Drawing for “Nour Nasrallah”

Mufaq Masood writes: Wound in the imagination

Ah, ah…

We heard him shouting over, mixed with the sound of his head hitting the edge of the stone vestibule, we were pointing the light of the pale lamp forward, and we didn’t imagine that a bumper stone could hit our heads as we walked for hours In the convolutions of the strange spiral crypt.

We came to this distant rugs in search of gold until we were guided to buried maps that drove us towards the entrance to the basement, but she didn’t tell us how we would return to the surface of the Earth!

What is important is that we are lost in the spiral of vestibules stuffed with mold air and bedbugs that stick to the front of our noses as we gasp. Each of us carried his treasure, a copper box of gold. And we noticed at the last break, and we all checked his gold, that the gold shine was slowly fading into a grey glow. The two of us estimated that it was up to time and the accumulation of dust on the atoms of gold, and he said in an accent not without taunts and regret: gold needs light to glow..!

His conclusion made sense. We accepted it as we looked at pieces of gold that turn into charcoal black as if they were pieces of stone coal newly extracted from the subsoil, and here is the flashlight losing its last breath to leave us irreversibly.

That was why his head hit this force in the cantilevered stone from the roof of the stone crypt, he cracked his head deep and screamed

Ahhhh, I hurt my imagination.

We stared together at his wound.

Your imagination. ؟! Are you kidding us, dude? ؟!

Let’s Bandage your wound.

No. No. Let it bleed… I feel things I don’t have time to tell you. I see pictures in full colours. I hear voices in endless parts. I smell all the creatures and each of them individually. Let me bleed alone. .

We couldn’t believe what we heard and proceeded to wrap his head in the fabric of our national cotton leftover underwear, whispering the fact that he was definitely sick and might have been raved by a loss of hope, and wondering:

Have you read anything about this before?

As I remember, yes. It’s a weird rave and can make one crazy.

We finished bandaging his head until he calmed down, closing his eyes relaxing, and we were standing in front of him waiting. We don’t know what happened, and then all of a sudden… He flipped over his face, laughed, sobbed, then went standing up, danced like an elk and sang with a charming voice about blue birds that loved red peaches. ‼We were sure of his madness when the bandage was removed and his wound was touched to show us his palm, which was contaminated with bright greens.

Do you see? The imagination’s blood is green. She’s definitely bleeding.

Freeze us motionless… He then stared at us with two burning eyes:

I smell light… Follow me.

Run like a male Wild Goat. We stayed stuck for a long time before we were sure he would never come back to us.

Three days after his departure, our food and water is running out and we are still walking breathlessly, and whenever we remember our mate… We said hopelessly: He’s crazy…! He must have died in a closed crypt.

But deep down in our hearts we were seeing with a pale imagination how he walks under the sun outside. And we were saying to ourselves: If we followed him…..

We are still circling in the branching crypts, warning of the low edges of the crossings. If our heads hit without attention… ! That was our last hope. Last


Share on facebook