Ramadhan - Creativity One

One Day

Today I sat in the office where I work. I was sitting alone. Behind me were two pretty girls, and walking all around the office, like constant mice, were also many other pretty girls, none of whom I knew of course- I am still fairly new in this job. During Ramadhan my sense of sight is somewhat dulled (although the sense of smell becomes stronger I think). I can literally see things just as clearly as I normally do of course, but my Ramadhan-mind is always slightly removed from Earthly thoughts, even on the very first day, and subsequently, I don't attach the same level of significance to the things I see with my eyes. They don't penetrate me. Which is a good thing. Needless to say, the amount of time I spend even glancing at a female for a second is radically reduced during Ramadhan, but of course, this only serves to make the times you do catch yourself slipping all the more noteworthy. With that in mind, at a certain point in the afternoon one pretty lady walked past me. I was standing still with a piece of paper in my hands. Perhaps I had the faraway look in my eyes, or maybe it was only inside me. I don't think she noticed either way, but as she passed I wondered if she would smell nice. 'A nice smell!' said my male instinct, 'that would be so nice!' (he's always up to no good...) And so she breezed past, walking at top speed as she was, and I waited a second for that gust of wind (even in an office there are small gusts of wind). The smell never came though, and the gust of wind was shy, or more accurately, unwilling. It was unwilling to satisfy me. This is a month primarily about sacrifice, and so I suppose that made perfect sense. I went back to my seat and thought about how dangerous it all was, all this looking and smelling and sensuousness. A phrase came into my head a few split seconds later. I took out my pen, then realised I had no paper (this often happens) so I eventually found a tissue in my bag (this also happens often) and I began writing on it (yes, that too).

What I wrote constitutes todays work of art.

note: should you be unable to read it (and you should be, it's an awful photograph) then I have typed it up below, with the original line structure intact.

I cast a glance, a cautious glance, over the edge of the cliff, which is in
front of me. It's a pleasant enough day, although in fine English tradition,
a sense of greyness pervades. I am cautious to take any further
steps forward, even though I am still two or three feet from the edge.
Something pulls me though, something which stands out, a hint of bright-
colour, over the edge, on the side of the cliff. The danger is strong.
I feel it filling up up the tanks of instinct and feeling which reside in my body,
and which have been empty for some time. I push my head higher and
forwards, in spite of the numbness the danger pushes into me. I'm no longer
thinking though. I see the red and yellow of something, the very tip
of it, fluttering in the wind, which I now notice on my own skin. I am a statue.
My eyes move to the sky and I see that the day is declining. I take a full,
bold step forward, and I see two beautiful flowers on the cliffs edge. Were
it another day, were I less experienced, I would have remained there, transfixed by
this unexpected beauty, allowing it to fill me, inspire me, smile me. As it is,
these are dangerous flowers, so I turn away and I leave them.

Y.Misdaq, Ramadhan 01, 1427