Almost a Whisper

Crumpled voices scattered across the breathing space of my mind, as I held my pencil with quivering fingers and asked it, “Can you draw her for me?”

A moment of stillness within the stillness…

“No my Master, I can not”, with an affirmative idiom it responds.

“Why?” I restlessly asked.

With a blushing expression, the pencil looked me straight in the eyes and said:

“Master,

Ask me to draw a moment of happiness in a mother’s eyes as she touches the lips of a new life inside her soul, I’ll draw it.

Ask me to draw to the morning glare that revives our existence, and dries away the pain that the past have left behind, I’ll draw it.

Ask me to draw the perfection of God’s paranormal touch on earth as it exquisitely blends boundless splendor and magnificence, with an everlasting stroke of serenity, I’ll draw it.

But to draw a moment of a celebrated lifetime, in the legendary month of June, when came an Angel with the name of Muriel, with a glare that lit the whole world, and a touch that made it come to a nirvana of its time,

Sadly my master, that I cannot draw.”

P.S: I borrowed the title of this writing from the short story ‘The Zahir’ by the Argentine writer and poet Jorge Luis Borges. In the story, Zahir is a person or an object that has the power to create an obsession in everyone who sees it, so that the affected person perceives less and less of reality and more and more of the Zahir, at first only while asleep, then at all times.

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