Categories
Narrative Poetry

– Metaphors For My Imagination –

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My lil’sis gave me this notebook that she brought from Paris. Have to say that this is my new favourite one, beside my Egyptian  hieroglyphs notebook.To me, this graphic represents ideas and images that blooms out from the mind, where to me, this picture is an excellent metaphor for the imagination at work, hence my main inspiration behind this micro fiction.
I close my eyes and the night veil behind my eyes seems cold and lone, so I shut them a little bit more, letting my eyelids stretch out their skin. And right there, behind this curtainless path, phosphenes starts to dance, dotting the night, drawing the forms.
 
Clause Cott pushed the man beside her, from the lengthy ladder that stretched itself to his domain, he fell into eternal abyss, bound to start again — was it an abduction, or was it the insanely love thoughts of a mind in love?
Something behind seems to push my mind towards a screen inwards, where whom is observing seems like an alien wavelength of 10-millions-and-billions of endless light-years. Phosphenes and dark are  the designs of immaterial images, formed from the essence of my own experience.
 
Clause Cott took her by the hand and showed her his realm, a realm filled of intermingled thin cables, and lengthy-like-file-cabinets filled of flashing small lights.
Something spurs right into my mind, an abstract idea filled of the imagination of what seems to be to me, and of the stories that writes itself on a night canvas filled of excited phophenes — joyful of running away from a galaxy cluster, to become shooting stars into a mind that blossoms from nebula-dews.
 
“I knew you would come, so I made this bigger sleeping cove,” Clause Cott gently said, as he laid her by his side, kissing her naked shoulders.
Evasion, always evasion that partakes my mind, too imprisoned into these clusters of unfilled brains and nightmarish dreams of conquer and freedom. My imagination flies onto wishing-wells, to mingle into pen-ink and digital-codes, morphing into writings, that fills my heart with happiness and beauties.
Come, I’ll show you something.” Clause Cott took her hands and led her to another chamber, throned with a gigantic plasma globe, shooting lights into  every-way, inside of a glass prison, that rages to set itself free.
The first alphabet sets the playground for my imagination, where the stories become concrete, where my words become the witness of my existence, where everything for once seems to be under my control.
 
“You’ll see what happens when I plug to this globe.” Suddenly Clause Cott went under seizure, as his blue eyes completely turned static.
“Imagination is the only weapon against the war of reality”, and as in Alice in wonderland, my mind keeps pathing its way deeper, far away from this cold void, more and more into the warming light, coming to me, shading those black mirrors that fakes eternal spins.
 
Suddenly, out of her pocket, a mini laser beam, that she shot till the plasma globe. Lightnings were set free, where they streaked into every ways, stretching further and farther. Clause Cott disconnected, his eyes becoming normal again. He looked at her, and she was smiling, and to him, she looked more beautiful than she ever did.
I unwrap from self to become myself, far away from those judging eyes and hearts, into a sphere made of self-love there can’t be hate for the others, so I back-end my way and continue towards further and farther into my stretched imagination.
 
“I had to do it… I had to, they were too sad into this prison,” she said happily. Suddenly all of the thunder-lights wrapped both of them, flying them up into the darkness.
 
“See, I command them, and nothing that you might do or say, cannot  appear ugly to me… I know, for every inch of you is beautiful to me,” Clause Cott said, as he made the lights dance with his magic-wand finger.
At night I often dream that I am phosphenes dancing into other worlds, morphing nightmares into papers, weaving forms and shapes into stories, into which I escape, only for some minutes, only for some hours.
-To all those who dare to dream, continue dreaming, perhaps I might find you, in between those times that suspend – 

By Eiravel

I am married, and I have two sons. I live on the island of Mauritius. I love to write fiction, poems, and blog. I've self-published a science-fiction book (Darcocyte). I aspire to make a living through my creative writings. I am a very passionate person. I love the sublime and the strange; and I am also interested in all types and forms of art that pleases my mind.

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