By Huda Hajaji Ahmad
Every evening they would meet at the coffee shop opposite the house, play the table, exchange the jokes and tease them with their throats, and from the window window I keep watching with a number of the companions, standing aside from their side. ; Close them tightly, refreshed by the scent of cloves and jasmine with my hair curls; and other flower buds that bloom. . | Very modern, this cafe is equivalent to the age of our move to this narrow building. The furniture of our house was neither old nor luxurious, of course. . In the heart of the city my father worked there twenty-one years from the offices of the vast building in the high heaven
(The National Company for Spinning and Weaving)) Whenever this name is going through my fingers, my mind clings to my father’s image from time to time, running to the manager’s office asking to be allowed a new advance. If you spend more than you can afford, your loans will increase your interest. . Try to balance income and spending. My mother said with a voice full of sorrow, and your father had to replace another part of his pension before his death, and the rest was not enough for us to live, and my mother was forced to sell some furniture; . . . . Is it possible for a chronic illness to hang on to her chest, to be satisfied before he consumes another pound in our unarmed home?
Of the ingredients of life. * * * * *
As our eyes met, they exchanged a silent conversation and read something different in his wide eyes, feeling warm and dancing a heart that played a wonderful melody. A song composed by Shaji said, “You are the new neighbors. . ! I replied shyly. . .
A few months ago here he said with half a smile. . .
I know this she said in Habor. . You know what too. . ?
He said: Your name. I grew up beating her heart, I asked him his name asked her – you have brothers. . ? ! She said. . .
In the countries of alienation we dispersed. | |
and your father ? She lowered her eyes and died two years ago. . Nothing is now included in our home, my neighbor and my mother. I work long hours to save a living and to fill the need for the mouth and the body. He said: I love you with all this. She increased her life and said: “My mother happened to you. You will see your vision.” She felt a real joy and a gold bracelet wrapped around her wrist. He repeated. . I should travel. She said winter is going. I am afraid of travel, I will prepare the days until the next winter and I slept eagerly and I waited for the second winter and the beautiful nest
It integrates between her eyelids. I promise not to split. . He said that his news had been interrupted. . The archaeological clock of the wall, dripping with rainwater, moves very slowly. The time goes by. . The place contained a harsh cold, moving membrane I wanted to see, I felt the walls of the room overlap, I almost suffocated, my eyes widened on the flash of lightning breaking into the room. In extreme fatigue, my hand was filled with the flowing threads of rain and did not hide its intensity. . My mother in the corner is dying. . Shakht. . But my shadow is hard. I will not resist the surface of the glass rose the rhythm of the beads of rain and burst thunder loud
I wondered if the winter rains were washed away and the summer was over. . . ? ! ! The mother mumbled as she flew into the wall. The crack has widened by the wall. . . I said as I hung up on the edge of the window I could see now clearly. Her gaze swept the columns of the crumbling wooden ceiling, which was dripping with heavy water running through a mid-ceiling sweat at a certain point that was falling gloomily. In this case, the room will be filled with water and I will be covered in my session. I will bring in the imaginary warmth of the flame that is being pulled away by the heat of the wood. The growing water lagged behind the trapped window, after exhausting the numerous attempts to close the hole in the middle of the ceiling. . . .
Translated by : Elsaid Mohammed Amer