LOST - Part Two

WARNING: PLEASE READ PART ONE FIRST

As the sun rose to the sky radiating its brilliance on the vast land, the man spotted a narrow path on the side of the road.  Tired, hungry and confused, he chose to take the dirt path.  Within a mile, hidden behind an aged oak, he found a humble farmhouse.  Climbing up to its porch he knocked on the door, but received no response.  Peeking through the dusty windows he saw dishes in the kitchen sink, a jug of milk on the table and a chair pushed back.  He walked to the sides and back of the house, past the cackling chicken coop, following the stench of a pig sty, stepping into something wet and soppy where he was surprised to hear a profanity escape his lips.

Before he could figure out how to get the stinky slush off his shoe, a dog bark reached his ears.  He looked up towards the sound and saw a big, hairy mutt come his way.  Unsure whether to run or hide, he stood frozen in his mucky shoes.  The dog stopped in front of him and proceeded to sniff him up and down, his long, matted hair covering his eyes completely while his tail sat limp, unsure whether to wag or rise up in assault mode.

A woman soon appeared carrying a basket on her arm.  Her dark blond hair was tightly pulled back into a bun showing off her wide, stern forehead.  He noticed an ample bosom hidden under a homemade dress with tiny white flowers and something dark that he wasn’t sure if it was a design or dirt.  At first, she stepped forward with caution and then a wide smile lit up her round face like the moon.

For a moment they stood staring until the dog began to bark again.  He looked down at the creature and then at her, slowly taking a step back.  He began with apologies, rambling about hunger and fatigue, the long road and the narrow path, darkness and light, fuzziness and clarity until finally he blurted, “I don’t know who I am.”

To be continued….

LOST - Part One

A sliver of light split the earth from the sky gradually expanding its brilliance.  Darkness around it receded, allowing colors to seep in.  A man in a ditch by the side of the lonely road opened one eye.  Surrounded by faded darkness he touched the earth around him feeling the wet sticky mud cool his fingers or sharp blades of grass poking his tender skin.    As he tried to stand, his hand brushed against something soft and in the soft glow, a bright yellow weed glared at him.

He brushed his pants and sleeves and climbed up to the side of the road.  His silver hair shone in the emerging light while a salt and pepper shadow appeared on his face.  He raised his left arm and scratched his head turning it from one side of the long road to the other.  He looked back down into the ditch and tried to recall how he had landed in it.  His head felt light and foggy at the same time, the past and future missing from its memory zone.

Crossing the road he felt the movement of his body comfortable, feeling fit and hungry.  He sat on the side watching for a vehicle.  In just a few moments he saw two small headlights heading his way coming away from the breaking horizon.  He stood up on the roadside and waved his long arms over his head, around his body, all over slicing through the cool air.  The car closed in on him, began to slow and just before approaching his spot, swerved away from him, sped up and was gone.  He stood in the middle of the road watching one tiny red light flicker in its tail before disappearing into darkness.

 The man stared after the vanished car, frozen in his big feet.   His arms hung helplessly on his sides as he switched his weight from one leg to another.  Running his fingers through his receded hairline, he paced back and forth.  His forefingers probed his temples pressing harder to recall everything, anything.  At long last he raised his head, looked up towards the gradual illumination that had started to radiate through the sky and the earth.  He looked towards the light and began to walk towards it.

To be continued……..

Openings - Final

WARNING: PLEASE READ PARTS ONE, TWO AND THREE FIRST.

One of Sira’s teachers noticed the change in this strong-minded little girl.  Her two dresses had seams beginning to open and her frail body disappeared in the clothes.  The twinkle in her eyes whenever she learned something new was beginning to fade.  The teacher consulted with the school counselor and together they found resources to help in various ways.  A social worker visited their home and finding the father sober, brought to light how their situation was affecting their daughter.  The social worker acquainted him with the concept of workers compensation, food assistance, rehabilitation, and various other programs available to hardworking families like them.

