A malfunction in the mood of the universe disturbed my joy in the new year. It was as if when I walked barefoot on the lines of fire, I stepped on a hidden bell and woke up its ignition. It is as if when I carried a huge pen on my shoulders and crossed the paths of those who were silent about their pain, I became in the eyes of their children an interpreter of mysteries that time could not explain. Here they ask me: What is the beginning and the end? So I blow up a yellow balloon and release it in front of them into the vast space until it disappears. Then their wives come and ask me: How can we be guided to love, when we see the ships of lovers sinking and their hats floating on the water? So I choose to tear my shirt in front of them so that they can find a picture of my beloved tattooed in the place of the heart, and a description of my dreams in her dreams.
Here is the year 2023, hanging its bows and going to sit on the erasure calendar. As if what happened was just a repetition of the threads breaking out and getting tangled again. It is not important here to know what is right and what is wrong. Because those who will be born in the new year, they, their nannies, and the writers of their dreams, are not required to correct the wrongs of the past, but rather to live with great joy until this joy turns into light, and the light into words, and the words into a truth that will not be changed by the change of time, no matter how different people struggle to interpret its meanings.
I am the message of the future, said the director of the Museum of High Ethics. We believed him as a child, and we stood in the queue of those seeking perfection.
I am the truth sandwiched between two lies, said the presenter Al-Zaman, and a thousand men proposed to her, and many men threw fake rings on her doorstep, and bored snipers watched her through the eyes of their rusty rifles.
Do numbers really change us? Do we cross from year to year on the bridge on New Year's Eve? Would we change if we crossed this bridge? Or do we just throw away worn-out hats and renew them, but our reassured heads under them are not renewed?
Tell me: Does reaching love require high stairs to climb, or a free heart? If the woman you love happens to live on the other side of the year, will you go to her free of the burdens of the past year, or will you arrive carrying with you all the thoughts of your past?
Tell me: If a man came jumping towards you happily carrying a bouquet of roses and fell into the river, would his few poems be enough to keep you warm next winter? Or will you extend your hand to him and accept him as a truly worthy guest for your new year?
#Year39s #Bridge