My fears lay awake in a lucid dream, the compass for where I stand. Had I the wisdom to depart from this place I don’t belong, the grace wisdom brings ought be present in me, and I would never have found myself here. I did not have that wisdom, nor the grace it affords. My departure here will be clumsy therefore, and things large and small may get broken. But it is no less true, the imperative that I must leave.
I found myself on stage. A dim spotlight shining on me. The opening of Khachaturian’s Masquerade, I can hear – and the seats are close to full. I wish so much that I could dance myself away unnoticed. But I’ll loudly stumble off – conspicuously echoed, gruelingly observed. A snickering as a tcht tcht tcht, of tongues in heads moving side to side, and the tightening around my heart that follows.
With a ring the music of a waltz begins – Dancers leaping into strides that rise and fall. I will disappear, restore in Nocturne… as the suite spectacularly plays on. In Capriccio I’ll turn back to see why the music sighs – the breathlessness of beauty where grace belongs. I’ll find myself seated among glorious applause, jeweled ovation, my hands in adamant clapping – Fandango, rising as one of the all.
I shall never shake my head, though – with a tcht tcht tcht sound for the fool standing the stage alone. I know of his courage, and the onlookers shame – in the surety of ushered velvet seating, house lights, and the numbers only in which, feigned strength is played.
Image Artist ~ Elnur Amikishiyev