Beauty Seen is Never Lost

Strangers. That’s what we were. Outlines, figures, passer bys maybe, with no thread in between. We arrived in a foreign land, with our luggage only, and a head filled with scraps- expectations, fear, excitement, and intimidation. No thread in between.
Then came the ceildah, the dance night; clacks of shoes on wooden floors, music melodies dragging us right into the core of that foreign land we just embarked on.
We met that night; we conversed, sugar-coated words were passed between us; few; yet, they marked the beginning;
somewhere along that night, a thread, was tied.
I was drawn.
They were those kind of people who were overwhelmed by existence, by beauty, by idea by thought and memory; those whose life sometimes became too much because they couldn’t bear to accept reality as it was. They’d doubt, they’d question, and they’d weep for it all.
In castles and palaces, they’d slow their pace, and listen intently- to every wall, every statue, every canvas- to the curves in the doorknob, the engravings on the fireplace, and the words embedded in between. In their wake, everything, everything, became impeccable.
They’d talk literature – of words they’ve swallowed once upon a time, of plays they’d marveled on, of characters, of places, of scents and textures lost in time. They’d disagree, they’d reach out and hand ideas, they’d flip them, mold them, and dwell upon them for a while.
They’d talk politics – of nations they’ve mapped, of presidents, of policies, of civilizations, and empires. They’d tuck the globe under their arms and wander with it.
They’d talk society- of flaws they’d wish to scrape off, of molds, of broken hopes, of ideologies they’d wish to demolish. They’d create a momentary utopia amongst themselves, and watch it disperse in seconds.

There was :

The phenomena- eccentric to a world, that knows nothing of the chaos she could bring to it. Truth perhaps, one, the universe itself wont be able to bear.
The spirit- She’d see that line, that’s placed so far beyond our existence. She’d know of it, touch it, and simply believe. Leaves would speak to her, branches arch their way for her to lean on, and trunks would yearn for an embrace. The heart, of everything, and everyone, lies right there ; inside of her.
The sunshine – Surreal, twirling around life, with that enviable tranquility; it drags you in and makes you wonder “ what is it, I was worried about?”.
The melody- she’d leave a trace of colors behind , everything would simply
float around her; lyrical, whimsical, and light as a drizzle.
The reality - She’d know of those footsteps left behind, of wars and battles, and she’d tell it all. Intact she’d keep everything, past, present, and future.
The mystery - Behind her eyelids, the world lies, with all its miraculous wonders, for she sees it all. She’d crawl into poetry lines, into realms only pages know of; she’d tiptoe on pavements, and whisper to buildings. She’d dance in the rye, and find God there.
The life of them all – She was the equilibrium that held them all together; the norm, falters in front of her, for she was the change it always feared. She’d reach far, she’d reach very far.

Nothing, could be quite as beautiful.

Posted by Diddlina at 10:51 AM 2 comments  

As kids, we extended our hands to that plastic box of crayons located at the middle of the round table we shared. And we drew that house. Everyone knew of it, for in our small minds, that was it. Triangular rooftop in red. Brown squared front. A rectangular door in the middle, and two squared windows with a cross inside. In Kindergarten, that was home. That was our home, every single one of us.
Now, as I stand here with my graduation gown and university degree, I realize, I can no longer hold a crayon, and home doesn’t fit on paper. Home was embedded and woven so precisely, in those four years I’ve spent in this place. Home is that girl sitting amongst the crowds clapping vigorously for me; pride hanging like an aura around her. Home is that classroom over there, overflowing with ideas, opinions, theories, clashes, and answers that are strung together in my head, offering me an exceptional glimpse into a world only I know of. Home is that professor over there, who with his unyielding passion, showed me that creativity was a necessity not a choice. Amongst everything, Home are those hearts that subtly became one; those friendships that made me believe in the possibility of a ‘beautiful world’; those beings who never flinched, never doubted, never strayed; whether I was intact or in pieces.
For here, I’ve loved too much, and I dreamed, too much. I’ve seen the beauty and the tragedy of human nature with all its shades. Here was the place, where my words became a proof of a once-upon-a-time solid existence; where my ideas were built upon, talked about, and handed over. Here was the place where I felt it all. The gap between 17 and 21, right and wrong, extreme hate to ultimate attachment.
Maybe that’s why I ache now, maybe that’s why it’s hard to step out of the water.

But there’s more out there, so much more. And my greed has no limits nor outlines.
And this home?
It’s permanent as long as I am.

Posted by Diddlina at 12:30 PM 0 comments  

In her loving memory,

The invisible camera was dangling off her limp neck. She stood there, right in front of them, a shadow of a ghost stealing glimpses of what could’ve been. They were playing charades, impersonating their favorite cartoon characters; and that innocent laughter almost made her lifeless heart beat. How much they’ve grown. No longer crawling, no longer teething, no longer drawing crooked alphabetical shapes on walls, no. They were beautiful, well-grown individuals now. She looked at Fay, who was lying on the carpet, acting out a scene from Sponge Bob Square pants. When she last saw her, she was barely six. A little girl, with glitter on her nails and butterflies tucked in her braids. She was a fragile being, that girl; too afraid, too cautious, with eyes always filled with unshed tears threatening to fall.
But this girl on the carpet is almost 10 years old. Her voice; radiant with confidence. Her laughter; shook the room to its core. Her beautiful eyes glistened with enthusiasm, with joy, with life.
It could’ve taken her breath away, if she wasn’t already: a breathless ghost.
She looked at Mayed,
Standing tall, with a giggling smile, that reminded her of summer days. That boy who knocked on doors before entering; who hid chocolate bars at every corner. She remembered how his pockets were always overflowing with gum wrappers and how his heart contained the world. How he’ve grown, how he became. How articulate were those sentences he uttered, and how poetic was that laugh. Her knees felt weak, and her fingers could almost trace his face.
And then there was Haloka and Mais, or so she used to call them. Huddled in the corner, absorbed in their own version of the game. Their voices, thick with liveliness, trying to fit everything that needed to be said.
She’ve last seen them communicating with singular words; random shreds of childish thoughts. But now, their conversations were sentences, a beginning to an end and an end to a beginning. She broke to pieces at that sight, at the cruelty of life, and how it snatched all this away, or she was the one that had been snatched too soon. She would never be part of this again, they were merely people in somebody else’s story now, not hers, and never will be. All she could do, was raise that mental camera she held onto so tightly, and take a photograph of that beautiful but heart wrenching reality.
CLICK.
And she dissipated into the nothingness she thought she became.
Only she didn’t know, that she was right there, in each and every one of them.

