I need a miracle. I need a miracle as fat as earth. Not the kind that the blind sees or the lame walks. I need a miracle where money grows as trees. Trees that would bear fruits as money, in all currencies of the world. I want this tree to be tall and gigantic like the Tower of Babel, disappearing into the clouds and pricking God on his fingers. If this tree deems it fit, I want it to grow higher into that place above heaven called Nectar, where the greatest of all treasures have eluded man. A place where nature literary talks, lives and dies: like mortals. Where men have stars in their bellies and trying to outshine the other isn’t important. Man would live, die and be rebirthed each day, so death becomes a routine like brushing. Nothing will hurt in Nectar. Pain will be an illusion that only wild hearts would crave for. Happiness will fall as dew in light colours and it can be held and hung like Christmas lights on a wall or tree.
In Nectar, money is an alien from space – strange and mystifying. The mystery of the fruity currencies hanging over a money branch will be fought like an enemy threatening peace. Nectar will have no desire to understand this mystery.
The sky in Nectar will be vast and close like a woman’s bosom. Where tales, poems and ideas will forever be scribbled without the fear of forsaking posterity. These words will come alive as fireworks illuminating Nectar like the moon and sun whenever the god of these words deem fit for night or day. The sky will every fortnight glide to fresh pages of a dark sky for pretty words and tales to be woven. No words would assume relevance over the other. These words will make all the difference. There will be no exhaustion because the breeze will serve as oxygen and food, nourishing our bodies in ways far healthier than we have imagined.
To every soul, all will live freely without prejudice. We will live knowing that we have been mashed from all colours of race and have been molded to become one amazing being. A Nectarite. A Nectarite that lives without shadowing a stereotype existence; where frivolities have not been mistaken for values and where living is simply living.
If I could to dare to ask for a fatter miracle, I’d ask that like the Tower of Babel, let the money tree crash bringing Nectar to earth, the only other place I have always wanted to be.
© 2015/DEBBIE IORLIAM