I had visited the library for the first time. I thought, I had found a place to live during the day. I never wanted to return to the refuge camp. I felt alienated with the people, books are comforting. I could just close my eyes and teleport to my place. Feeling the texture of pages and I was in the little remembrance of the past.
The chair felt better, the silence was a delight. The walls were somehow elusive to my situation.I could just close my eyes and teleport to my place. Feeling the texture of pages and I was in the little remembrance of the past.
I could hear the silence, the place where I imagined my mother to read me the lines of the Quran. Such peaceful verses, each word was her presence in the room. With my eyes closed, I could only wait for a strange voice to wake me up. Any word to strike my senses to realise that I was no more home.
But I had found the place to stay, I suppose. Not aware about how long, but I will cherish this moment. Professor Atlas, one of the many unique people here. I am stable in my mind because I talked to him. Every conversation led to a discovery about myself.
I could see him entering the Library, He came and sat on the chair right next to mine.
“This is a great place to be on the campus.” He said it in a low tone.
“Reminds me of my room. Sir, can we visit your place later some day. I suppose I should be in the camp, I am not aware of the consequences of being late. Is it possible to talk here?” I was not sure about things, things were taking place in no sequence. To faith, I had surrendered, but I feared further extension.
It seemed Atlas had a naturally smiling face or something, he rested his books on the desk and look at me. “How? Your mail. You talked about the boat. I had shivers reading it. I know I should not remind you of the terrible scenarios that you went through. But for an eighteen-year-old, you look a lot more content after what you faced.”
I could not help but smile to the question he asked, “There is a poem, written by Rumi, the famous poet. I don’t remember the pain, I suppose I was numb. But once I left my senses.
“There is a poem, written by Rumi, the famous poet. I don’t remember the pain, I suppose I was numb. But once I left my senses… You may think what came to be mind was just some dreams but they made a lot of sense. The poem, I remember…
What is that jug? Our confined body, within it, is the briny water of our senses….This is a jug with five spouts, the five senses: Keep this water pure from every filth, that there may be from this jug a passage to the sea; so that when ou carry it as a gift to the king The king may find it pure, and be its purchaser; After that, its water will become without end, a hundred worlds will be filled from my jug.
That is all I remember. An old man, reciting this poem in my visions” The smile had left shivers to my senses.
” It goes on… Stop up its spouts, and keep it filled from the jar of Reality: God said, ‘ Close your eyes to vain desire.’ A vision? The subconscious mind is a wonder. Rumi is one of my favourites, This poem is powerful but I wonder if true. It is time for me to leave. You, young man, revive more such verses.” Atlas got up, gave a big smile and left.
Nobody would know how powerful the visions were, I could never explain how real they were. I only hope to know the meaning. I ran my hand on the desk and closed my eyes to visit the scattered head of mine.