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Short Stories |
Andrea Antognini © All rights reserved
The Man, a Father
(from the story book "Cy: Stories for Distraction - 1986")
A short time had all but passed, and that pain, instead of fading, grew stronger.
Ideas, thoughts all racked by pain, up until the soul.
From there it invaded the body.
An overwhelming sense of bewilderment, the loss of that something, unconsciously became the only purpose of life.
The days ran so fast, perhaps too fast, that they became a blur, but everything inside seemed stationary, immoble, with the anguish upon realizing there was now no turning back.
From the window of an escaping train, swallowed by the dark night, the reflection of a face... disappears to then see life... a streetlamp and it is once again before the eyes.
And to see onself and see life and again oneself and then life.
At every streetlamp... between two of them !
Tears and rain.
Tears or rain ?
The others... only worthless beings !
Why ! Still young he discovered himself a child again...
The fears, the sense of fragility of life and of emotions wiped out the man, the father, to be rebuilt in everyone.
The First Snow
(from the story book "Cy: Stories for Distraction - 1986")
One flake, then another... and still another. In no time everything is white.
Candid sigh, delicate. Soft noises, words... passing through the fingers of
those branches that lay bare withered hands like those coming out from light
cold wool, a clothe that has just become winter's.
The first snow !
The milk-coloured swan slides across the green of the lake. Feathers that
can't be wet by tears... and so those eyes.
A long neck caresses the water, penetrates it and then thrusts itself skyward.
The circles spread like happy thoughts, while the swan contemplates the shore.
The sound of the water changes, the muted sound of sparrows.
The reeds bow to that lord in white, speaking through the voice of the wind.
Candid is the wake, soft, white. And then it comes undone, separating, spliting
always... water scaping from water to move upwards, towards the sky.
It comes lightly down in flakes... snowflakes, like feathers.
The feathers of a swan !
A swan, the first snow.
Noise
(from: Letters - © 1998")
And like many others, and yet so different... chasing thoughts that hide at every crossroads, that laugh at us from the cracks of old houses which grow forth in grass-like tufts from those ancient bricks and survive, clinging tenaciously to nothing.
And yet, only yesterday, these light gusts of the soul caressed me... they made me happy... today, they remain silent, passing me by.. out of reach. Without a reason... but I know there is a reason for everything ! To everything, except this journey...
My fears pound the wall of this room, returning and shattering on my yesterday, on that which I have sung... told myself. I have enclosed myself within these four walls to win and I have lost... I have lost because now I am here alone... without the tenuous and delicate whisper of your words...
Where has that soul gone which has knocked on these windows every day, giving me a smile, a new dream... another reason for me to raise my head with pride and my thoughts ?
Scattered leaves remain to remind me of the dreams... few words, few stars. And the way leading us home... to ourselves, is still distant, and it is too tough walking alone, to find it empty.
And now, the voice of the moon is by now distant in the sky, its slight whispering barely audible... I see it opaque behind these eyes... tired of the thousand dives of my heart. Have I deceived myself ?
This evening, I can hear the drumming of the rain on the roof... From my room the sound is clear, but there's a certain bitterness in the rain... it seems more like tears. I extend my hands out of the window and collect some of the rainwater... In my palm the drops appear to hiccup... and I hear a faint call... I would like to squeeze a smile in my fist... but when I open it, nothing remains...
So I shot out loud... so loud that I almost hurt myself, profoundly... I shot your name... the echo doesn't come back ! My Love !
And so all that remains to think is... to think sweet, but the salty rivulets of rains run down until my mouth, until you. To pronounce your name, as in a prayer. And by praying also I become rain... from the eyes. It is more and more night... and time hungrily devours every instant, in a chaotic and deafening fears of loosing again... of feeling your embrace slide away, that which I need from you... of still hearing your voice tomorrow... Also I am afraid, I know ! And you also know...
You are my most beautiful poem... that I haven't finished writing, that I will never finish writing... without your hand to guide me. I hear your thoughts which push me and teach me to dream... I extend my hands beyond these dreams hoping to meet yours... and I will do it every day... since I still believe in dreams... and still believe in you... perhaps more than yesterday.
We could be happy, and escape from fears... and that deafening noise... and maybe, two small lives, will merge with one another to spread new, stronger, gaily coloured flowers on the meadows, which if painted by distinct hands nobody would be able to notice... Now, I have many ink colours and the time has come to start filling that new wall with thoughts, all white... It's time to go back flying... to open those wings made lazy by fear... but I will do it with you... not alone anymore. Do not let time steal more of your life... don't let it steal any of mine, write with me... to smile again, to feel alive... to give me that embrace which we haven't known how to give to others, not to ourselves.
The tick-ticking of the rain on the skylights becomes more insistent, you are almost reading these words already... but I cannot hear your breath... I cannot sense you in our attic. Don't abandon me... I beg you ! I can't only think of you... it is too little.
My Love, they need our words, and also we need one another... like the sea searching for the shore, like the flower searching for a poet.. like life searching for itself.
How can silence make so much noise ? How can silence do so much harm...
to be continued...
