Souk el Hamidieh regionDamascus |
| The images |
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He was very shy, that first time. At the beginning, He wouldn't raise his eyes, afraid to break the movement, to stop that exalting dance which he felt all around him. The smells of her body made him blush, as He risked a glance upon the play of lights and shadows that was laying on her skin. Furtively, ho took another glance, then quickly removed his eyes towards the ground, suddenly feeling that He went too far, that He intruded. He could only hear her, smell her, touch her.... The second time, He said: This is the time, this is the place. For better or for worse, He decided to unveil her, to let her dance under the sun in her crude nudity, watch her rest at dark, possess her and be possessed by her. This is the time, this is the place. Slowly, He zoomed at her, starting to shoot. Oh, miracle! She smiled, She moved, She responded, turning her movement to that of the Eye. And they started dancing and dancing and dancing.... That is the time, that is the place. Suddenly, He detached from the Eye, Jalousie, in need to meet her face to face, eye in the eye. But there She was, fading away already, vanishing slowly in the horizon. She left him, they left him, for the eye couldn't resist the appeal of her movement. Here he was alone, for being too jalous, too demanding, having captured but images, while the Eye was still swirling with Damascus.
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Fourat Y. Aschkar November 1996
Dedication
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al@mashriq 970321/20010319/BL