Sayonara | The Blue Dragon

Rozhodla jsem se experimentovat s angličtinou. A z toho důvodu jsem sepsala tenhle krátký text - snad ho nikdo nemusí pochopit, protože ani já si nejsem jistá, kterou z mnoha myšlenek mám označit jako hlavní a definitivní, ale byla bych ráda, kdyby se dobře četl a měl potenciál vyvolat nějakou náladu. A proto vás, mí drazí čtenáři, prosím o přečtení a ne příliš tvrdou kritiku.

From the mist of the black mountain IT was born. And IT was hungry. Small creature with tiny wings, similar to a dragon hatchling, had no intention to slumber. Yet the fatigue soon overwhelmed it and the little bluish being fell asleep.

But with the first rays of the sun IT began to eat. And to grow. The whelp devoured every little word, every image and every chord. Every single note was immediately swallowed; every brush stroke was properly chewed. And the intangible dragon grew.

Then IT was punished by the cruel world. Young creature was confused, for it didn't realize any crime besides the joy of life. IT was told that IT didn't exist. So IT pretended not to be, not to breathe. Injured, miserable and desperate.

The poor creature wandered in dark corners of the world. Seeking for shards of thoughts, fragments of poetry and scraps of unfinished dreams... IT feared the death. The invisible shadow of the dark lady was floating over its head.

And after long years of desperate prayers the intangible being, which was the dragon as well as anything else, fell asleep for the second time. The deep slumber was creeping around the very ideas of its existence. And things that should not have been forgotten were lost.

Majestic wings were covered by a thick layer of dust and night dominated the poor mind. IT was about to disappear.

However; one day IT was abruptly awakened. Severe pain grasped IT's mind and heart. The creature's spirit wailed and shrieked. For the mighty dragon suddenly saw all. The pettiness of the world. The viciousness of its ideas.

IT spread its wings. It was no hatchling. Not anymore. The powerful dragon roared as mightily as the ocean, its voice was more terrifying than the very bottom of the human mind.

No more oppression. No more pain. No more injustice. From that moment to eternity there would be only the sheer power of creation.

You cannot kill the idea. You cannot kill the art. And certainly you cannot kill me.

For I am the blue dragon of life as well as the sun over the ocean, as well as the mountain dew on the petals of scarlet flowers. As well as the sound leaving your lips and the reminiscence of your long forgotten brush.