Under the watchful eye of her teacher, Sira’s twinkle slowly began to return and she absorbed all that was around her with renewed determination.  Familiarizing herself with the new systems, memorizing facts, developing awareness of her place in the world, developing friendships with like-minded peers, she became motivated to seek opportunities.  Her determination to build a life that would be unlike her parents’, a life where she will outshine once again, Sira persevered.

Scoring a goal in the dusty soccer field of her home country, outperforming the boys of her neighborhood had just been the beginning of what Sira was capable of accomplishing.  Circumstances or changes never held her back, in fact propelled her ahead with even more determination.  Walking down the aisle to receive her college degree many years later, she looked around her peers and stood tall among them.  From the stage she looked out towards her proud parents, who had shown her the way to opportunities and perseverance and thanked the teachers and counselors who had guided her towards the path of independence.

 

THE END

EDUCATION, THE ROAD TO FREEDOM!

Openings - Part Three

WARNING: PLEASE READ PARTS ONE AND TWO FIRST

Her friends at school were of a variety of backgrounds who introduced her to pop music, other ethnic foods, colorful sugary drinks that her family could not afford to purchase.  She watched some of them smoke or swallow colorful pills after which, they acted goofy.  Sira began to converse in her new language and sampled some of the exotic things offered to her.  Her gut directed her to focus elsewhere, strive to be the star she was on the neighborhood soccer field back in her home country, to outshine the weak, and move forward.  She concluded that having a command on English will be her ticket to move forward.

She asked her English teacher for extra work and during her long lonely evenings at home, she practiced to perfect her new language.  In just a matter of two years, she was promoted to the mainstream class for her age with her parents completely unaware of her achievement.  Around the same time that she received this great news at school, her family suffered an even more devastating blow.  Her father lost one leg due to an accident on the construction site.

Staying home in frustration and pain, Sira’s father became depressed.  His friends brought him alcohol to cheer him up and before long the bottle became his new best friend.  Sira’s mother took up an additional job and her total income was just enough to pay the rent.  Food and new clothes became a luxury.  Sira spent longer days in the company of her alcoholic father who became verbally abusive over time.  Her mother was either absent or tired and they all were always hungry.  Sira began to eat only half of her lunch from the school lunch program, her only meal of the day, and brought the rest home for her parents.  The family found they were in a situation worse than before coming to America.

To be continued………

Openings - Part Two

WARNING: PLEASE READ PART ONE FIRST

Sira had never sat anywhere but the floor.  The yellowish sofa in her new grandmother’s apartment felt soft on her tiny bottom.   She bounced her body and heard springy sounds coming from under her.  Soles of her feet glided on the rough weaves of the dark green carpet.  She noticed a large stain in front of her where the threads had hardened.  In the corner of the room was a square box that had colorful moving pictures in it and funny sounds came from it.  Sira’s eyes stayed glued to this new magical box and she was hooked.  She didn’t notice over several weeks when her parents left, when they returned and danced jubilantly in turn when each had found a job.  Within months Sira left her new chubby jovial grandmother to move into a new apartment her parents secured.

The first time Sira stepped onto the school yard, her eyes grew wider and wider as she took in all the playground equipment, basketball hoop, swings and slides, clean and paved open space to run around in.  She sat in the classroom on a chair attached to a desk and admired the beautiful clothes on all the children around her unaware, that she was causing discomfort to them with her stares that were held too long.  Her grandmother and aunt had given her two new dresses and Sira wore them with extra care.  She sat carefully and deliberately to avoid any wrinkles and controlled her strong urge to play on the swings to avoid it from getting dirty.  When teachers came into the classroom one by one to teach their respective subjects, she regarded them with awe.  She carefully watched their mouths move not understanding a word that came out them.

Over the next few days and weeks, Sira found friends who could speak her language.  They introduced her to new words in English which she soaked up thirstily for more.  She went home excited to share her new words only to be greeted with disappointment of facing an empty home.  Her mother worked the evening shift at a hotel while her father worked at a construction site during the day and in an ethnic restaurant at night.  Sira celebrated her 11^th birthday in her lonely apartment after school over a slice of stale bread.  Grandmother had promised to stop by but never showed up.  Sira turned on the magic box and watched an animated cat chase a mouse around, momentarily forgetting her loneliness.

