I suspect that the sweet Goddess of love still slumbers. That’s how Gods avoid blame, they run away whenever you have difficulties, leaving you alone to shriek for mercy. And yet… something exists. Something must exist now, in these saddened days, in the murky sunsets, in the buying and selling. Something must exist. However dark are the womb and a woman’s soul, there is… perhaps… a ray of sunlight lighting up the narrow alleyways of the grievously wounded city.
As the nights pass and are followed by days, I am still alone, living in a normal rhythm. I have one goal… success. Days of loneliness accompanied by great joy. An absence of pain! Even in death… I was taught to withstand pain. That is why nothing can break me away from my lonely life. Loneliness, my companion, who helps breathe art into all my creation.
This act causes me to frequently wonder about the darkness of a woman’s womb. Flooded with liquid, dark as the blackest soil, it stands out in the male mind which begins each day thirsty for sex. I neither ask for nor seek any apologies. I was lost, perhaps because I could not endure the weight of a lack of conscience or the desire of every woman who seeks only passion and coupling – their supposed feeling of all-consuming passion that they claim I give them. No, I could not endure this weight and was thus lost and scattered. Perhaps the blues have awoken me. Perhaps I still sleep. But I have discovered new words with which to begin my new journey, a new light to keep me company on the frozen streets, as I ride the wind and approach the sun, shedding its light on my new well of creativity.
— © Emmanuel G. Mavros “From the child without a trace of sin”