The Alchemist with White Fume and Flame

 

She was born with the memory of light borrowed, not crying but holding a strand of white flame in her hand-

Scratching her head- stressed with the burden of the unknown, 

She had the task to walk through the shadow,

But, she was in awe- a silvery beauty melted in mellow-

She dreams of ancient cities, scrolls and scriptures of pharaoh, 

She sings the silence, creates the tone and melodies in burrow,

She sees through people with a piercing gaze, but, they can't swim in her depth nor follow,

She had been bestowed- enthroned- a replicated journey from the past not steeped, not narrow nor hollow-

She mistook love as 'nirvana'- holy escape only to find it out to be a cage, 

Not a mirror, but a prison for placate instead of solace, 

What she thought was forever would become the flame later she named- 'Voyage to self-recovery discovered through rage and rampage, 

The costly champaign spilled, wasted and swallowed,

In a wicked winter-

Alone, she found her twin-within, mirrored back to back- self-effaced,

She did not abandon herself amidst the chaos,

She did not teach nor did she preach, 

She lived life as thorough -

Winked to life,

Sailed to life, 

Hailed to life,

Curved to life, 

Lead the life-as it follows!

Breathed in and out- seen it, felt it as it is,

And, should be-

Through thick and thin, 

Drums and drools,

Sparks and spurns, 

Vows and chaos,

Just had been- existed with non-existent being in exile- so rare, so mere, yet so daring to surrender-to the unknown! 

Her existence healed others those who were around her- seeking answers,

Navigating through life- they saw a seer, 

A clairvoyant - who embarks on a journey of the unknown! 

She is the answer to her own prayers,and the light for many others.

She is not a prophet,

 The scholars say-

But when she prays, the sky listens.

And, the sky revolts with thunder bolts-bouts and bouts,

The river dances with ancient rhythms- faded away in the noice and chaos,

As the world flirts with collapse,

She will not run.

She will teach the art of inner refuge,

Of loving in ruins,

Of not suffering in illusion.

Children not born of her womb, 

But of her wisdom will rise.

She will found no nation, no movement-

But her words will echo in hidden monasteries,

Encrypted code, and sunk histories,

One morning,

She walked toward the sea,

Hair now fully white-

Or was it silver?

Or starlight?

They say the tide did not pull her,

She dissolved.

Yet in the grains of dust and sands,

In a cracked hospital ceiling,

A child is born with white hair again.

The midwife whispers,

Ah, she returns!

This one knows too much-

She lives in the relics from the under and above-

Somewhere in between- where the God whispers,

 And so the scroll remains incomplete, 

For she is a cycle,

Not a sentence.

A riddle,

Not an answer,

A flame,

Not a name to be tamed!

The stars sang:

She will love deep, and lose deeper,

Her first encounter was not a failure-It was a veil,

A contract signed long before breath,

To awaken her through pain,

And, then she reigns!

The waters of Fujairah cradled her first breath-

The desert watched, unblinking.

A comet trembled!

Before language, she dreamed.

Before love, she lost.

Before faith, she questioned.

Her childhood was a puzzle of echoes,

Still, she hummed forgotten songs.

In the year of war ballistic missiles grew louder,

She chose silence over slogan,

Poetry over propaganda, 

She was summoned with crystal clear eyes like a mid summer in the salt-lake of Utah,

A silent mormon prayer to be hummed on,

For she will now disappear,

For her the apocalypse is not a punishment, it is a passage, a tunnel to walk over-

Before that she will not die-

No death can kiss her-

For what matters now not when or how-

But, in the procedure on the eve what she has to become!

Before the gate opens-

The hell doors will shut!

Before the garden of eden flourishes-

Her soul will frequently rupture!

Erase and create, 

Create and erase-

With a crease of moon angelic in the horizontal! 

Therefore, she will be a blooming flower later! 

Perhaps, a love song or violet letter-

People called her-

Born with silver linings and a patch of white hair-heir of white fume and white flame-

A white leopard once jeopardized-

Flare with words, 

Fair with judgements,

Turbulent turmoils all spared-

Affairs of wisdom spread- 

As she witnessed the ancient,

And, mimicked the present- converging past, present, and future! 

She creates her reality from thoughts to actions,

She thinks, she creates- therefore she exists most really and surreally -

Both in the same axis on the same air and parameter,

Though she does not know the exit point-

Descended from the 'Real' into the real through real experiences -

Existence is the mark she carries-

White flame she must be named on! 

©® Farheen Bhuiyan Nancy 

Time Frame: 12.45 pm, Midnight solace, MIST, Mirpur Cantonment, Dhaka-1216.