 To be continued………

Openings - Part One

The ball touched her foot, spun in the air appearing to be suspended in space as if a planet.  It continued its momentum towards its target landing right in the top corner inside the goal post.  Through the haze of dust rising from her feet she saw her teammates jump up in joy.  Sounds of cheer and boos made way into her ears.  Sira had once again helped the boys of her zone beat the boys of the neighboring settlement.  Smiling she pushed away her short scraggly hair from her face and looked at her dusty feet with darkened toenails.  Running a quick hand over her nose and wiping it off the seat of her scruffy, discolored dress, she waved to the boys and headed home.

Sira heard her grandmother’s voice reach her ears before turning the corner.  Sitting on the ground outside, grandma had her daily collection from the garbage dump in front of her.  As she sifted through it for the more worthy finds from the rest, her words flew in the air as staccato notes spewing out in quick succession.  Sira’s mother sat quietly in her corner washing the meager dishes in blackish water.  Spotting Sira, the older woman pleaded for the granddaughter to fight her battle, to beg the mother to not take this old woman’s son so far way.

Sira looked from wrinkled face to a stern one trying to comprehend.  Her mother stood up, dishes cleaned as much as was possible, and walked indoors into their one room shack.  Sira followed quietly towards the far corner, away from her uncle’s and his family’s side.  She tugged on her mother’s rags that attempted to cover her body and asked what grandmother was talking about.  Her mother explained that the three of them, Sira and her parents were going to America.  Her other grandmother had arranged for a green card and they were to leave the next day.  The journey will be long, by land, by boat and then by land again and Sira had to be on her best behavior.  No, she could not take her cousins or other relatives or friends with her but she had more relatives and cousins in America, her mother’s side of the family.

To Be Continued......

SOULMATE - Conclusion

WARNING: PLEASE READ PARTS ONE, TWO AND THREE FIRST
I confronted my mother as soon as the door was shut and all she did was glance towards my father and burst into tears. The ride was short and soon we found ourselves in my apartment. I had asked Divya to bring her family there before we head out for dinner but they hadn’t arrived yet. I confronted my mom again and she stared down at her shoes, moving one foot from one side to another. An unfamiliar feeling, an emotion I rarely felt surged within me. I clenched my fists and gritted my teeth, the shimmer of my lip gloss almost non-existent by now. The evening had been perfect with the combined show, its success beyond my comprehension, our families by our side and above all, our joint muses fused and integrated in art just as I felt our lives were. I had even ventured out of my comfort zone and adorned a flowing skirt, surprisingly feeling at ease. I was still confused, however by the connection, as if our souls were linked. We had talked about it and she had felt the same confusion, connection, the draw as if we were joined from a past life. Remembering the coincidences of our birthdates and years, I turned to my mother with eyes wide open, my eyeliner making them look larger.

My mother mumbled her confession changing my world forever. Yes, it was true, Divya’s father was my real father, no Divya was not my twin but half-sister, and yes, and my mother had run away from my father when she learned he already had a family in his own country. No, he did not know of my existence and yes the man she married, the one I called dad knew I was not his but loved me nonetheless. I stared, absorbed, tried to remember how to breathe as I pushed my mother away. The buzzer interrupted my breakdown reminding me that my father, real father and my very own sister, the one I was naturally drawn to, the one who was always connected to me through our souls, they were all downstairs waiting to be invited into my apartment, into my life.

I blinked away the surge that had begun to well up in my eyes, took in a few deep breaths, and walked to the buzzer in the tall heels I still had on. A few minutes later I was opening the door to let my new family in, my heart swelling and my eyes sparkling.

THE END

SOULMATE - Part Three

WARNING: PLEASE READ PART TWO FIRST
We met regularly at all hours of the day consulting each other, working side by side in each other’s studio. Our bond grew as with twins who could not stay apart, as if we were incomplete without the other. Many shows came and went, leaves bloomed and fell several times over and our friendship grew. Her parents flew in for one of her shows and mine for another, each accepting the other as a new family member. As our names skirted the world, our art travelled across the ocean beckoning us to follow, we found our wings and flew to galleries over the continents. Our time together became scarcer, our inspiration ebbed, our creations reduced.

