Monday, 10 December 2007

La Madrugada (the wee small hours of the morning)

To me, there’s something special about that time when the night has overstayed its welcome, and yet it’s still not morning. It’s an in-between state, a blank canvas, pregnant with possibilities. That’s why I named my last consulting company ‘Madrugada”. But the blankness is also a space into which the monsters within you can emerge, untrammeled by logic and the noise of day-to-day life. Spending time reflecting in a small, culturally different town like Todos Santos provides a fertile ground for such demons.

3 a.m.

Even the dogs tire of barking
As the smudged moon trudges its way across the sky
The monochrome light leaching solid form and acoustic debris
Leaving only the staccato, whining challenge of a lonely truck
As it penetrates the heart of the town

And in this simplified environment
Favoured by suicides
I begin to sweat a foul amalgam
Of unwanted thoughts and emotions
That challenges the rationality and value of my life
Tentatively at first
Then gushing forth to drown me
As it gains dark confidence

Colour edges its way back into the sky
Drawing out the trivial sounds of business
And dank vapour from the earth and me
Leaving a bitter residue on heart, eyes and tongue
That taints the day to come.

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