Eid.. childhood friend (2)
This morning, I saw your face as if it was recalling childhood and recalling a swing that shook the heart, as is the joy of first sight.
I sought you and approached a weak figure, kissed the head and the hands, then I listened to a funeral party. I hear its sad drums ringing in my ears, and I feel the breaking of the morning coffee cups. I feel the cracks filling the mash dish. I feel the peeling of henna on the palms of a woman who in the past smelled the scent of henna, just as she smells the scent of childhood. In my body, I tried to get closer and attach my body to the character of a woman who taught me in time how patience is the salt of the heart, but today, on the morning of this Eid, I see her anxious, apprehensive, drowning in a lake of stories, which may be imaginary, but in reality they express television scenes that passed and were spilled. In the heart, it is like the smell of the sea in the flesh of a historical fish.
I heard stories, anecdotes, and novels. I heard what stirs the recesses of the soul, the heart flashes, and the soul swells. I am here in the presence of history, at the table of beautiful, painful revelation. I see one of the women of the beautiful time, overflowing with imagination, and filling the quiver of the universe with whispers, as if she were a wave when filled with whiteness, and like a sidra when she embraced the wings of a bird. .
I imagined her saying and this is how I imagined it, and perhaps it was just the imagination of a lover who loved this face to death:
If I die, don’t bury me
I see who is crying over him
They put my teeth on my body
Say it burned while the soul is alive
So I said with a smile, “Eid, O Lady of the Shrine, is the holiday of bright bouquets, not the holiday of funerals.” Then I held her hands and kissed her scent and washed her palms with tears of attachment to a woman who in my time was perfume and dawn, and morning songs that whistled in my braids to reveal the most beautiful words, while she held my body between her arms as if they were the wings of a bird and inspired me. The warmth fills me with the joy of Eid, and gives me a drink of morning coffee with the smell of cardamom and saffron, and a smile of daytime joy.
The day passed, and the words did not pass except to a memory that preserved the lesson of tender feelings until the rivers of the heart overflowed and filled the conscience of the trees with the fruits of joy that emerged from the pattern of the old days.
I contemplated the eyes, contemplating a face that looked like the setting sun bidding farewell to existence with sunk eyelashes, with tears of life’s disappointments, the weakness of time, and the inability of everything that makes a person completely happy.
I contemplated and contemplated until the day began to fold its cloak of light and go into its absence, just as bodies go to the final resting place of departure.
God, how wonderful you are, O palm tree in the conscience of time, how elegant you are in your sadness, your fatigue, your anger, and in the final chapters of an amazing novel in its narration and transmission of emotions.
Sleep, ma’am.. Sleep so that the body can rest.
#Eid. #childhood #friend