In an effort to revive, we decided a joint show in our own city that was home to both of us now. We worked long hours in our corners in the shared studio, convened for meals or snacks at odd hours, critiqued and helped move creations forward warding off any artist blocks. Our best work on display side by side night before the opening, the gallery gleamed just as our eyes. Her parents arrived first, took their time to get over the jet lag and were fresh for the evening. My parents were delayed and made it in time just after the opening.

Busy with guests, fans, investors, Divya and I left our parents to their own devices. They mingled, walked the hallways, contemplated our artwork and we did not see them. The evening came to an end; we assembled in the lobby encircled by fellow artists and admirers. My mother patted me on the shoulder and pulled me aside begging to be excused for the evening. Confused, I inquired why but she shook her head, flustered and pleaded that she just could not face him. I asked who and she shook her head again and walked away. Avoiding a scene I followed her quietly, whispering my queries. I reminded her that she hadn’t been introduced to Divya’s parents yet and she and I had made plans for dinner together with the two families. This upset her more and she repeated no several times. Frustrated, I told her I was going to get my answers from dad to which she leaped and grabbed my arm and held me there. I could feel stares on my back from the crowd, so I put an arm around mom’s shoulder and tried to comfort her. We slowly walked back to the crowd as she kept her head down.

If she had been trying discretion, she had succeeded in doing the opposite. Everybody looked up with inquiring eyes but polite smiles. The only look I noticed that was different, that of shock was from Divya’s father. I signaled my friend to distract the crowd, move them away and wrap up the evening. With the help of our agents, the crowd dissipated and our two families discretely left the gallery, in separate cabs.

To Be Continued.....

SOULMATE - Part Two

WARNING: PLEASE READ PART ONE FIRST
The next day, late in the afternoon I walked into the coffee shop that had once been a train depot. It was close to Divya’s apartment and easy for her to find. Our coffee turned into dinner as neither wanted to leave the other’s company. She was new in town lost in a big city while I was equally lost despite having lived here for over a decade. My collection of friends was few and seasonal as I preferred the company of my paintbrush, the palette, and the canvases. Something in her look and simplicity that kept me entranced preferring for the first time company of another person than my painting tools. She was new to the artist circle, new to the city and even the country, and unsteady in her new found big shoes. Her show had been a grand success and for some reason she had reached out to me for guidance. Over the course of the evening we learned that we shared a birthday and even the year of our birth across the continent. As like mine, her talent had directed her life since early childhood, driven her beyond the norm and ruled her above all. Her inspiration, like mine came from simple details in life but if we were not creating we were not alive, there was no life.

Later that night I sat in my room and pondered the events of the past days. I had ordered coffee, she had tea, I lived in my jeans and t-shirt while she wore long flowing skirts, and I preferred my sparkling water while she confessed to enjoying her wine with dinner. What had driven two people towards each other who had nothing in common other than their love for creating massive pieces of art? Why had she reached out so suddenly and why was I drawn? I walked over to my canvases and started to dab a kaleidoscope of colors with my soft brush, the wooden handle of the back of the brush, my blunt knife and various other tools. An hour later I stood back, examined my handy work, and found myself staring into an obscure but familiar face enveloped in emerald green.

To Be Continued.....

SOULMATE - Part One

She was dressed in a sari the first time I saw her. An emerald green silk draped neatly across her left shoulder, its scarf flowing gracefully behind her. She glided from room to room, champagne glass in hand, rosy lips spread wide into a smile, and short dark hair accentuating her bare back. My agent patted my shoulder and I lost her to the crowd. Several introductions, multitude of small talk, and many polite laughs later I walked to refresh my glass courted by a handsome young aspiring artist. My eyes scanned the room while making sure to nod and smile at appropriate comments and compliments.

