Plants needs to be nurtured everyday just like us, they can’t be abandoned under the scorching sun for long ,for they will just drain out of loneliness. But not this one, I brought it from a distant deserted land where it was accustomed of it, living by itself. Maybe ,he wasn’t like it from the beginning, it must had some friends and family, it surely had a past, everyone has. It wasn’t this dry, it didn’t had such pointy spikes for whosoever it touched, ready to pierce the skin and quench its thirst from the blood of the one trying to touch it. It doesn’t matter if it was a caring touch, deserted lands and grilling sun above the head eventually turns even the softest into the most isolated, isolated under the endless, clear sky, isolated with the vision extending to horizon but still so deeply rooted to the earth that it cant reach the place where the two distant lovers meet after the long excruciating journey through the fathoms of the sea and peaks of the mountains. To the place where they finally kiss, somethings are meant to be viewed from a distance, for if we come near the light of joy will enter through our open wounds and will hurt our darkness. I think we love our darkness, at least we can say its ours. It doesn’t belong to anybody else, only we have right over it in this departing world, we just cant let our fears depart, after all its all we have got.
Gardening is an experience which brings back the time when my son used to run across the garden destroying the grass. I never understood the value of the destroyed herbs and shrubs in my garden until it was gone and now I am sitting with a box of his sent letters, a relic found during my exploration of old stuff. He began writing me when he was pursuing his graduation, it was a sweet pain receiving his letter on every Sunday morning, it reminded of the time when he was in me, the same feeling, the same butterflies.
In the initial letters he just described each and every detail of his room, college, friends and teachers. The way things were happening and how they turned out to be different from before. How a different city and culture was changing him. He might come out of his home but his home will never come out of him. He told me instances when his native language turned out to be a complete disaster in front of his new friends but the greatest thing was, he was accepted as he was with his flaws which is a rare thing in this cruel world. He found out the right friends for himself or they had founded him. Aren’t we all want to be found by someone?
He also told me about his experience of love with a girl, how he wanted to take care of her. That night, my eyes forgot to blink. The thought of him loving someone else was just enough for me to have sleepless night. It was a mixed feeling, I wanted him to be happy, but I wanted him to be happy with me. I think it was just to be selfish in some matters especially the matter we have brought in this world. Luckily, it didn’t lasted long and he came to know that a mother’s love is purest. He don’t know the truth completely, I don’t want his illusions destroyed of me being a human also. The truth will be revealed later on, I hope.
In the last letters he wrote, the content of the letters became short. He cut short all the meaningless things and wrote about the things which really mattered, our relationship. The fragrance of sweet things ready to be eaten by him, the walk on moist grass in the morning, The ringing of the same church bell from the time before his birth, he started missing the sounds he which once was annoyed him. The chirping of the birds suddenly became a hymen away from home, in the city of horns, singing of birds was a rare thing. The common things had become uncommon. I wish he was still with me, alive. The cactus in my garden standing along with the green and joyous plants reminds me of myself, its my personification. The truth that he nor his letters will come again never hurted me, these were the lies that I kept telling myself. May he rest in peace.