By Youssef El Kaidi
By Youssef El Kaidi
Morocco World News
Fez, April 8, 2013
I once used to write poetry spontaneously and love my simple verses and words!
I once used to plant roses and water them with my childish hands!
I used to make wreaths of flowers and wear them on my head and around my neck and stray in fields and orchards ecstatically rejoicing in the sublime beauty of Mother Nature and the innocence of childhood.
Truly, I used to enjoy the aesthetic dimension of the world.
I used to catch butterflies, hold them gently and meditate on their wonderful colors, then, out of pity and susceptibility, I release them and follow them until they disappear in that eternal picturesque space.
I used to lie on my back under a large pomegranate tree, and from time to time a flower falls on my body. The buzz of bees collecting nectar above me seemed like a divine music played by a band of angels!
I used to listen to the singing of birds around and give free rein to my imagination dreaming of flying like them. I used to taste happiness in everything… Everything. Even in the sounds of the peasants’ axes colliding against stones in the liver of earth.
I will never forget the image of my father diligently engaged in plowing nearby. When I feel hunger I glide to where we put our luggage. I open the plastic bag. I find crusty bread and dry black olives. How delicious was that food!! When I finish eating I put my knees on the wet clay and bend on the water stream nearby drinking like a lion cub.
When my father finishes his work and get tired, we ride the horseback and go home happily listening to his old stories of war against France; stories that never bored me and that I always enjoyed.
I used to tell him: “I love the valley, Dad. Shall we go tomorrow?” My father was clever and whenever he wanted me to do something he told me “if you don’t do this you will not go with me to the valley tomorrow.” So, I did all he wanted obediently.
My father passed away..
Years and years have elapsed
Thick hair gradually grew on my chin and cheeks
I studied a lot
I knew philosophy, existence, money, politics, history…
I probed into subtle concepts
Life entangled me in its labyrinthine alleys, like most people, and things have become strangely tasteless and meaningless.
I realized that the more I grow the unhappier I get
The big pomegranate tree shriveled up and died!
The river flood swept over the fields and the orchards and eroded the roses I planted and the water stream. The present is not like the past. I go in search of memories to my old paradise. I sit under the dry branches of the pomegranate tree. No birds singing, no bees buzzing and no flowers! Only crows cawing in the sky waiting for my departure to perch on the dry pomegranate whose trunk is inhabited by lizards and snakes.
I once used to write poetry… and my life was, in every detail, poetry.
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