It was a drizzly twilight, in a forest where the only thing that looked like skyscrapers were the magnanimous trees. It was far, and beyond those who are not familiar with the treasures that hide in the present.
There was a hill that seemed to me like it carried the wisdom of an old man. I had a feeling that it contained every intelligent being that wanted to gaze at a landscape far away. Maybe the poems of my writers were born from the womb of that hill.
It was still twilight, and the pink layers of horizon peaked sheepishly from behind the hill. Although the sun still didn’t let go of her throne in the sky, the stars were visible, and I traced Jupiter in the heavens.
I stood distant from where it was, observing the motes of dust that were suspended in air. I was impatient to meet him, yet I contained myself to test my tolerance. After a couple of hours, I saw him rushing up the hill, swiftly walking upwards and downwards, adopting the movement of a typical deep thinker. I was nervous, but relieved that he did not look like a monster, but a human being, only marvellously larger.
I tried to approach him, but he fidgeted cautiously, so I remained in place. I observed him as he was eye-contacting me. And behind his gigantic, frightening figure, I read his weakness through his eyes. I grew more tensed as I was losing hope in friendly ways to approach him. So my hands started getting cold, and I was rubbing them as my eyes were still fixed at his big, hazel, glassy eyes. I tried to uncover his thoughts; he was a volcano erupting. He was in so much pain-so much that he lost the ability to speak, it was as if he fought the laws of chronicles of life and stopped ageing, and unwillingly remained an expressionless child. A sudden feeling of compassion from me sprinkled the greenery of his heart, bringing its decay back to life, leaving prints of dew drops on its leaves. I was certain that any passerby who would read my sympathy towards him will definitely call me crazy, for all he would see was our outer appearance, and he did not seem worthy of compassion.
He took slow steps towards me, and his lips plead “accept me” as I was giving so much effort to read him. My fingers traced his hair slowly as I teared. I tamed him, I tamed my monster.
© 2013 ALIA SULTAN