Beloved reader,
Can you remember what happened to you two hours ago? Two minutes ago? If the answer requires some consideration, we must hold each other. You must hold onto me, and I to you. And release. Beloved reader, My sight is failing and failing me - like the foxtrot, a dance that I never learned to master; a dance I appreciate like a foreign fascination: never mine/ never mine/ never mine. I am not afraid. What do they call this? The voice in my head whispers softly: 'imaan.' I'm almost fruitbat-blind, my memory is faltering, but I'm not afraid. What do they call this? The voice in my head whispers softly: 'qalbi xarir.' I cry happy tears as I walk down the street in open defiance of the norms of this strange country; this strange country with its strange customs and its strange people; strange people like me. I cry happy tears and I say, 'Alhamdulillah.' Beloved reader, I cannot give you a reading of what will happen later today or tomorrow. I ain't clairvoyant. But I know how I'll react to small and seismic toils and triumphs. I will continue to till the softest soil of me, and murmur the message in a million different tones. I give thanks/ give thanks/ thanks. With love and solidarity. Diriye
Image by DIRIYE OSMAN and ROBBIE EWING.
Song of the moment: 'Feeling Good' by SY SMITH.