THE DJANIAT... THE GARDEN OF GOD - 10
A BREATH OF HOPE
Un souffle d'espérance/A breath of hope
Illustration: Rudy Van Giffen/Copyright: Monique Decamps
The angel unfurled his diaphanous wings,
supreme in elegance and exquisite purity.
The Earth held him in her spiral of blue.
The Divine Messenger melted away.
The hemp twist rungs of the ladder swayed
as you climbed in cheerfulness.
The highest cloud smiled within its golden fringes.
Borâq neighed in distress.
"Elect of God!" sighed he, sadly,
"Here I stand, condemned to eternal captivity.
I shall not follow you in your enchanted escapades;
as descending is henceforth forbidden to me!
At the furtive sound of your departing, my soul is tinged
with the grey veil of uncertainty and begins to wail.
Will you remain with your companions?
Will you leave me lost in the cruel hands of solitude this fatal day?"
"Kind horse of mine!" you whispered,
elated by the tenacious and juicy scents of the forest,
"Noble and divine stallion.
You who were the faithful friend
of the illustrious Prophet Mahomet!
As it is the wish of God for you to linger upon this sublime and holy cloud.
Allow me to climb upon your saddle for one last time and offer my heart to you as an ultimate token!"
Look, it springs out of my chest and mischievously flees
to beat by the shadow of the bubbling brook!
Then it gently trails its ruby red and crawls
to the silvery edge of your hooves!
An agile spring for it to cling to your snowy flank
like a wayward tendril of liana.
Finally to rest, entwined among the pretty curls of your wild
and flowing mane!
"Creature of the Almighty! You to whom I owe the subtle intoxication
of the celestial life.
You who were my saviour.
We are united forever by the simple meaning of the sign!
So great is my joy that I long to send out a message to
the festoons of the star of beauty blessed…
Yet how? The garden does not contain either quill or ink
amongst its flowery recesses!"
A sound interrupted you. Borâq leant his head
towards the purple of the cloud lost in the midst.
Seated in its billowing folds, your companions called to you
upon the enshrined welkin of topaz.
A dove came into view that pecked a grape under the shelter
of a climbing wine, twitching its fragile beak.
Borâq turned to you.
The wind murmured a wailing song into the hollow of his ear.
"Elect of God!" suggested the stallion, "Down there are
the very companions to provide the writing material.
To reach their hands, you will have to drop once again
upon the downy cotton of their obscure veil.
On this Night of Destiny, another parting I will be unable to suffer!
Weariness spies upon me, my friend. I can already feel its evil tremor!"
"If that is so," you answered: "I will wait until the dawn of the following day.
I will not join them tonight. There is no urge to
leave.
I would rather admire your large and sweet eyes
with their supernatural glint.
Yet, can I prepare my missive without the necessary material?
You will probably remember the flow of writing
I once poured on the outskirts of the land?
You know me so well!"
"Son of Light!" whispered Borâq.
There is no better ink than the black velvet of obscurity.
And no finer scroll than the one peeled from
the crumpled bark of an old sleeping tree!
Then, what more appropriate pencil than the sharp reed cut
from the shifting sand of a pretty dune?
As for the writing itself… What could light it more effectively
than the pale blush of the moon?"
The Queen of ants ran to the clearing and came back swiftly
with the required materials.
Leaning upon your knee, with the utmost care,
you wrote down the lines of your precious message.
The King of birds awaited your smile before carrying
the scroll to the airy crest of the Spirit of Wind.
The skyline bowed its head. The atmosphere took the epistle
and voraciously swallowed.
You watched it descend, divide into thousands, then hover at the top of the Eiffel Tower and to the frosted peaks of
the Hindu Kuch.
The men and women of the Earth received them deep into their hearts.
Borâq reclined on his couch of silver-blue.
Lost in the dark immensity, you imparted to him your innermost wishes.
The creature gravely listened; to stay awake he
twitched his ash-gold lashes!
"Man of Truth!" yawned he, tenderly: "From henceforth
you are free to wander as you please. The Garden of God is
yours.
You can stride over its powdery skies.
Thus you will discover humans of different religions and
races!
As for now, settle yourself in my lap as sleep has taken me in its
traces!"
The horse closed his heavy eyelids and turned to breathe the soft
petals
of a buttercup so tiny. Sensing his serenity, his trust,
his pleasure at your joy, you curled in his arms, most
delicately.
So will you rest along this night of wonder and for the eternity of the
future.
The moon arose before the imminent cloak of darkness.
The forest slumbered in a fragile murmur.
Illustration: Rudy Van Giffen
Illustration: Rudy Van Giffen
