Reap memory slings –
beat swan wings with bone tip tears –
watch, photograph weeps.
Here is a short tale about seven brothers and what happened to them.
A very long time ago there were seven brother who lived in a village. Over time, one by one, the brothers died, until finally only one was left. Eventually, he also died of old age.
Those who knew the last of the brothers, felt his loss, and those who knew him hardly at all were less touched by his passing. That’s the way it goes. Of course this all happened long after the nine legged horse ran along the ridge just beyond the village, and Farmer Brown’s largest pumpkin hatched into a scarlet peacock that carried off Miss Margery. Well, some villages are like that.
Once there was a ruler of a huge country, who carried with him a large black umbrella. Now this was not any umbrella, for it was made of indifference, and it blocked the rays of empathy and understanding. So everywhere the ruler went, he cast a shadow of indifference that scarred the land with black empty cracks that separated the people from one another.
Terrible things happened, some brought on by the Fury of Nature, and others created by the poison of ignorance and hate. The People shouted at each other in shadows, and the blood of children wept, crying for comfort that sickened as it trickled in the gutters of false accusations.
Slowly, all those that stood closest to the ruler, family, friends and advisers were stained by the ugly ooze dripping from this ugliest of umbrellas. They could not clean themselves, and unable to speak truthfully about their appearance, they fled the loud whispers pointing fingers at them.
A huge wind, made from the breaths of dying children, rose up and gathered strength. So strong was this wind, that it began to tatter and fray the edges of the Ugly Umbrella. Even so the ruler hung on tightly, trying to protect himself from criticism and opinions he did not wish to hear. There were those in the land who shouted support to him, for they too feared being faced with uncomfortable truths.
And so the shouting and the wind both grew louder, and the very fibre of the land twisted and knotted onto itself. They say a sharp blade will one day arrive to cut the darkness, and let the light heal the land; others say all that will remain as it is, a bloody mess.
Still others say this is a tale too terrible to tell, while those that mock claim this a poor fable that belongs in a comic-book. Perhaps, both these opinions are true.