That Wild Strawberry Bush

It was a bleak backyard of rather a depleted house in an old neighborhood,nothing very bright or radiant around it but there it stood on a stone paved floor with its tiny scarlet fruit, the wild strawberry bush. The small plant somehow managed to get through a crevice on the floor. That little bush of tiny, wild strawberries was the only thing vivid and resplendent in the middle of that ugly backyard of the house in Manchester, where I was staying with some relatives on my trip to England.

With nothing to second it like a beautiful garden or lush green lawn, the tiny bush stood there with a grey Second World War shelter at one end and clothing lines with clothes hanging when it didn’t rain and an out of order cooking range discarded by the lady within.

Nobody seem to notice it but it caught my eyes as one day I stood
there to relieve myself of a mounting depression about an uncertain future and many other reasons. The weather was dark and heavy and with the dull scene in front of me it added to my gloom. I took a sigh and decide to take a walk. It was then it caught my eye and suddenly there was a smile on my face. To me it simply seemed like a poem of Wordsworth springing out of the earth in reality it looked beautiful but most importantly it generated hope.

It made me forget my tensions and I felt as if the entire beauty of this lush green country was distilled in this tiny view, it gave me the satisfaction of a full scenic view. I sat near it watching it intently and taking all the strength and hope it gave me. I plucked a little strawberry and tasted it had a bitter, sharp taste but that was not the reason it held my interest.

It will soon die at the winter’s approach if lucky but sooner it will be trampled by the unruly boy of the house who jumped and thumped everywhere. Nonetheless it was there just then with little red fruit and glossy green leaves looking more from the Lilliputian world of Gulliver’s.

God communicates to us in strange ways and I felt Him showing through that pretty spectacle why I, a human, in much better circumstances can’t survive the trials of my life and so I went inside after gazing a long time at it sated and with a new hope rekindled within.

That tiny plant with it ephemeral existence stabilized my mood and calmed my sense a thing at that particular time the whole beauty of the Highland could not have done and I came back to Pakistan more confident and contented and it was much easier to take decisions after that.
I realized that day,that to learn a great lesson one doesn’t need a miracle or an Armageddon but a very minor thing or event can change your whole perspective.

1. The essence of life

With the death of each moment I live

By strangling each smile I am happy

Life takes more from us than it gives

So take as much from it and be happy

My restless soul will never be sated

How much can I take with me ultimately?

Nor the gems, neither any treasure

Nor any of the earthly pleasure

But in my heart and in my mind

Will remain the precious moments

The touch of my love, my child’s smile

The scent of the junipers and dandelion

The song of the birds, lulu’s laughter

The beauty of mornings till the hereafter.

My first post

I wrote this story in my diary so i am posting it as my first post. Here it goes:

The sparkling dew drops on the scarlet rose were disturbed by the fingers as delicate as its dancing stem and as soft as the velveteen texture of the flower; and were now bedecking the rich, creamy skin like the precious gems embellishing the hands of Queen of Sheeba. But the possessor of this lovely hand with untouched beauty was far more pure and fresh than any Queen for this was Princess Rosaline of Armathia, with eyes filled with the depth of oceans and luscious red lips and long tresses of brown hair - she looked a vision of ones sweetest dreams.

Mornings were her favorite times, free of all the protocol and etiquettes, her hectic royal life as a princess demanded. Clad in white robe, she blended in the beautiful morning view - contributing in enhancing its beauty as part of it rather than a spectator.

Her father's gardens were famous for their variety, flowers specially roses and their scenic beauty.

As a motherless girl, she grew up to be very bold and impulsive with the King's encouragement. Although her wild ways were always checked by Alina, her wet nurse and her guardian who believed in all the restrictions and protocols required to make a true princess.

She grew up in times of uncertainty with threats of war lurking at the border of her father's kingdom. Though nothing marred her sweet countenance and her undaunting spirit......
[to be continued]