The Bird

 

He falls plummeting towards the earth and hits the ground with a gentle thud.

It might be some sort of rejection; it might be mutiny which we can’t understand. Or disown from the beloved land to the land of pretending

Ali, the fruit seller, called Naser and me closer when he saw the little bird.

 "Hisham, take it". He suggested

My heart tightens as I see the little one on the ground, motionless, without hope, fearless and dazed.

I feel proud of the fact that they have called me to be the one to nurture the little soul. Has he been exiled from his beloved land?

Is he perhaps a prophet who has been exiled by the non-believers?

What is your story little one?

As I move closer, I see the blood on the tiny head, it is unbearable. He is still alive but his breathing is erratic, he lies deathly still, his pain greater than his instinctive fear of a giant human.

Ali has just finished sweeping the pavement outside his shop and Naser points casually towards the little one.

Both of them are certain that there is no hope for this little one and that he will soon become the delectable lunch for the neighbour’s cat.

“Oh barber look at him…you enjoy meditating and pondering and nurturing” smirks Naser.

I bend lower, looking down at the small wings stretched hopelessly on the pavement, his form haggard, preferring death to this life.

“Oh, little one!” I whisper, taking him carefully into the palm of my hand.

Is my hand so huge that it can hold a complete life without any effort?

A life that contains a heart, a complete nervous system with feelings and a little brain with thoughts and may thousand ideas?

I feel him in my hand, death is close. His emotions move my heart and I feel his pain as if it was my own.

Why did you fall?. What is the meaning of this?. Why are you giving up on life?.

Is this your set out path by the birds philosopher who has no one to believe ?.

Or the poet who has no one to hear?.

Or the saviour?
What IS your story little bird?
Did they deny you in reality and you chose to leave?
Did you waste all your energy trying to convince the birds of the true value and the deep meaninig of flying and the beauty of the sky and looking at things from tha hight?
Do they think that the beauty of wings and adorning feathers is of more value than the cleansing of the soul?
Do they prefer ornamental beauty to the beauty within a life?

Are you Don Quixote of Birds?
It's so clear that he has no group to worry about him. It is a known fact that when a bird falls, others of its flock hover overhead chirping and chattering and yet there is not a single one above the head of this little one.

I feel his loneliness, it is clear to me that he has no one.

Maybe he is an old one with lots of experience and the youngsters are rebellious wanting to live the free life, not wanting to be bound by the rules of the elders.

I carefully carry him inside my shop. I ask myself…why are your wings so broken ?
Are there no more dreams of a better life?
Do you isolate yourself from reality also…sitting in a safe corner…pondering on your own morals, own ideas, own principles, simple dreams?

Do you realize the implications of such a life?
I start with nothing, I will lose nothing. Can you bear the riskof being far and losing the tangent with life?

Are you this lonely bird who looks to the distance seeing others and thinking, “I should be there”

Were you refused and thus became me little one?

Are you punishing them by your absence wanting to teach them a lesson?
Did you thank that they would grieve and say, “a good bird was amongst us”?

Then you are dreaming my little one.

The hustle and bustle of life gives no one the time to remember, no time to look back; they are all moving forwards in this quest for happiness.

Their happiness formed by a beautiful feather and properties.

Golden dreams do not exist any more except in ones imagination.

Alas little bird, you are punishing yourself and not them.

They do not care; they have no time to care.

What is your story little bird? Your secret, Your pain?

I sit inside my salon in front of my mirrors…looking down on this little creature.

What a sweet moment between life and death. I listen to him, hoping that he will whisper to me his last wish, wanting to know so many answers to my questions.

Are you refusing to live because you feel that you do not deserve life or is the opposite?

Will you meet my two deceased cats, Eman and Shavoki? Tell me little one of your pain and suffering.

Was your life worthwhile…or was it filled with garbage?

Was there happiness and truth or just pretence?
Did they humiliate you in everything that you did?

Was that why you left them?
By this time, I could feel that his breathing had become more laboured.

Mahmood, the carpenter, enters my shop and glances at the bird in my hand.

“Has he come for a haircut?” he smirks “Give him some water!”

I watch as he leaves with a grateful sigh.

I take my handkerchief and carefully wipe the bird’s head. The wound is deep and his tiny beak is filled with blood.

I then take some tissue paper and dab the blood carefully from his mouth then I take a clean handkerchief and tenderly place it against his tiny head.

I feel him relax in my palm, pouring out his special secrets into my heart.

An interval of silent union passes between us and I decide toget him and myse;f to the best resort and read to him from the Quaran. I feel this calmness as I randomly open the Holy book.

I read the passage that is before me.

“Whatsoever on the earth or in the heavens glorifies Allah and He is the almighty and the wise. He is able to do all things.”
I feel the words and I know that the precious bird I hold in my hand feels it also, there is no distinction in our languages, he understands as I do.

“Allah is the first (nothing before Him) and He is the last (nothing is after Him), He is the most high (nothing is above Him) and He is the most near (nothing is closer than Him) and He is the all-knower of everything”

I continue reading,”and to Allah all matters. Wherever you are, He is beside you, He knows exactly what you do or think.”

"Has not the time come for the hearts of those who believe to be affected by Allah reminder and that which has been revealed of the truth lest they become like those who received the scripture {Turah and Gospel}and the term was prolonged for them and so,their hearts were hardenedand and many of them were desobedient to Allah”.

“Know that the life of this world is only a game and amusement, pomp and mutual boasting among you and rivalry in respect of wealth and children (it is) as the likeness of vegetation after the rain thereof the growth is pleasing and you see it turning yellow then becoming straw but in the hereafter (there is) a severe torment for disbeliever’s and evil doers and (there is) forgiveness from Allah”

As I read, I forget about the outside world, submerged in these words.

“And the life of this world is only deceiving enjoyment".

" Race with one another in hastening to your Lord (Allah) for forgiveness.”

The words and the little true life in my hand give me a sense of weightless ness and I feel that nothing else matters outside this salon.

I feel that the truth is lying here in my hand, a life and the meaning of it .

I forget for a moment about the little bird and think about my life. Thoughts that I have long since buried in the recess of my mind come flooding to as I drift farther and farther along my mind journey.

Are there no more dreams of a better life?

Suddenly, without warning, the bird moves more strongly and then in a flash flies away without even a backward glance. I am slightly dazed and bewildered for a moment and also slightly annoyed thinking that perhaps he takes me as an enemy. But don’t I wish him to fly? Did he recognize me when he awoke?
Or are we of such different worlds that he takes me as a threat, as a fearful giant to the meek?. Did he come down to earth just to listen to the reading of this Sura from anyone that he chanced to meet then he will approve or reject?.

Will he now go back and relate what he has heard?. Will he tell the birds about me? Or does he hate me because I stood between him and death?
As he came, I questioned and now that he has left, I question more.

He has vanished into the unknown. I look at my empty hand. It is over. I must return to my world. I feel something that I cannot put into words.

I wonder if he can see me from above?

Will he tell others about me?

Why does he not return even for a moment?

I just want him to know that I am not the person that he needs to fear.