The air perfumed by death was so sad. Forcing
herself, the weak one made the effort to be Giver. She then voiced
a melodic strain:
"Andromeda the maiden of heaven, the one I love more than
life, Not seeing your glorious face, deprives the full-moon night
of its light."
The soundless listening of the bodies emanated
a perfume named Knowing, which oh,
emotional fluctuations, disappointment of knaves. Even though
they do not know the nature of art,
the bodies were ready to join the game to celebrating the emptiness
of the Art narrated by dejection and defeat.
The bodies allow themselves to be covered by brightly colored
drapes knowing perfectly well that it is unbecoming.
"Death is should be dressed in black," a body reflects.
"But, well, just for tonight." Some of the bodies have
the flower of lament (that the living people would not grow in
their gardens), tucked above their ears. Some of the bodies are
into the game that they laugh good-naturedly, shaking the liquid
in the glass tank that they had to remind one another to be careful.
The floral designs of the drapes, which imitate the curves and
mounds of the breast, the torso and the limbs of the chilled
starts to sing snatches old Thai songs that they recall here
and there. And, in order that the celebration doesn't end too
we mixed several songs into a medley, from Andromeda the Maiden
of Heaven to the A Flower Named Ratree,
back in time to the Tribute to Phra Lor and a melodic verse named...
never tiring of verses... nostalgic wishes.
Late night wind wafted past, fresher and cooler than in that
dank hall. Mist, oh, mist, have you stopped
breathing? Or has the water ebbed tonight? Then, I shall hurry
to bed. Perhaps I might dream
of the mist, the errors, and the shame (as a human-being) that
lurk within me.