Saturday, March 25, 2006

The Door to my Veranda


 


It's old and rusty, it creaks, the rod is bent, the handle hides a few sharp edges, the wood licks the floor. But it opens onto my childhood, and my future seems to lie between the long fern branches, the vine, and the geranium. I still open it when I go to visit, I still hurt my fingers sometimes, and it still, somehow, feels great.

5 Comments:

Blogger hashem said...

oh, Fouad...I'm so nostalgic now.
When I went back home, opening our house's old wooden, rusty-handled, "abajour" was a thing I missed alot...
Oh, I'm so home sick.

12:27 AM  
Blogger JoseyWales said...

I hate to correct you Fouad, but in the land of dreams and of the hazy past; it's "baranda". ;)

7:54 AM  
Blogger Ghassan said...

I missed balconies altogether! let alone mine at home...

10:01 AM  
Blogger Mirvat said...

it's like that dalida song 'les grilles de ma maison'. very nostalgic.

11:25 AM  
Blogger Samer said...

don't you like that distinctive smell of the abajour? It brings me some nice memories.

9:43 PM  

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