It had ended and I basked in sun. I walked the earth but my heart did run. My faith did leap, my soul didn't sleep and just for a second, I did not weep.
I stared at the screen, a portrait in light. A face in glass, smiling alas. To a knight from my land. The only one I ever looked up to. One of the reason I am so far from home, the Dark Continent. Ian Dumisani.
Art, in my country isn't worshiped. It is loved, it is admired and taken with beauty but isn't worshiped like I feel it should.
I believe everything is Art. From all that is known and how the world lays out, to the behavior of man and how fate plays out. From all the voices, and screeching in the night, to the madness in my heart and randomness of a kite.
Ian, was for me the greatest thing our continent had. But most of them couldn't see that.
He single handedly raised the status of African art and culture with his sculptures, his painting and the poetry plays hidden in them.
He was to me, a love I'll never have. I pictured him with feathers, a rebellious black dove.
A sentinel of poetry, a king in mystery.
Part of the reason I came here was so I could have audience with him.
I had cancer, I was a cancer, and I felt like dying will rid the world of one more stain. On my bucket list was seeing Ian and learning from his pain.
The engines raved, the city in beauty. Everyone else walking like they answer the call to duty.
I stare at the building and its magnificent architecture. There is a huge stone, embedded in it, is the literature. It says,
"We are born Rebels, subordination is how you were raised".
I believe it.
YOU ARE READING
The Art of Killing You
Mystery / ThrillerNatasha is an African girl in love with Art. She can't take that she is in the last moments of her life because she has cancer. She travels to Paris to live out her dream of becoming a recognized painter before she dies. There, she meets Ian. And ge...
