A whisper

lausanne 1

Lausanne neige hermitage erik zakhia

Lausanne has been cushioned with snow today

and it brings me three years back in time

when my hopes were still fresh and green and brisk

when every street was so full of mystery

when every stone building fascinated me as though I wasn’t seeing it entirely

as though there were words and stories it wanted to trigger in me

I’m missing your presence at my side

I’m missing to write you as I used to

and read you

and feel again this enthusiasm that has left me since I was a child, this enthusiasm only you and writing can bring me back

 

Each time snow falls, rarely, I am amazed at how it softly delineates the landscape

how the pretty becomes beautiful, and how even the ugly becomes way prettier

snow piles on ancient buildings features as though they were specially designed for that purpose

and it decorates naked trees and firs as though it was still Christmas

This view brings back memories and rekindles hope in my heart

the marbled patterns of trees and houses gives a new depth to the landscape

a depth that doesn’t exist on snowless days

a depth that sings of stories to write and worlds to create

 

Everything is shrouded in silence now

a wild plain is covered in snow, still, motionless

the vegetation is frozen in white and I walk

I walk where the snow has not been trodden leaving the imprint of my feet

I walk and let my thoughts fly toward you, whisper over the boundless lands that separate us stories of the past and the future, stories of love turned requited and reunion of two hearts in one soul

can you hear me over the white stillness of the air

can you feel a faint stir within your heart

will you in your turn whisper some words, some foolish wishes, some dreams, praying that they become truth

will you close your eyes and take my hand for a moment and visit it as a foreign country yet oh so familiar

I’m waiting over the stillness of the plain where I am, looking intently at the empty air, at my empty heart, until delicate flakes of words spoken, whispered far away will twirl and flutter around me

 

Lausanne snow erik zakhia