Calamities don’t exist in reality; there are those things which seem pleasant for the time being, and then those happenings which don’t–no matter how hard we try. Disasters of our everyday life occur though they don’t really do; they are but labeled as such, for want of a better word. I have witnessed many a catastrophe, knowing that each and every one has just been a dust in the ever-blowing winds of a lifetime; and that each has been a notion so misconceived and misunderstood. A world-full of cataclysms has not yet been able to prove to my doubt its being alive for my soul has never acknowledged its organic existence; therefore it has always been overlooked like the million other flying fantasies which have forever flown in the heavens of my fragmented mind; But I have always stood and observed as that hurt child who has known of no comfort and calm.
Pain has learnt quite well to simply pass through my translucent soul; its pernicious residue has not been able if even a thimbleful to scar my heart; well, my heart might beg to differ as this ache arises and fills it with this high dose of reality.
Indeed, how—at times truly impossible—to live in a parallel universe, drastically different from the one which we’ve learnt to know as the regular world, as well as live in this one, both at the same time; except that there aren’t only two in one’s case, but numerous; quite a handful; and let’s not forget that time itself—as we’ve forever known it—is in fact very much relative. But I had to survive and I had to simply live and I stood there and just tried to retain a posture which would make me look as tall as I truly ever was; I tried to stand as it suited me and felt right, although my limbs were numb for the greater part of time—relative or not.
Fear, had been long gone when the little boy had learnt to turn that escape amidst the jungle into something more pleasant; a stroll or a leisurely walk; something which a child should never have to know of as long as a child is a child. But this child had to let go of childhood and replace it with a thing so powerful; so beyond his strength, with the hope of achievements.
How would one conceive the concept of finding love and being adored in a warm embrace, in countless arms? Well, if you can get all the love you’re seeking, all that comfort you’re after, in as many arms as the heart could possibly wish for, would you not go for it? If the lack of your soul can fill up a whole universe, is it not that, basically all the love in the world cannot be enough to fill it? And therefore, the self-explanatory justification at hand, of being a travelling lover and a nomad beloved would work as a very solid one for sure. And the tears of comfort will forever fall down and lift a shattered spirit which has learnt to hold its pieces together so well. A shattered spirit has brought an inexplicable esprit de corps so rare.
Tears of the heart do at times find their path where they fit best; the lights of the soul, also known as one’s eyes. But they do know that only in rare occasions do they truly belong there and shall the eyes then brim with bitter joy and hence sighs the heart; one of relief if not comfort.
Innumerous tales shall never suffice though, to narrate the unfinished tales of uncertainty and doubt; of the denial which has ever been the root of that fluttering tree we cherish and adore. Doubt, holds a very tight reign no doubt; but then so does hope. In all its magnificence and galore it finds the shattered soul, the fluttering tree, the aching heart and the lost child who has long suffered and has probably had enough. The child is to be lifted elsewhere, where a child does truly belong.
© Sina Saberi – 17 January 2011