The-Tree-Of-Life

Scattered Thoughts

Two windows gaze out at the world.

One is bustling and fizzling;

The other is present but idle –

Comatose.

One has seen and loved the imperial city that lies in the heart of Europe

– a land rife with kaleidoscopic landscapes and treasures.

Home.

My Lieblingsstadt.

The same window has also seen and has admittedly taken for granted the “Paris on the Nile”

– a land rife with kaleidoscopic landscapes and treasures.

Above and underground.

The city of a thousand minarets.

The same window has witnessed many other wonders of varying degrees.

The other has felt them.

The other has paved the way for the appreciation of hearing.

Funny that one should grow to hone their hearing

And value hearing the world

Opposed to seeing it.

A city is a city made of all cities.

As is a country.

A stream.

A puddle.

All miniscule parts belong to connected whole.

Borders and names

label and divide,

But all matter  

– living or not –

aboard this planet is a tenant

Of all bodies of water,

Which connect all strips of land,

at the end of the day,

Albeit in varying conditions.

All parts do not belong to the future,

nor do they belong to the past.

No one is better than another in truth.

Ode to the imperial city.

And all others.

Ode to all landscapes;

Works of art, they are.

True masterpieces.

Ode to war and peace.

Ode to light and dark.

Opposites.

Balance.

Equality.

Utopian dystopia…

Or mayhap, dystopian utopia.

Stone and glass.

Museums.

Catacombs.

Cemeteries.

City halls.

Parliament buildings.

Bazaars.

Festivals.

Various street markets.

Palaces.

Architecture.

And much, much more.

Archives.

History galore.

Art and culture galore.

Rugged terrain and jagged lanes.

Abysses.

Stars.

Crosses.

Stars and crescents.

Wheels of Dharma.

Oms.

And many more.

Rainbows.

Orbitals.

Orthodox.

Unorthodox.

Black.

White.

Yellow.

The near and the dear one.

The old and the young.

For weak and for strong.

For the rich and the poor ones.

For black and for white.

For yellow and red ones.

Let’s stop all the fight.

Same species regardless.

Same state; living.

How different the world would be without labels and borders;

Without anything to fight over.

Merely living as human beings.

With one central objective;

Goodness.

Kindness.

Benevolence.

Envision…

An alien, yet phenomenal world where living and non-living bide harmoniously

With nothing overhead but the unfurled, endless, phantasmal, corporal cosmos.

A place without a heaven or a hell.

No cause for martyrdom.

No sovereign lands in need of defense,

Nor any system to catalyze some grand crusade.

A place where each and every one of the seven billion plus neighbors is a comrade.

No avarice or hunger plagues.

How idyllic…

Rivers streaming into expanses of seemingly never-ending shades of blue.

Beauty that’s dubious,

tampered with,

raw,

ever-changing,

tranquil,

ethereal,

rugged,

staggering.

Evergreen hills and lucid waters.

Children running down heaps of garbage.

Children running down streets rife with

Imperial and modern buildings;

With slopes and curves and breaks.

Sand and dunes.

Grass and sprawling nature.

Brown.

Beige.

Green.

Red.

Grey.

Black.

Iridescent.

Dimly-lit.

Multifold.

Never-ending.

Mixing.

Separating.

Lovers.

Dreamers.

Believers.

Beggars.

Refugees.

Bohemians.

Travellers.

Artists.

Writers.

All tenants of a world with wide-open arms

That is taken for granted and often forgotten.

Hatred is taught.

It can be untaught.

You start with a clean slate.

A monster lives in us all.

What that monster becomes varies for all.

A monster is

Ghastly,

Frightening,

EVIL.

Or is it?

A monster is

Misunderstood,

Illusory…

A concept.

A state of being that perches itself on a wall

And waits for the wind of its owner to embolden

Or dissolve it.

It fades.

And it grows.

It evolves.

It perches itself atop a wall

In which landscapes of

dreams long gone, yet ever-so-present reside beneath.

The stellarly onyx roof vigilantly gazes

Down at the iridescently atramentous world that is stippled with

Phosphorescent and lifeless lights;

With kaleidoscopic landscapes

– and it waits.

It waits.

It breathes.

It watches as the cacophony of illumination; of unity is attenuated

And sighs with relief when it returns.

It lives.

It waltzes.

It battles.

It overcomes.

It persists.

It ceases.

It sings.

It mourns.

It plummets.

It always returns.

Listen to the world.

Listen to its tenants.

Look at the world.

Look at its tenants.

Listen to your heart.

Feel your heart.

Live by your heart and you can do no wrong.

Live and let live

for the sky to cease its anxiety and breathe.

For an illuminated world.

___

By Maya Abouelnasr