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The Marble Cube



I never saw a magnificent marble cube before. The gray blending with the white embedded as pieces of a puzzle all over the walls. The concrete floor is a dark shade of gray. I'm sure if I took off my shoes and touched my feet, it would be cold.
Like a guard, the wall selects who will pass through. Natural brightness is allowed, but only the strongest bundles can reach the center of the room, exposing small particles of dust dancing in the beam of light.



Precise geometry is everywhere. Squares, rectangles, straight lines. Constancy and rhythm. No one single curve to ruin the pattern.


Everything inspires seriousness and rigidity. The respectable cold silence echoes in my ears, sometimes broken by a guide.


Suddenly my sight reaches the center of the cube, escaping from the gray boredom of edges. I feel my body slightly bow down, in reverence, captivated by the light that comes from this center.
Strong and vibrant colors, shades of brown, deep red, some speckled blue and green on the spines of the books. Lots of pages of sacred knowledge embraced in a tiny space.


The books wave to me through the special glass, but they are too precious to be here with me, in my arms, on the other side of the moat.


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