.
I won’t let you leave the losers behind.
If you get the trophy you can have it —
I’ve still got all these Easter eggs to find.
I’ll make rolling down this hill a habit.
Got more stones? Like Giles Corey, I don’t mind.” — Gentle Zacharias
Part of the ongoing experiment: ‘Blind date with a poem’