30.
the old man bent again
before the blind shaykh
what age had done to arch his back
had only been intensified by his sorrow
his breaths were steady and measured
like a rousing song fading to its own conclusion
the body weak yet the mind no less brave
it was clear it wouldn’t be long
before his body lay in its grave
“it is not death i fear
what i have earned i will meet
nor do i seek to retain the possessions
slipping from my hand
but to have them dispersed among strangers
when the body of my son still breathes
perhaps if i could have audience with him
once more
i could recover his mind
which only seeks torment in the desert
but is he still alive”
he was quiet
as he watched his shaykh stroke his beard
he then dropped his gaze
for his shaykh was still due
the respect of lowered eyes
even if he was blind
“the greater question is not whether he is alive
rather
what will content you to release this binding
that will only torture your approach to death”
he paused
“if you have not the patience
to await his coming to you
seek him out
you are destined to meet again before you die
even if it is at your last breath
fallen upon the desolate sands
that consume many...”
that was enough for as-sayyid
to grasp his staff with hope over caution
his companions, one of his nephews with a friend
the people perceived them to only be pallbearers
escorting the desperate old man
to his chosen grave,
the desert
his wife refused to see him off
angered that he, like their son,
chose to abandon her for irresponsible pursuits
thus, the last search party for majnuun
departed without even a camel
as-sayyid had absolutely no fear of dying
knowing the time of death is predetermined
solely by the most high
only the means of how we meet it
and the quality of our living
are partially within our influence
for him, it mattered not
whether death’s encounter
occurred in his bed
or upon the desert sands
what mattered to him
was the chance, perhaps his last,
to reclaim his son
as they made their way beyond the town limits
his elder hobble became infused with great strength
such that the beating sun was as a palm tree’s shade
his thirst quenched by his dry, hot breaths
his hunger sated by crumbs and the words of prayers
and when their food supply was exhausted
by an intuitive grace,
they continued to encounter oases with fruit
and travelers who provided them with sustenance
but no one could offer signs of where to find
the elusive treasure they sought
weeks later
when it seemed his wearied body could bear
no more
a peculiar stranger shared a meal with them
and then these words
“i almost hesitate to confess what i know
for the place where he hides
is more likely to become your grave
than a place of reunion
a glen of death that breaks the spines
of even strong young men
yet if you survive that perilous descent
he lays within a cave at the bottom
that is patiently waiting to become his tomb
“he is wasting away
on the edge of life’s terrain”
* * *
when the light of day broke
as-sayyid endured walking underneath
the expanse of the sun’s transverse across the sky
as it made its final bend toward the western horizon
they arrived at the dreaded destination
the hearts of his companions were immediately
struck with fear
they stepped back, reluctant to go any further
the sight of that remnant of a descending path,
steep and unforgiving
was littered with the skeletons of birds, animals,
and men
yet at the threshold of a cave below
he saw a famished limb extending from the shadows
as-sayyid made known his wish
to proceed alone
his companions offered no resistance
this was a place of death
the air was stale and putrid
and even the few colors present
were paled by the intense struggle to survive there
with each descending step
he felt as if he was plunging deeper
into a realm from which he might not return
the bones and decaying flesh
yelled silently yet distinctly to the aged man
retreat!
before the last of your days are stolen from you here
or are imprinted with scars so menacing
your life will never be the same again
when the steep decline receded
to become more level
his remaining steps became no more easier
the being on the threshold of the cave
hardly resembled his son
that once beautiful qays was basically a skeleton
with a thinning layer of darkening flesh
barely breathing
his countenance frozen in a foreboding stare
he was only partly in this world
mostly somewhere else beyond
nearly his entire body lay exposed
covered with scratches, sores, bruises,
open wounds, and scars
the devastation of his body only partially mirrored
the havoc upon his mind
this his eyes refused to hide
the old man,
sunken in despair,
collapsed to his knees
and shouted the name of allaah
but his voice was so broken
it only emerged as an unheard whisper
his sight became clouded by tears
as he crawled toward the languished body of his son
with a slow turn
the fallen one
looked up into the crying eyes
of the aged one
“who are you?
and why do you cry your tears upon me”
even his eyes had been transformed
they no longer beheld any trace
of the sweet gaze of qays
yet he had to respond,
say something
“do you not remember me
who has been praying for our reunion
for all these years
have you forgotten your own father”
“i have forgotten myself
there is only layla
she alone”
“oh qays...”
the old man’s hope broke
yet that shattering loosed something
within majnuun
the pain of this overcame his forgetfulness
moved him to tears
and like the former qays had done before
he grasped the knees of his father
to lay the tears of his eyes upon them
something in the familiarity of this embrace
moved the aged man to reciprocate
with more tears
and a loving clutch of his son
all had not yet been lost
within the ravages
of what their lives had become
sensing that a portion of his son had returned
he sought to grasp whatever could be resurrected
from this den of death
he draped the famished body
with the shawl from his own shoulders
to then speak the bellows resounding
from within his own heart
“why do you lay within the fangs of death
when a route to safety is at hand
the loss of life does not beget the gain of love
the cell door has nearly shut, flee before it closes
and imprisons you in an inescapable bondage
of unending anguish and torture
“what does this suffering earn
what happiness does your melancholy inspire
has this incessant rebellion for love
gained you any freedom
the unrelenting ambitions of youth
are intended to mature to this realization:
to accept fate as it is
even if such acceptance becomes the basis
of changing one’s circumstances
to refuse to surrender only invites
the cruelty of being humbled less than the beasts
the very ones who will feed
on the flesh and bones of your corpse
if you cease not with this course
“to reduce life to a mere pursuit of pleasures
is better than this crawl to death
a fleeting joy that indulges today
is worth more than chasing the potential joys
of a tomorrow not in hand
the very breath we inhale now
is worth more than a hundred breaths
which may never come
even if you strive with your whole soul
to attain them
there is no need to pursue that
which will only lead to death
death is guaranteed to find us
when our time is done
“but even if you are sworn
to this path of gloom and afflictions
all tribulations have a point of conclusion
instead of having them end in your death
let them find closure in your returning home
“night is descending upon the last of my days
exchange your pains for mine
and receive with delight your inheritance
dusk has arrived
let not what i wish to leave for you fall to strangers
come home now”
the beaten soul looked at the one soon departing
and in his eyes it was clear
he had had enough of this unfulfilling agony
although he would not say yes
neither would he refuse his father’s request
and that was enough for the old man
he would accept the concession
of his son’s unresisting body
and bring him home
❍ ● ❍