You lie there on your bed
So lovely and so bored
Waiting for it to clear
Like you did yesterday, and the day before
Waiting for the world to dry
For the gray clouds to break
For an infusion of sunlight, and for a rainbow, too.
It’s not going to happen today, you know,
It will keep on raining, raining, raining
Raining as if it’s a Biblical flood,
Raining as if it’s the end of the world.
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Ben: it is refreshing to put a face to the words. You are fairer than the words that have strung at my heart.
Clara : ( Blushes) it is nice to know that you think that way. For a moment I was worried that you would hate me for my story, but I am not the woman I am without them
Ben: and you are not the woman raised among pink roses talking of God and ball dresses. That would be rather ordinary; you have captivated my curiosity Clara.
Clara: the subject of God is without curiosity, which is what the fathers say. I tried getting to Him but He keeps me bound here on this sullen earth with pink roses. All I want to do is walk in the star light and sing the song of the earth, of all that is beautiful sprouting from it.
Ben: And I would sing it with you, every line except when you don’t want me to. You are beautiful Clara; I could look at you every waking hour and listen to you even when my mind grows old. Would you sing it to me then? This song of the earth and all that is beautiful sprouting from it.
Clara: Will you sing it with me? It is not complete yet.
Ben: I shall do my best.
Clara: Soul mystic of the night
Come to life in the dark light
Light the life of my soul and mind and fright,
Colour me with the mask of might
When I sway in the wind rolling against the dirt
When I stand defiant and frightened under the angry skies of the gods of the night
Let me not as a child be frightened,
Let me as the mountains grow old and never die,
Let me as the termites never hunger,
Cover me with a mound of fright and might,
To run after the children when the night shadows get a tad tired…
Ben: (Clearing his throat)
I should not have to beg soul of the night,
I am one with you and you are me from the day that we met
Don’t take your song I shall be left abashed
Come with me mystic soul full of dread
Don’t run when we can rest
Right here in the beautiful mound of fright and might.
Clara: are we just two corpses waiting to be taken away?
Ben: Better that we are two than alone, lest the termites would hunger. We are the beautiful mound of fright and might.
Clara: and after the thunder has rolled its roll, after the trees have finished swaying, there shall be a pink rose blooming from the termites dead with fill. It is all cyclic Ben. It never stops.
Ben: that is quite the truth, when we are done with our love story, my story then it shall end and then there would be a pretty pink rose sprouting from your left breast. I would wait to see that day. Not the end of our love, but when the pink rose sprouts. I would be so gladdened and you shall feel it too.
Clara: your enthusiasm brings a shade of red upon my lips. If you go Ben, when you decide to leave, I fear that there would be no pink rose sprouting from my left breast, just a purple rose and a beautiful monkshood that shall cover my head. (Ben turns to leave) it is as I feared, as I have always feared.
Ben: My beautiful Clara, if you frighten at the thought of love, you will never realise the art behind it. It is, I have discovered, true what they say, life imitates art. Love is an art; it covers that plainness and that darkness that masked the canvas that is our souls.
Clara: Don’t leave just yet. Stay here with me or not. We could study each other, learn each other and build memories of each other, together or not. Perhaps the looming darkness and the dull plainness will not leave, that does not mean we cannot relish the times when we are not frightened as children. Because truly Ben, very few things frighten me. Let us not thin the paint because we are hesitant. Let us paint our canvases with true paint as we are because it would be a shame to paint as we have already seen.
Ben: Your words are full of some eroticism that I can’t rid my mind of. I will stay with you or not, here painting canvases and singing songs sang in lands beyond that can never capture the attention of men as your beauty has captured my life. Tell me Clara, who made you the way you are?
Clara: the priest told me it was God. I did not believe him so I opened my eyes, all three of them and the fourth that I was told not to even though it had a pink cornea and lacked an iris. When I opened them I saw what I was told not to see, what ordinary men could not see.
Ben: (In almost a whisper) what was it that you saw that ordinary men could not see?
Clara: A gay little maiden who is a maiden no more. She was skidding through the trees, racing across the skies, diving in the earth and out again to catch her breath. She was beautiful and she was unruly. She comes to me to laugh and taunt me when she feels like it, but she is not unkind, she just loves to laugh. When I hope she crashes that hope, when I fear she dispels that fear; when I dread a misfortune, fortune comes and when I dream, she smugly steals away my dreams and then she laughs at me because I am powerless behind my mask of might.
Ben: Have you tried to talk to her?
Clara: I tried once and she punished me for it. I have tried to not see her again, but she is always there, a whisper away, comforting me, taunting me and letting me be me and letting me know her.
Ben: She made you this way?
Clara: she taught me to think, she is the most wonderful teacher and the most horrifying, and I hope you don’t meet her soon.
Ben: (Frowning) I would think that rather selfish of you.
Clara: I like you Ben, and for all the love I bear you in this world, there is no part of it greater than the love I have for your bright eyes and for your laughing teeth. When you meet her, she will make you solemn and destroy the beauty in you.
Ben: Flattery does not negate selfishness.
Clara: Nothing negates selfishness. You haven’t moved an inch since I asked you not to leave, tell me you will stay Ben, I would love that more than anything, to learn from you and to drink from your cup of wisdom and foolishness.
Ben: I have been struck by the lighting of Zeus held in the hands of his daughter Aphrodite. Clara, beat of my heart and warmth of my mind, I shall stay here with you, and drink this summer wine laced with cinnamon then I shall kiss your red lips, perhaps I can bask in the radiance of your soul. (Kisses her hand)