STORY OF UNDERWATER

At the bottom of the sea the sun never sets. The sun, which seems to go out in the waves, has no place in the ocean depths. LAYA swam fearlessly among the corals and sponges of the seabed, of a dense, blackish blue; a viscous darkness for human eyes, but not for her, who possessed it, controlled it. It wasn't like that on dry land where darkness possessed her, controlled her. It infiltrated her body more and more every day: a tarry poison that penetrated her eyes, nose, mouth and filled her head, polluting her ideas; then he went down to force her breath, to numb her limbs. Although LAYA felt that something was wrong, that it wasn't right, that she had to rebel, she never did. The darkness comforted her, cradled her, clutching her organs, her muscles, her bones that she could no longer move. And she didn't want to move. When the darkness was thicker, his heart, so impregnated, slowed down so much, stuck, that LAYA watched him concentrated, wondering how faintly he could beat before stopping.

In his world it was not like that. In his world, even darkness was his subject.

He swam to the surface; hidden among the rocks she looked at the city where she had no place she could call her own, where all affection was a stranger. He watched the sunset color the horizon pink and lilac. He watched the sea sparkle with gold and wondered what could be so precious there, in the dry, for which it was worth facing so many humiliations, so many failures, so many losses. He watched his tail flicker under the surface of the water which gradually became an increasingly intense crimson: the princess, the symbol of a proud people, the leader of a valiant army, swam in those red, violent waters. There she was not placid, meek or compliant, there she was not herself, there she was free from herself.

She plunged back into the inflamed waters, swimming energetically towards the bottom, where she was alive and light and strong, where she didn't need or want to hide. He spotted a scorpionfish camouflaged among the rocks: he pounced on it and scrubbed it unceremoniously with his sharp teeth. The flesh tearing deliciously, the brittle bone shattering under her jaws gave her a thrill of satisfaction. She felt no pity for that fish, as she was sure no one felt for her.

WE SLEEP AWAKE





Do you hate how the moon calls your devotion?
We are hammered hearts that scream and sigh at night.
There is that wind that knocks, it wants to scratch your cheek
He wants to reclaim the soul of those who deny Orpheus at night.

There is no Tramontana that holds war,
The reminder is for those in silence
They hear their limbs scream,
A cry of surrender that asks for mercy.

The sarcophagus of the night is a fear,
We feel the fear,
But we claim it as the only companion.
Is it pleasure to go to meet suffering?

We lay our minds in the one night,
Night of drums, and fire.
We burn while the night repairs a silence
Uncontainable, frustrating, painful.

We walk, sleepwalkers
Daydreamers,
We swipe our fingers on the walls of life,
The poet's flower has a price. 

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