if silence was ever so lucky

The room was dark, deep and dirty. The smoke from incense candles danced around and took liberty to fill the brain with fear. As eyes looked hard to penetrate the darkness, a tiny, ugly little witch, with unkempt hair and obtrusive teeth could be seen mumbling a spell. The mocking smile was stamped on all over her face, especially on the thick, brown lips.
I simply had no choice, I had to go and beg her to repeal or remove the spell she had cast on my beloved.
I remember the day clearly. I was talking to the girl who has stolen the peace of my heart, of all things that make absolutely nonsense to anybody who is even half born on this earth. Her words. My words. She and me. That’s all that mattered in that second. That was so natural for me. Perhaps it was not. The jealous witch, who had been eyeing our happiness, cursed her to infinitum silence. She literally sealed her lips!
Without hearing a single word from her, I was dying. Death is so much easy, but silence? I think it is the death of death. What could be more painful than all words frozen in a state of suspension in a desirable heart, dying to break free and reach an ever seeking consolation of a restless lover?
Sealed lips! How could any witch curse like that. If she had made her sleep for one hundred years, and imprisoned her in the highest tower of an impregnable castle, guarded by dragons in the morning and Dracula in the night, in a far off land at the end of the world; I still would have wore armour and rode a stallion and would have saved her.
But sealed lips, I simply can’t imagine, what to do.
So I went on my knees before the witch (how romantic it would have been, if it was only before my beloved), begged her, threatened to kill her, cajoled her, bribed her. Finally she relented. She said, if I can touch the lips of the girl, whose lips are sealed forever, she promised, the words will break free. Of course, there was a catch, my dear lady witch had the humour to bewitch her heart and make her hate me. So sweet!
In despair, I died and chose to be reborn as a rose, in her garden. I just wanted to be sure, that her mother picks me, when like every early morning she chooses the most beautiful rose for her daughter.
The night before, I dug my skin deep into the thorn, bleeding myself, to soak the petals and make them reddest. When her mother picked me, it all seemed worthwhile. However, my angel simply threw me on the floor, and stamped me instead of kissing me, like she did all the other roses!
Dead again, I was reborn as a boulder. I hit my head repeatedly against bigger boulders, breaking myself into pieces. And then I was crushed between rollers and weathered into sand. I chose to lay myself in the road that leads to her house. As she stepped out, the southern breeze, embraced her (am burning with jealousy). Her duppatah flew, and she was tying to hold it onto her bosom, the southern breeze carried me to her lips. But she covered her face with the duppatah, and I died yet another silent death. Et tu duppatah? How many times have I caressed u, as I walked beside her, enjoying the cotton fabric in my fingers?
Dead again, I was reborn a droplet of water in the ocean. Born there, lived there all my life. And then one day I tore myself apart, from all kind of love, to mingle with and form a cloud. Call it friendship if you want. As clouds wandered by, I learnt new lessons of life. One day, I was traveling above her house. Like a free spirit, I left behind my friends, metamorphosing into a warm drizzle, and fell down on her forehead. As I traversed slowly, down her nose, she simply wiped with her that sweet smelling handkerchief.
Dead again, lost in hope, not sure how to make her speak or how to break the curse. I died again. I had lost hope and decided to give up. I couldn’t think of a thing that would allow me to touch her lips, and break her silence and lift the curse. Dead again, I was never reborn. I became one with silence. This silence she embraced and broke the silence forever. If silence was ever so lucky…