Paradise by: Fatima Azeem

Paradise

 by: Fatima Azeem

The clouds, cotton sheets laid bare, with fine wrinkles here and there, appeared as though a man himself had run his fingers through the sky and let golden streaks of light beam through. Honey seeped everywhere– a little odd–yet, there was no origin to point out, as if the Sun hid away from seeking eyes of the public, the same eyes that would squint and lower their gaze when the star finally decided to show. Naked branches swayed among the trees, listening to the wind carry bird songs for the deaf hearted. It was a wonderful day, a wonderful day indeed. No being alive or dead could thank God for serene imagery like this, not unless they were witnesses to painting’s coming alive and planting themselves in the reflection of our eyes. And were the Angels in the sky weeping? No, that wasn’t it. Weeping was the one who could live to see Earth flourish in rich colors and different animals, find rocks shaped like a crescent moon that could possibly be found on Neptune, and have diamonds shine– share stories through constellations– all while staying among the charcoal Heavens and the story listeners. Spring was right here, at the doors of our humble residence, and there was always a trail of flowers to make our bed. And though they would wither with the changing of seasons, the people of mud would pray for another year added to their lives, just so Spring would come again.