At the book fair in the bright capital, stars shone, windows opened, waves crashed, horses galloped, birds chirped, words fluttered with wings of joy, gaps depicted the scent of flowers, and eyes radiated with passion.
At the book fair, the riders of dreams expanded their steps and began to trot through the abyss of time with passion, and the caravans of love moved in the steadfastness of passion, writing to man the story of a time whose ears blossomed and whose moons shone on the land of goodness, the land of revered sand, and the waters of pure toil.
On its last day, the book fair appeared as a guest traveling, enveloping Lvivzadeh and his loyalists, collecting pages and books for a soon-to-be meeting with the capital, with lovers, with those who bid him farewell, and in their eyes tears swam, washing the edges of their eyelids with a flash of patience, and greeting this guest who arrived like a breeze, and left like a wing full of nightfall. The place was crowded and then he announced the flight into God’s vast, splendid courtyard.
On the last day, something happens, and it is a human habit and a sounding of a nature as old as time. On this day, as you follow those who set off on their journeys and bind their ties with tired hands, you feel that something is happening in this world when the book announces the extinguishing of the light so that the world can sleep after a joyful ceremony that fills the souls with joy. And give hearts awareness of the importance of being in the presence of the Word. Because it is the flash of lightning in the bowels of the cloud, signaling the occurrence of rain.
This is how the meditator feels the dramatic scene in the last days of the cosmic meeting on the earth of the world, our capital, Abu Dhabi. On this day, things change, conditions change, feelings change, internal music beats with the melodies of parting, and bells echo so that the world can hear how a word has meaning when the word has human dimensions that have no limits or specific terrain. It has no identity other than the human identity carried on the shoulders of a novel, a poem, a symposium, a lecture, or a spontaneous handshake between two palms or two kisses.
In the book fair, the beginning is not the end. In the beginning, the birth of a world formed on the side of love, and in the end, the closing of a page, and perhaps another page will open its window in the near future, but no matter how bitter the plane takes off to different destinations, hope is pinned on its return. In the coming period, and it may be a year or a month, the important thing is that the salt of the heart is the presence of the book in the hands and in front of the eyes, erasing the trace of the cloudy endings. This is the sounding of the book, this is its secret, this is its experience, this is its rain. It comes and goes, but the sweetness remains in the veins. The trees, and in the hearts of the birds, the sweetness remains in the dreams of those who loved the book, and preserved the affection between the ribs, and in the rings of the heart resided the word read, just as a cloud descends on the surface of the earth, inspiring it with grass, toast, noise, humping, and pouring, and everything that comes to the mind of the heavens and the earth, and everything that rages in the earth. Thought of birds and trees.
In the book fair, only the book is present, and in its absence, the shadow remains pages that protect the eyelashes and kiss the eyeballs. In the book fair, faces fill the place with presence, and others are illuminated by childhood dreams, and the book applauds its lovers as if it is saying, “This is a moment for us to meet, and before the sun sets one day we will be out of range behind the doors.” So let us sip from the sweetest words and the brightest pages.
#book #fair
