A Romantic Vision

The Start

I centered around the passage.
Folded half broken agonies in the suitcase.

Homogenous clouds take away something from the sky. A silent black breeze winds up the packing.
The temper melts and like tears from my soul the rain drops. The thunder bursts, we tremble.

He and I, both scared of lightenings.

The rasp.

We gather around the car, four slender fingers and a thumb press the flesh of my arm. A heartbeat for heartbeat exchange. For a moment my head found a home on his chest....for a moment.....

These slender fingers examine the face, the eyes for tears and declare me well before the permission in which this distance I resist.

The nauseous smell of the car fills my throat. Looking over the small window of the car decorated with raindrops, a half-assembled smile said 'Goodbye'
Mother smiled at him and Father patted his back.
Then quickly the lips undressed and the broad plain nose of his flared up.

"Goodbye," silently I sighed.

"Take care" his voice came through.

The car filled up with musk. Mother beside and Father ahead. Blood bond strangers.

The paper wrinkled but not of age; belittled this heart. How can a piece of paper change everything?

Re-reading those words, these eyes heaved.

12 September 2009
Dear Laraib,

Sorry, we left early from the funeral.
Your Father was needed urgently.
Darling we hope you are alright.
There is bad news Laraib, there is a lot we are hiding....but no more.

Your Father's business has declined. We are going downhill with every moment. Grandma cannot take care of you alone. Darling return to us. We know it is hard to time for us but we have to move on. Grandpa would have wanted the same.

Your Dad would send someone to pick you up. Please do not resist. We request you Laraib please come back home.

Give our greetings to Grandma.
Love you.

Yours lovingly,
Mother.

How do you send greeting to people who have ceased to be?

She passed away too early, it is so overwhelming that she could not bear the world without Grandpa for even two months.....

"Darling.." Mother arranged the curls behind my ear, "We have Mr.Suleman's son Omar coming tomorrow, meet him"

Looking out of the window I realized we were too far away from the city, the clouds had stopped mourning but has the mourn ceased?

The radio made strange sounds, the signal went weak. Father smoked his cigar, talking to numerous people interrupted by the rude connectivity.

Shallow and deep both scenes invited us. I rolled down the window glass.
Shall the past of so many happy memories be mourned or the uncertain life to come be welcomed?

White jasmine flowers on the pavement, some crushed, some fresh, some bloomed, some dead.
The air carried snowflakes under breaths cold clouds hovered. Unnatural but sophisticated fields passed. long hours settled on our tiring eyes.

Lastly, a faint smile kissed my lips. A yellow lit mansion in complete dark appeared. We stepped out... Covered with green dark murky dirt 
a cement plate, plucking a large leaf I scrubbed the surface....and there it was, the place my Grandfather always talked about
Sidra-Tul-Muntaha.