Where am I?
Sumatra hunts for his prey.
Once the lone tiger, he is accompanied by another, across the distance. Tiger prints. Small and distinctly shaped, it could only belong to a female. Slinking in and out of the swirling mists of mauve, burgundy and chocolate brown, the yearning for daily offerings of sustenance have abated; consumed by the need to feed another hunger.
The woods here are a rare, eclectic mix- teak, mahogany, birch, Formica. The local monks hide in their respective boxes; awake, in Zen, keeping to their own distinctions. Music plays on from above, faint, rhythmical, alive. Singing, drumming of lost souls, well-intended attempts to save kinships that will be forever disappear without the help of outside influences. Truth speaks that it is the same outside influences that constructs their demise. Common ground will never be reached.
Crescents of gold mingle with vanilla bubbles of sweetness. Here is where a mermaid is Queen. Her servants are loyal to the monarchy, her power is mild, sweet, addictive. Mind in hand, warm control belongs to her once each individual enters her domain. They seek a common purpose- to progress. It is of no consequence. The progress each seeks is at the expense of the other. Each will grow corpulent and lethargic if patronized too often.
Hers is only one of many empires. Bodies of power, headless, seeking only domination of resources for the pure sake of domination. Among these powers, Sumatra is born. Moving silently among the dedicated servants, pumping the blood, keeping the faith alive for one more sunrise.