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About This Author
My name is Joy, and I love to write.
Why poetry, here? Because poetry uplifts its writer, and if she is lucky enough, her readers, too. Around us, so many objects abound to write about. Once a poet starts with a smallest, most trivial object, he shall discover that his pen will spill out what is most delicate or most majestic hidden inside him. Since the classics sometimes dealt with lofty subjects with a lofty language, a person with poetry in his soul may incline to emulate that. That is understandable. Poetry does that to a person: it enlarges the soul and gives it wings. Yet, to really soar, a poet needs to take off from the ground.
 
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A Cup Full of Humble Fragrance #755002 added June 16, 2012 at 12:42pm
Restrictions: None
The Maze (June 16 - Glass)
“If I could, I would desert this country until the elections are over. If I could I would find me a place to live where politicians and money do not exist.”
I was carping in total sincerity as Jonathan Mage listened and smiled. Mage was a brilliant man, more original than academic, and he liked to ask questions in the form of statements that made a person think. Maybe for that reason alone, I called him Mage, not Jonathan like other people did.
At this time, Mage and I were walking in his spacious gardens beside a creek rising from tender-colored hillocks of wild flowers. An enchanting place indeed where alabaster statuettes lined the sides of the pathways and glass structures reflected shafts of sunlight on the tree-shadowed spaces. I visited Mage as often as I could, some for the conversation and our time-tested friendship and more for his magical garden, quiet and relaxing. Here, I became a wandering tourist who found, in the same place, a different panorama at each visit.
“You sound like you really want to find such a place,” Mage said.
“Yes,” I said. “No shabbier place exists than this country.”
“The view depends on from where you look at it. From where we each stand, we see different angles of things.”
“Is that why I see different things each time I visit you?”
“Partly,” said Mage. “Gardens have a way of replenishing themselves. But if you really want to leave this country…”
“You know, I’ve traveled a lot. There's no country on earth without money or politicians.”
“Hmmm.” He looked pensive for a few minutes. Then he said, “So you’re sure you’ve had it and you want a different place?”
“Definitely,” I said, as we stopped by a creek to listen to its cheerful flicker. Several yards ahead, tufts of yellow flowers circled a fountain glistening under the happy softness of the sun.
“Let me show you something, you really haven’t seen before,” Mage said. “But you have to go there alone. I need to make a phone call.”
“Sure, no problem,” I said, excited about this new thing he wanted to show me. Yet I wondered if I could find my way through the maze of the Jonathan-Mage Estate by myself.
“See that glass archway? It leads to a glass tunnel held up with steel beams. Walk through it and explore the other side. You’ll find a place totally different than what you have seen so far.”
“How exciting! Thanks,” I said, walking toward the archway.
“Be careful not to break the glass,” Mage yelled after me. “If you do, you may not find your way back.”
I stopped before walking through the tunnel. It was dim and devoid of vegetation inside, except for the sight of greenery outside the structure. Such a humble mise-en-scène after Mage’s breath-taking gardens, I thought, but walked in, carefree, toward the other end. At the last step, however, I slipped and banged against a glass panel.
Crash!
The glass came down and crumbled into small granular chunks. I rushed to the other side, in case something else broke and hit me on the head.
The view here was barren. The red clay surface had smooth mounds here and there but no vegetation, not even a cactus. I felt thirsty but found no water whatsoever. Not even a drop.
I searched for some life, some person, some animal, anything. But no. This was a nothing place, except for the red sticky clay that covered my shoes. I tried to find the archway, but it had vanished.
“Mage! Mage!” I yelled, but he didn’t hear me.
I walked around for days trying to find my way back. If I said days, there were no days and no nights. The place was still, all the same. No shades, no bright sun, no rain, no one to talk to. Just the same dim light throughout over the red clay surface.
I sat down on the sticky clay and waited for my death, thinking, I wish I were back home, despite the money, despite the politicians. I wish I were back home among friends, among people whether I like them or not.
“Oh, here you are! Come, I’ll take you back.”
I looked up at Mage. “Why did you leave me here for so long? It has been days.” I complained.
“I only made a phone call, five minutes the most. Oh, I see what you mean. It’s because of the environment. Time has a way of elongating itself here,” he said.
“Sorry about the glass,” I said sheepishly. “Mage, why did you send me here? Really?”
“Because you wanted the experience passionately, my friend. And I believe, passion denied can destroy a person.”
Oh, that Mage! Now you know why I visit here so often.
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Prompt: Glass
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