Memories from a Homeland

My dear neighbor, could you pass by my old house and tell me about its walls and its doors? Are they still closed? Did they change in color? Is the Jasmine tree still spreading its fragrance in our neighborhood? Tell me about our grapevine, is it still growing and climbing the fences, overhearing the news and drawing our memories? I know she’s strong. This grapevine used to embrace me with her shade to tell me beautiful stories about my childhood memories, the story of a dream painted by my father’s sweat. Its leaves are decorated with dreams full of love and tenderness. 

A grapevine that was blown by the wind, its leaves and grapes were blown away. It collapsed, but its roots are still resisting, and stayed steady at the land of our dreams. She told me once a story about her children. “The storms tried to uproot me and displace my children” she said, “yes, my leaves were blown away and I lost my caretaker, but these roots will never give up on its own land, and my leaves will come back one day to fill the place with love and tenderness.” “Sorry to interrupt, but how do you know they will come back?” I said. She replied with a loving voice “the threads of memory won’t be cut and they will pull them to their origins. My leaves cannot live away from me.” Here I felt reassured, and I knew that day would come. I promise to collect your leaves and return back to tell our tales and memories together.