The book wedding has ended… to begin
The wedding of the book has ended, so the passion of the wedding begins between the eye and the word, and between the soul and the scent of our mother tree, from which the book came, grew, branched out, and excelled in stealing away hearts and opening doors, for a world that yearns for knowledge that gives awareness a space for contemplation, and an opportunity to take breaths, away from wars and anguish. The wedding ended with its joys and cups. And the night began to destroy the core of consciousness, and the day began to braid the braids of thought, and life opened its arms to extend to lovers the tones of the poem, and it colored the eyelashes of bright dreams.
The book began resting in the hands of someone who had chivalry, boyhood, tone, and intelligence, and wild horses that arranged the feelings of the words and walked slowly on the side of consciousness, and at the corner of joy and joy of conscience for a person who opened his eyes to existence and did not find a companion except God. He did not find a path to joy other than him, he is the one soaked in ink and soundings, he is the one who is loved. Which destroyed all expectations, theories, slander, and the tyranny of passion for something other than the book. The astrologers lied when they dated the end of the book and said that its time had passed and disappeared, and that technology would bring the smartest and most effective. Its leaves, the tender touch of its folds, and the shared feeling between man and seed, glorified by tenderness and warmth of thoughts.
When you read a book, you embrace existence. You reduce fatigue with breaths as if they were the murmur of a wave in the conscience of the sea. You move through fields and chapters that take you to where Ibn Khaldun stayed up in refuting formal logic, and Ibn Rushd took upon himself the issue of compatibility between religions if a person takes into account their virtues and moves forward. Ibn Sina followed the example of the distinguished men who read the human soul not through an empty cup, but through analysis, scrutiny, examination, and probing the history of individuals.
These men read life in its details and details through a book preserved in the conscience of the tree that gave everything, even from its bark, man made oud and incense.
Now that the publishing houses have begun to travel and the book fair has closed its doors awaiting a new date, silence now ensues, the night is sweet and the pleasure of sitting at a hidden party in order to listen to what a book reveals and what the writer of this beautiful priestly journey is thinking, is the journey of a lifetime for lovers of the word and lovers of speech. What is written on pages that carry the most delicious noise in the folds and folds and between the edges of the words, in the bowels of meanings and in the content, content and content.
Here, somewhere in this world, sits a person for whom God has provided the opportunity to embrace the most beautiful face, the face of paper engraved with ideas and secrets revealed by the minds of creators. Here in this place, this lover loves a kiss from a word, a touch from a phrase, a smile from a story, and a beautiful predicament in seizing an idea. So that after a while, a novel, a story, or even a heartbeat that passes under the eyelids of the language will become an alphabet overflowing with what the rivers of the world provide and what the Gulf knows, the Gulf of Nahamin and their salt-paste songs and the sinkholes of long travel.
#book #wedding #ended..