1001 Reverberations Of A Word Turned
into Kalimat through Majida Al Rumi's
A word turned into kalimat.
Early morning, I knocked on my father’s door and entered his chambers.
Majida’s voice vibrated and vibrated into Kalimaten laysat kal kalimat.
I hugged father tight, as I do every morning, and the pen started dancing, singing words, in Arabic — kalimat:
Words are not like words… Kalimaton laysat kal kalimat. Words are more than words. And words aren't like other words.
So right she is, words are the unspoken song of my father’s heart.
Words are Starry Soul’s breath embracing me.
Words are the plum soaked in the inkpot of your being.
And, words are the rhythm of your heartbeat turned into poems.
Words are you reaching out to me and me to you.
Words are steady. Words are balance. Words are us as one cadence.
And, words are the song of us — together.
Words aren’t words. Words are the whisper of the mind popping out to say: Hey, I know you are. I am too. And every syllable within words stretches to you.
For words are true.
Words are the sparkle of the universe singing guidance.
Words are the stories we tell ourselves and others about ourselves.
And, words are vowels, consonants, the very tempo we cannot do without.
By God, words are the breath of the Divine flowing within, in and then, out.
Words are the waterfall of senses of the here I go, here I create, here I manifest, and here - I write.
Words are the brush designing the rapture of you in poems and books.
And, words are life.
Words are the signature of me and you being alive.
Words are fun turned into jokes.
Nevertheless, words are your laughter ringing in my ears.
Words are your shadow writing them on a black notebook.
Words are love stories.
And words are the image and the power of visualisation poured on paper.
Words are the strings of the soul played by the violin.
Words are Damascus talking to me, every day.
Yes, words are mamaie, my precious grannie, speaking to me in Wuthering Heights through Caragiale’s nights.
Words are you — a dream.
Words are a painter of words answering with jet lag, making me linger and wait for every syllable of the word.
Soaked in sparkle, words are the spell of magic from the bucket of the Universe poured.
Words are the truth lingering to be spread.
Words are our souls the very day we met.
And, words are the knowledge of you drawing me back home.
Words are roses and petals of books.
Words are the stars of your soul falling down on me.
And, words are the glow of you, dearest falling star.
Or, as the Soprana Majida Al Rumi - the nightingale of my beautiful childhood in Damascus sings it best: Kalimaton Laysat Kal Kalimat… Words aren’t like words.
And Your Soul Is. And I find my Self deploying me Home.
Kalimat are my Home and I find my Self in the blanket of your Starry Soul.