HOME DOES NOT DIE

HOME DOES NOT DIE By: Majed Dodeen I read in her enchanting eyes what a pretty delicate and sensitive poet reads in the eyes of an innocent child. Her image is imprinted in the depths of my heart as a picture of a pure lamb - moving quietly and freely among the flowers and the trees in a piece of land in the spring- engraved in the mind of a subtle artist. I felt she would be my consolation after a journey of alienation and deprivation. I felt she would be my hope after a trip of pain and forgetting. She is a unique blossoming rose in this existence. However, the vicious thorns are surrounding her and trying to strangle and bury the freedom of her life. I must free my awesome flower from the prisons of thorns and must stamp out the roots of thorns at any cost. The rose must grow breathing the oxygen of freedom. My own freedom is an integral part of hers and her freedom is an integral part of mine. What would life be like or worth without freedom? I said to myself: It is the right of the moon to embrace the star. I started weaving the strings of love accurately & making the medal, I dream to hang on her compassionate chest, to symbolize the love that comes out of the heart to settle in the heart. We all realize that what comes out of tongue fades and vanishes before it reaches the ears. I see that this world has become a picture of her eyes. I know her by heart. I painted, without her knowing, her picture from my own memory. She is a sacred spot, a wonderful piece and a rare masterpiece to the extent that my pen got shy to know its way to colors. Loving her granted me rebirth and revival and I became carrying the heart of an innocent child and the ideas of a wise man. Millions of words accumulate on my lips but they are shy to be launched and uttered to express about her beauty because access to her essence & spirit cannot be via words. Silence is an expressive language without letters or words. Silence is a spiritual language capable of producing human feelings, emotions and translating ideas and idioms. It is a language that transcends the language of screams and sounds. I live a pretty coma. It is an enjoyable coma to the extent that I do not like to regain consciousness at all. I no longer remember whether the sun rises as usual or her sparkling, proud and glorious forehead distracted me from thinking about the glowing of the sun? Finally, I decided to reach out to her by the same hand that had painted her. The same hand that wrote many poems on her beauty, The same hand that got hurt, with streams of blood, by the thorns to rescue her, The same hand that dreamt to hang the spiritual medal on her chest, The same hand that caressed and coddled the strands of her hair, The same hand that vowed to be loyal and faithful to hair, The unchanged hand that always harvested and picked from her abundant fruits, I offered my hand to her as I am accustomed to her intimate love and genuine affection. I waited for her arrival, but she did not show up. My heart began increasingly trembling. Terrible silence descended which resembles the silence of death. I hear untuneful and inharmonious voice saying: 'Put your hand back! You won't find her. She passed away. She is a faded & weathered rose'. She will never come back. I screamed: 'No, no, a million no! If she passed away in your judgement, she did not and will never pass away for me. She is a vivid living picture throbbing and residing in my heart, mind, conscience and soul. If you had lamented her with words, ceremonies and plays, she had not been passed away for me. I will never hear the lamentation or sad elegy about her. I will never admit or accept the rumors about her death because she is the right and the right does not die. She is the good and the good does not die. She is the justice and justice will never die. She is my homeland and my home will never die.