Windows into the void

A Heart That Became a Graveyard
By Qayss Ramli

How near the graveyard is… and how far life feels.

On a Friday afternoon, I was walking slowly toward a secluded place where one could hear nothing but the whisper of nature.
The air was damp, scented with the earthy smell of rain-soaked soil.
Dry leaves cracked beneath my steps in silence.
I wore a black suit, a black shirt, and black shoes.
Even my perfume was cheap—
as if I no longer needed to show myself anything but my naked truth.

Black wasn’t a passing choice.
Since the moment my sight turned inward, I began to see it on walls and in my night sky.
It became the only color left in my life.
All that remained of my past were wounds that refused to heal, and faded images clinging to memory.

I sat, blaming her—
that stubborn self—
for hope, for longing, for honesty, for faithfulness.
I wept as I opened my shirt, showing her my wounds.
She said nothing.
Silence covered her,
and grief clothed her as black clothed me.

Then, the stillness was broken by the sound of a bird nearby.
Its song struck the very core of my solitude—
like the cry of a lover echoing through the hollow of years.
I looked at it with tired, tearful eyes.
It fluttered its wings and flew south, landing on a distant branch, chirping again—insistently.
A strange feeling overwhelmed me, urging me to follow.
It leapt from tree to tree, glancing back as if to make sure I was still behind.

I followed until I reached the tree it perched beneath.
There, on the damp earth, I saw its tiny fledglings—
fragile, still, their bodies cold as if life had only just left them.
The smell of wet grass mingled with the chill of dead feathers,
intensifying the weight of the moment.

I looked up at the bird,
and our eyes met.
For a brief instant, I no longer heard its chirping,
but a faint human voice—
as though rising from a deep well:

“O human, find me a nest, and lay my little ones in it—gently.”

My heart trembled,
fear ran through my veins.
Had I lost my sanity?

I reached down and picked up the little ones, one by one.
Their wet feathers clung to my fingers;
their coldness sank into my palms,
as though I were lifting my own co**se, not theirs.
I looked back at the bird, pretending to search for a nest.

But this time, its voice pierced me again—
firm, sorrowful, almost like a muffled sob:

“Don’t look for one.
Lay them inside yourself…
for your heart has become a graveyard.”

I froze where I stood.
A crushing weight pressed against my chest,
and I realized the bird hadn’t asked me to save its young—
it had handed me a mirror.

In it, I saw myself—
empty of hope,
empty of desire.
For now I am a tomb,
and within me—
a graveyard.

Emptiness
By Qayss Ramli

One night, I slipped into an old café whose doors had been shut since 1937—
abandoned after its last visitors vanished.
I sat alone, sipping my bitter black coffee.
No shadow passed the door,
no voice rose above the deep, echoing silence that haunted the place.

Then suddenly, a figure appeared—
a guest whose features I knew well,
though his name eluded me.
He sat across from me, holding an empty cup.
And when my eyes met his,
I remembered—
he was Emptiness.

He smiled faintly and spoke in a soft, unadorned voice,
stripped of all pretense:
— “Why do you follow me as if you were my shadow?”
— “Why do you watch me?”
— “Why do you spend your days longing to meet me?”

I found no answer in his solemn presence.
His silence was louder than any speech.
I reached for his hand, lifted it to my lips, and kissed it—a kiss of life.
Then I rose with quiet dignity and said:

“I’ve missed you, Emptiness.
I feel your presence now…
Am I truly you?
Am I the one who loved you,
who longed to remain with you,
who fell from life
and was caught in your arms?
Hold me close—
for to live through you is better
than to remain a prisoner of thoughts about you.”

Emptiness rose from his chair—
tall, graceful, wrapped in a black coat that exhaled the scent of solitude.
He stepped toward me with steady, deliberate movements,
like a coffin descending into its final place.
Then he opened his arms
and embraced me.

In that moment, I passed from self to void—
from something to nothing,
from noise to stillness,
from the illusion of fullness
to the solid truth of nothingness.

And as my soul settled between his coat and his chest,
I felt the void coil around my neck.
Before his voice dissolved into the silence of the café,
he whispered in my ear:

“You are Emptiness.
Enjoy your solitude.
Be healed by it.
And die as you were born—alone.
But remember one thing:
I do not accept companions.
Stay free of love and hate,
of envy and desire.
Remain pure… until the end of the road.”

I returned to my room,
turned off the lamp,
and lay down as one prepares for the final crossing.
When I closed my eyes,
I saw Emptiness pull a wooden chair beside my pillow.
He sat quietly,
as though the entire night had gathered within his stillness,
then leaned toward me and whispered:

“Sleep peacefully…
I am your faithful guardian.
No one else will keep watch over you.”