metanoia

"Come, I'll lead to the wedding" said a little girl directly after grabbing me from my hand.
One week before that night, a friend told me that "real life usually appears where people don't look". So when the tour guide suggested us a tour in kom ombo temple (Aswan), I turned my back on, noticed that small village on the other side of the river, and decided to go there.
At the village, all the doors where widely opened. People were hosting us comfortly, with hands opened to narrow paths, leading eventually to wide areas, even wider than my mind, where the blue birds come out from ink, while writing poetry. Faces also where familier. for someone anxious, home seeking who finds exile at every single place, the whole village seemed like one big home to me ..
I followed the little girl who grabbed my hand, she in turn followed the music, we entered a small mud house with no ceiling. I looked at the sky above, remembered a story I have been told the other day at edfu's temple.
That day I was so busy with drawing ladders across my mind. trying to get out of my poem. as a result, I got lost inside the temple, room after room I couldn't find the way outside. Some old man showed up, who turned to be the temple keeper. I asked him to lead me to an exit out of the poem. you mean out of the temple, he said. On the way to the exit, I noticed hundreds of stars engraved over the ceiling. When I asked the man he told me that ancient people hidded here from Romans for like eighty years. Back then, the temple was buried underground. So when they had no sky for several years, they created their own. at that moment, i knew. i needn't drowen ladders to get out, i was one.
Back at the wedding, a woman hanged me away from my thick thoughts. She leaned at me saying "come to dance". She took my hand to the other room. Back there an old man was singing in Nubian language, later I knew he's the bride's father. words came out of him like fumes. Dissociating into colors, red and green, encases the dancing woman with a smooth auora, i asked for her name, she said "is'aad' which in Arabic means "joy"
back home, I entered my room, noticed the florescent stars my sister hanged on the ceiling. "Now after capturing the stars, the sky belongs to us" i smiled. I spent my night weaving stories with no need to closures, and knocking doors, with no need for anyone to open. During writing a new poem, a blue bird came out of ink, and landed on my shoulder. another one built a nest in my heart