Dumplings galore

I love the sound of them heels of the hard wooden floor, especially in this art gallery. There she was again, I could see her staring at that same picture. She often heard of the paintings her granddad painted. They were beautiful it seems. So here she was, admiring them for the very first time. I allowed my heels to continue making the click-clock sound as I walked towards her. I wanted her to know someone was in the room with her. You see, only she knew what that mind conceived. Only she knew, not all things were beautiful within that picture. If only they knew that the very beauty of the painting was the only way of escape the man had from all things real, and so he worked and worked to make it beautiful. He had no name until he was fifty three, a broken, broken heart conceived and painted the most beautiful pieces. She half-smiled as tears streamed down her face. I stood behind her as I stared, deep into the deep colours of the sky perceived, conceived by a man, who was blind. Beauty unscathed by sight. The man painted something out of nothing.

What wouldn't I give to be stuffed full to the core with dumplings galore. So full so full until emptiness is but a word and too many strides away. The door was open, and I could see her through the crack. I almost mistook it for a mirror. I saw her face. She looked up and I looked into her eyes, never been this low huh? She shook her head, never, I have never in my life felt like walking forever into nothingness. I nodded. How I mistook her for a mirror, I felt just the same. What wouldn't I give to be stuffed full to the core with dumplings galore. Elephants are stomping in my backyard yet again, and I run to save the mangoes on the floor, but today I just didn't care anymore. The golden mangoes on the ground probably will not be stamped out, by those big grey feet, but really, I do not have the strength to bother, no strength to care. What would I give to be stuffed full to the core with dumplings, big fat dumplings galore.

Desire crept up into my heart and filled it with a big big hole. My desires. The more I see the more I wanted, the more I knew, the emptier my head became. I look around and it's all emptiness, what I see seemed full, they seemed like big fat dumplings and I wanted. The more I wanted, the bigger the hole became. I stand on the cliff and saw the vast nothingness of all I am, all I knew. It was nothing. And today, all I wanted amounted to nothing. Vain, vain nothing. What would I give to be stuffed full to the core with dumplings, big fat dumplings. Ambitions ravished what was already there, and all I had before me, was distinguished in its flame. Desire crept into my heart and filled it with a big big hole. I desperately held on to the desires and was rather overpowered. It dragged me down into the big hole together with it. Around me, nothing, inside me, nothing. What would I give to be stuffed to the core with dumplings, big fat dumplings galore.

Click-clock, click-clock. I found myself in the middle of that place again. The gallery displaying a million perceptions, a million interpretations, a million births, a million broken hearts, a million loves, a million deaths. Funny when it's the quietest, that it is the noisiest. The orchestra was playing today, harmonious. I was relaxed. Very relaxed. Peaceful, and the music played, gentle, quiet, and harmonious. The melodies were joyful, and serene and the instruments played together, perfectly, all in-time, in-tune, each filling the other's gaps. Perfect. My eyes rested on each painting. El crucificion. My eyes saw, and examined each and every one of them. El Greco, Diego Velasquez, one by one, my eyes glazed upon His face, His hands, His feet, the orchestra played and I plunged deep.

Click-clock, click-clock. Someone was there with me and I turned to see. She need not say a word, we walked out into the cold towards the river. Click-clock, click-clock. Our heels sounded on the empty pavement. Click-clock until we reached number 42. Up them steps. Keys jingle. And as the doors opened the fresh smell of dumplings filled my nostrils. Comforting. She looked up and smiled. I carefully poured the hot hot tea into the cups and sat down. I noticed her walls They were empty and I looked at her. An obsessive collector of art she was, and she had nothing on her wall. She pointed to the veiled painting on the wall. She sold all her other pieces to buy that one piece. A wall once filled with all sorts of paintings now upon it, only hung one. The last piece I ever need.The first piece her granddad ever painted. I nodded and watched as she walked towards it and pulled the white cloth that was draped over it. My eyes rested on it. What is it called I asked? Nothing she replied. I lifted my brows and slowly began to smile. I understood it. I did, and so did she. She was content, and satisfied and me, I am full. Filled to the top with dumplings galore.