This is a a collection of words that i like the most. it reminds me of the good old days. . . .I can the see the lights when I close my eyes, smell the odour of its antique buildings, hear the gossip of women in the street, see old men throwing bred to feed clusters of pigeons on the plaza. All those memories are seen and felt as though a man is standing in an art show, enjoying the mixture of colours and shapes, with smiles in his face recalling those memories. A place surrounded with trees that bestow shadow for women, kids and old people in an amazing combination of age difference. In spring, we enjoy the green view of its trees, flowers and even the eyes got relieved with the marriage of the green with sunray, as the French called it la Ville des Roses, roses decorated the building’s balcony, the smell of jasmine invaded the neighbourhood, those were my days when first I learned the meaning to live, to co-exist, to take benefit in every minute to live it, to be ingratitude when it comes to your time, to leave nothing for tomorrow, try to have no spare of time, utterly enjoy life. I admired a novel character that her life was ruined due to the word maktoub, why is responsibility then? If we link everything to fate, if so, why should I be blamed because my fate says so, yet it is my responsibility in taking decisions? I could have said no after all, I wanted to live where I belong, that night I did not follow my instinct, and I agreed what others see of life, I just watched them selling my life to the lowest bidder. People are haunted by loving people, but I see it first to love the place where my love is, because after all, home is when heart is, and my heart was just sold to the place. Its smell, places, people, the sound of cars, water rippling, the snow falling, the red light, its unique cold never left my senses. In Ramadan, it is privileged with a peculiar flavour I would say never found elsewhere, I remember those days as a flashback I into my eyes, I still remember the coffee shops, and neighboring the trees I can even recall how many coffee shops were. One old man told me once in an iron bench, that if I live for something, I am not alone, ever since, I have never been alone, my family and I, enjoy any evening it is a subject to re-live those marvellous days. Once I drag the days, my mother’s eyes sink in memories, of mine and hers, drawing a picture worth those lines to write about. I would not have been the last one, who pulls off the latch for good. That was a dot; I put wittingly in my life’s path.
Posted on: Sat, 08 Nov 2014 17:20:20 +0000
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