My first big show a fabulous success, I allowed a skip or two as I slipped out of the gallery towards the restroom. A voice stopped me followed by a breathless greeting escaping rosy lips. Emerald green had been enamored with my artwork, impressed with the composition and technique and awed at the size of my canvases. She spoke perceptively of details unnoticed by even some of the masters present at the show. Melting in flattery and impressed with her depth, I inquired if she were an artist. She nodded and removed a hand from within the folds of her sari. In it she held a colorful postcard which she handed out to me. I took it, studied it and smiled back at her promising to be present. Half of the postcard featured an exquisite, elongated vase in vibrant earthy hues. The other half had a time and place, for a debut exhibition featuring pottery and other earthenware by an up and coming artist, Divya.

Back in my lonely apartment, city lights flashing intermittently through my windows, sirens blaring 40 stories below, I sat in darkness. Through closed eyelids I travelled back into the gallery walking from room to room. I did not see the massive paintings on the walls that were my babies. Nor did I notice the vivid hues or the striking slashes with contrasting paints. Most of the work sold that night which made my agent happy. Even in this state of dream my eyes sought emerald green, Divya. Something unexplained connected us, her manner of speaking or the way she carried herself with a straight back and head held high, or the fact she was a fellow artist.

A week later we met again, at her show. She looked as glamorous as our previous meeting, in midnight blue silk dress. A diamond shone from her nose, perhaps it was there before too I could not recall, matching her earrings. I walked through the exhibition fascinated by massiveness of her vases with their interesting structure, delightful shapes and unconventional forms. Earthy tones grounded the pots that stood tall and sturdy. After congratulating her on her success, I stood awkwardly, glass of sparkling water in hand. She smiled warmly, thanked me for coming and proceeded to introduce me to her agent and other acquaintances in her circle. After polite minutes, I started my farewell when she put a hand on my arm, leaned closer and asked if we could meet for coffee.

To Be Continued.....

The Tempest Within

His eyelids snapped open to stare at the dark ceiling above him. Water dripped from a tap in the bathroom in a rhythmic decline to disappear down the drain into an abyss. A flash of lightening blazed the room with fleeting brightness followed by the loud boom of thunder near enough to rock the ground.

His arms gripped the sides of his bed as his body lay frozen under the covers. He tried to close his eyes to hide from the tempest outside but the storm inside him raged louder conjuring up images too unnerving to allow sleep. Another boom and he felt pieces rain in from the window as its pane shattered, bringing in wetness with the glass. He screamed unsure if the storm from inside him had escaped and started to live out loud around him. He was becoming buried from within and crushed from outside. The whirlwind surrounded him penetrated him as if it were a ghost elevating him in the air to toss and turn like a toy. He clung to his bed feeling the wetness on his face, tasting its salty flavors, shaking his head to shower away the sprinkles.

His mind travelled faraway, floating over the ocean, flying above a long desert, speeding past the birds, racing with the jet bombers over high peaks. He saw shattered homes below, tattered clothes of dwellers, a deluge of refugees with hunger and loss painted on their faces. He reached out to a child, lost among the forlorn, dried blood caked on its head, dried tears stained on its cheeks. He held on to its little finger to help guide it out of the commotion towards a sanctuary only to be blocked by bureaucracy. Abandoning the tiny, delicate, helpless hand he ran and flew away to safety watching a cloud of dust rise behind him and thunderous uproars pulsate through the sky until the land was flat.

The thunderous roar shuddered through his room, his body quivering from the memory. Another lightening flash pierced its brightness as prelude to the promised boom. The room whirled around him with images never to be forgotten under the cloud of explosive rumble.

Lily in a Pond

Elegant in its serenity
smiling in its grace,

Open in its full bloom;

artistic in its haven
listening to melodic tunes,

Oblivious to its home of gloom;

aesthetic in its preserve
shining in its ambience,

Obliged to be stuck in doom;

exquisite in its tranquility
swimming within peace,

Alive in its foul room;

A lily is not a flower
its pad not its boat
its home not the murky water
its beauty not remote

A water lily is inspiration
delicate beauty so fine
of petals so tender
with a glow sublime.