Gardens: Pleasures of Love, Sentiment, Colour, Symmetry & Fun 2- (By David Hurt)

David Hurt's The Paridaida: The Slave Girl's Silence

I was hiding from the men who killed my parents

And made me a slave.

I found a hidden door.

I opened it

And my eyes were greeted by

Wooden steps.

Like the ones of my parent's house,

Uniting the roof terrace with the warmth of inside.

The wooden steps went downwards,

Like the ones of my parent's house,

Yet not to warmth,

But a cold, damp and

Long, dark, narrow, shaft.

This will have to do,

I persuaded my thoughts.

Thoughts of disbelief,

Of what my eyes had imprinted upon them.

This,

Long, dark, narrow, shaft

Was to be my salvation...

There were no other choices presented to me...

So I went down into the shaft,

Were the men who were following me could not find me...

I became silent,

So they could not hear my breath...

I heard their footsteps pass,

Then fade to the distance.

I knew not of where I was.

I looked round and saw a passage way.

It glimmered with sticks of fire.

So I followed the light of the fire sticks

Through the passage,

To see where it led...

When I came to the end of the passage,

I saw another door

And leading to it,

Steps of stone...

I walked up the steps of stone,

 There were twelve in counting,

Then I opened the door...

On the other side of the door,

My eyes could not fathom what they saw...

It was the most beautiful sight imaginable...

It filled my senses with,

Colours,

Aromas,

Sounds,

Tastes and

Textures.

All I have never experienced

Or thought possible.

I pinched myself,

To see if I was dreaming...

I was not dreaming,

 It was all real...

Water,

That seemed to want to jump up and

Greet the Gods...

Flowers,

Of all kinds,

Some not known to me.

Some that looked familiar,

Yet were bigger than what I remember seeing 

At the market 

Of my old village.

Their aromas,

More fragrant...

There were figures of the Gods,

Yet taller than I remember my father's height to be

And he was tall.

The tallest man in our village,

Twelve man sized hands tall...

The only figures of the Gods

I had come to know,

Were the size of dolls

And some only as big as my little finger...

There were arms of stone,

That curved and met at the top...

There were song birds and

Exotic birds.

There were fruit trees known to my eyes

And fruit tree as exotic as some of the birds I found.

Only known by the elders

In their stories of travel...

There descriptions were true...

About the birds

And the fruit trees...

It was so beautiful,

My tongue had been rendered to silence.

No words could escape my thoughts

To be uttered into sounds.

I thought I would never speak again...

Then,

 A voice of womanly origin

Spoke to me from behind one of the arms of stone...

 It asked who I was

And how I got here...

I turned to the stone arm from which it came

And...

It was true,

Words failed to speak from my lips.

 I had lost my words to the beauty of what my eyes had found...

"It is alright little one,

 The Paridaida

Has that effect on all who are lucky enough to set their eyes upon her..."

The voice from behind the arm whispered...

Then,

The one who spoke the whisper of words

Revealed herself to me.

She walked to where I was standing,

Embraced me in her arms

Stroked my head,

Told me that I was safe

And never have to run again...