Is life just a two-dimensional fresco as it slips
out of reach into a fold of memory; such that
a glance becomes dimmer, as we move forward?
Does this illustration of brief cherished torchlight
surface in a three-dimensional cast, as if you can
hold it, dance with it, and absorb it; beyond the
black and white print on the page of your mind.
You can imagine there is still enough magic to
take down the blank walls and fill them with
cinematic resurgence; like tales becoming
pictures and pictures becoming life. If you can see
your own batteries charge up the resurfacing of
Hypatia (Alexandrian)’s libraries; and a past is not foreshadowed
by its subjection and demolition. If Orestres could survive
Cyril of Irenaeus’ treacherous diktat, and so would Hypatia,
Should libraries always be lucid in universal minds; not only
their sanctity be retained, but their permanence materialise?!
But how can I Dad, recover all those unwritten scrolls between
you and me? My time shared with you and your time shared with me!
As I grow older, so old that the river has expanded into a deluge; and
there seems little possibility of the bridge making it to
the other end where you stand. Do I feel the few straws I hold, still
fill me with hope that I will never burn the bridges, instead cross them!
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