Friday, January 2, 2015

Film: A year that left.




By Adel Khozam.
Translated by Mona Khozam.

We met in the beginning of the year, and at the end of it, we will meet to fly. Two doors, both of us, to enter towards love. Our hearts are two windows, overlooking a love that is revealing half of his face in my face and showing all his soul in all your soul. This happened in January.  When our fingers intertwined and when we walked towards the light until our shadows disappeared in it. In February, wings made of bright feathers grew over our heads until it became a cloud under our own two feet. And the moon was a ball we played with in the sweet nights.

When March came, filled and wet by the last winter’s rain, it did not tell us goodbye, but left laughing because we perfumed him with a kiss of silk, and we printed on his forehead a stamp to exit from the corner.

 April was nothing but a man calling us to get into the café. So we did. And we poured the honey of the last happiness left in the dishes of his visit. When we left, May was standing in the clothes of a captain. He took us into the aircraft to congratulate nests of lovers just born.  And we have seen how in the midst of the earth, how it cleanses love if it becomes pure and cleans rivers of despair. And a woman said to us: help me, while she was running in a land empty of love, and the sky was smiling black clouds.

Do you remember in June, when summer bit our warmth, sitting in the balcony of rain, and when the sun entered on us, reaching out her hand asking for some light. I remember when the sun turned into a small mirror in your hand and your makeup turned a different color to what looked like a resurgence of silver mixed with gold.

Hello July. We invited him to sit next to us while we closely watched the wild flowers open, then we hung the pendant on his chest when he left. In a moment of a professional photographer snapshot, I and you froze standing on a remote coast in August. In the picture, swarm birds were leaving above us, and a Ghazal was staring at us with sleepy eyes.

Then September came and woke us in a hurry to take him into the wedding of seasons. So we put the clown hat on his head, and we left him between two autumns, laughing. In October, the candles bloomed on top of the birthday cake while we danced around it. And these mad aspirations were shared with all the shadows. On the calendar of November, we inserted a green rose. And from the pages, we erased the days that consisted of traces of arguments and life smiled at us from new.

Oh gorgeous December, Why did you put the ring of hope on our fingers before you left? And why love, your royal crown flashes on the head of each year, filling us from new in the magical white destiny.

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