Letters to a friend – VIII

The queen of Nebula
‘I hope you are doing well and the foreign land (some say) with a heart of darkness, cares for this warm, gentle and ‘bright’ Brazilian soul in some measure befitting the Dutch hospitality.
With a heavy heart I shall depart this wondrous, colourful, and warm land, which lies below the equator and receives plenty of sunlight and has the greatest Samba music, to a land where everyone is as cold as its weather and do not play Samba music and does not receive enough sunlight even for the poor plants, on the early hours of 00 October. The clock is ticking fast indeed.
In the vast canvas of our lives, it is puzzling as to how quickly this ‘Time fellow’ swallows our experiences. If we dig inside his gargantuan belly, we would encounter Machado da Assis, Cecilia Meirelles, Alexander the Great, the poor peasants who planted the sugarcane, the beautiful blue sky of Recife amidst the utter drought in the 1900s, the Hominids who walked the land in Africa, the elephant that fell in a well and fossilised,  in addition to our memories and our feelings that sit compacted day after day, by the weight of our fellow men, women, plants, animals and things.
Time swallows everything. It swallows love, pleasure, ambition, beauty and eventually life itself. Time is like a black hole. It has a humongous appetite to consume the memories of living and nonliving things. Only then its axles can propel forward. Time rules us. We are at the mercy of time. We are puppets in its gigantic hands. We work for him. We are slaves to Time. Countries can be freed. But Time is always always Free. It cannot be contained.

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