"And if you were with me tonight,
I'd sing to you just one more time.
A song for a heart so big,
god couldn't let it live. "

Posted by Diddlina at 10:53 AM 1 comments  

“ What’s Utopia to you?” the scholars asked, “ and this world, with it’s astounding flaws and burnt out stars, what would you change in it?”
Where is this place? She wondered, and was it just a dream? For those people she was surrounded with at that moment; were out of this world.
Those scholars were illuminated, with a well of knowledge that was capable of defying gravity, of building civilizations, and tearing them to immaculate pieces. She couldn’t believe that she was in their presence. She couldn’t fathom the fact, that she was actually, taking part in their discussion. They were asking her, about the world. They were questioning her definition of Utopia, not knowing that her Utopia was them. Her Utopia was, that state of mind they possessed; her Utopia was that brilliance they exhaled, that originality in thought, that freedom of expression, and that undenying ability to absorb the sharpest tips of this universe.
“ Utopia would be made up of individuals; bricks that never look the same, never act the same, never think the same,” And yet she thought, those bricks would be able to create something phenomenal, just by achieving that sense of being. Just like you, just like you. she thought
“ And the world? “ they asked
“ Passion, i'd let it drive it. In schools, I’d implant the importance, of liberating the human ability to follow it’s passion, and I’d take society’s stone-set standards, and place them in sand. For nothing, should be solidified.”
She looked them in the eye, and saw realms, territories they’d marked with that profound mind of theirs. She saw history in creation; she was never one to believe in history; but they, she was sure, would be the fundamentals on which everything would be able to stand on. For who else dares to delve deeper into the core of life, rather than tiptoeing on it’s edges? who else chooses to question? To doubt, to ask, to over-judge, to over-think, to over analyze every tiny little atom ,who?
Only those, who were born, to be the pillars of societies, those who scrape off the surface of humanity, and assess what’s underneath. They, were everything, she wanted to be.
“ What interests you?”
“ Television Shows, with protagonists drawn to accumulate everything that’s rarely expressed in reality. Truth. Professionalism. Integrity. Critical thinking in the face of social niceties,”
It wasn’t trivial, she knew, for those interests, had set her apart and gave her a comparative perspective, for she was wise enough to know what to take from them and what to leave.

--------------------
She never knew that,
At that moment, while she was in that room taking part of what she believed to be the most intellectually stimulating discussion she’d had in years,
Somewhere, in that world, a flame had been ignited. For SHE, was the change, it had been waiting for; and SHE was the Utopia it impossibly sought.

Posted by Diddlina at 1:55 PM 0 comments  

We’d spontaneously decide to have a stroll in the Zoo. That’s how we were, impulsive, irrational, with a tad of insanity. We’d reach the gates of the Zoo and as always we’d mock the city’s inability to create a better establishment, we’d discuss the pathetic state of the walls, and we’d finally compare it with other Zoos that we’ve set foot in during our lifetime. We’d walk in and start with the flamingos. We’d watch them for a few minutes, and then you’d make a comment about the beauty of their feathers. “ They look like watercolor paint” you’d say. I’d remind you that their beauty is supposed to lie in their ability to remain still on one leg, and you’d shrug it off as a “cliche”. We’d walk towards the birdcages, and watch them flutter desperately from corner to corner. You’d make a sad comment about how a bird’s existence depends on its freedom and I’d remind you that you had a parrot at home. We’d then move to the Ghazals, and we’d be stunned into silence for a few seconds, mesmerized by the golden creatures, and then you’d say “ It’s been said that my name holds the meaning of a “ Ghazal””. We’d stop for a snack, sit on the bench, and talk about the future. You’d look me seriously in the eye and ask me if I had decided where my passions lie. I’d know then the purpose of the outing. “ I am indecisive!” id says. And then you’d do what you always do; underestimate yourself at my expense. You’d tell me all about the opportunities you’ve missed; all about the dreams you’ve wanted to attain; and finally you’d tell me that it all lies within me. And then, I’d feel it. You’d make me see it all. The future, I’d own it, and tomorrow, I’d soar.
.....
That’s how I’d imagine it, because that’s what’s really left. Shreds of memories, shreds of imagination, and shreds of the “now” that doesn’t include you. But, I certainly hadn’t soared, and I’m scared. I’m unable to make the right decisions; and all I’m doing is in the realm of “ appropriate”. You used to tell me that I was the one who embraced the word “ crazy”, and that people would envy me for my ability to stump fear.I can hold snakes and tickle spiders; but what about that damn fear that resides within? What about that?! I can’t hold time, and every day I’d tell myself “ Today, I’d be”, I’d find myself at the end of the day with a promise for tomorrow.
It kills.
That’s what I get for flying higher than I am capable of.

Posted by Diddlina at 10:31 PM 1 comments