Saturday, October 10, 2015


As I was trying to cross a busy road today I saw few old men hand in hand also waiting by the curb to cross together.

Although they were together laughing and smiling making small jokes on each other but I felt that actually they were very very uneasy.

I could see that in their worn out faces and deep milky eyes like they…one to all…. were missing something….

What was that?

What is actually they were missing at that moment…a stick….an umbrella…or….what else?


Freedom to be alone…to have one’s own space…freedom of being not under any obligation…but this is not what they want….now…they like to be with people…young or not young all the same….they now like to be loved…cared…hugged….they don’t want to be free anymore.

In my present age …I can give up human beings very easily …. I think I can and actually I did get rid of few of the very bad relationships…. calmly.

It never occurred to me that one day I might start missing all those forgotten or thrown away people.

I might remember every detail …I might feel guilty of being so cruel…. I might see myself alone and would never find anyone to love…care or hug me.

One day I shall also with my frail body and all the time forgetting mind find myself alone by the curb and would not remember that either I am to cross the road or already have done that….

I might also miss something or someone but will not be able to name it.

Right now…I like to be alone….all by myself….alone in the house…alone by the road…shopping…reading….routine work…all alone….but….would I feel the same when I get old?

OLD ? Am I not already old ?

I really don’t want to be an old hag….

I really dont want to feel sorry for the choices I made.

I really do...want to die before this Freedom of mine becomes my slavery.

The source of my suffering and loneliness is deep in my heart.
This is a disease no doctor can cure.
Only Union with the Friend can cure it.

Rabi´a al-Adawiyya, translation by Andrew Harvey and Eryk Hanut – ‘Perfume of the Desert’

No comments:

Post a Comment