THE BUBBLE

I live in a bubble, a transparent membrane, elastic, translucent and fragile; paradisiacal, non-vacation but vocational, resort, at the verge of absenteeism from obligations, duties and the like. Despite of being more than an isolating parapet, permeability, still allows me to breathe. Vital signs renounce to disappear, to find ancient ways to strengthen me and let me survive. It was a dazing inhalation of tainted feelings, words and looks that reduced me to a practically inert state. See the expression on my face, not understanding what happens, amazed by the unfair reduction to being a total wreck. Due to what, I describe a literary swing, with shades of cotton white and baby blue, slow motion, almost gravity zero effect. The peacocks showing-off don’t move a nerve on my expression, not even in my primal sense of wonder. It is the soapy coat; rainbows are covering and protecting me all over. I see the metallic greens and turquoises, as a senseless deployment of an obsolete army, dipped in the black ocean waters as mere marionettes. This fabulous convex body, mattress at the same time as shield, is serving me as monocle lens. There, resting on the shape of its smile, I close one eye and sharpen the other’s sight, glimpsing far away, in the depths, where the forest lost its name, that all the wild creatures came to be no more than domesticated farmyard easy preys. B_Nour