The cosmos is once again speaking of the future, and like always, I am the only one listening.
Marble pillars stretch into her glittering skin, crowned in gold capitals that wink softly in the twinkling lights of her gaping, space blue skirts.
Even the brooding clouds have parted for her observation, unhurried as they drift in the winds, anticipating my keen interpretation. I cannot wait to trace my fingertips over the glowing marble intricacies before me, lit up by the most lustrous dwellers of her fabrics.
My darling moon.
She is beyond radiant tonight, beaming at me with all the reverence I use to behold her. She knows the secrets of the cosmos and is yearning to share them with me.
My gaze cannot be turned from her demanding presence, even as the year’s final gust of wind whips through the colosseum and strangles my waist with my outer robes, whistling in buzzing anticipation against my warm skin.
I run the whole length of land yawning between my humble cottage and this glorious marble wrought colosseum of undulated otherworldly magnificence.
Of course, it was built by hands, which were very much human, people who—like me—held tightly to the whispers of the ever-expanding space beyond, like a body homes a soul.
The pounding in my chest, however, does nothing to cease the curious gasps of mid-winter as it dances across my bare face.
“Do not mourn, I anticipate good news.” My voice slips into the adoring cadence it always does when I stand beneath my beloved.
Nothing stands between us but distance, and I vow that one day I will cross that, too.
The circular engravings hum to life at my toes.
It is time.
Even as I tear my gaze away from her to lower it to the carved intricacies before me, my heart protests. The future means nothing without her in it.
The moon’s joy permeates the distance between us, illuminating the slumbering runes etched into the circumference and chords of the circular pattern, seemingly nonsensical shapes lit up with the secrets of the future.
I cannot fight my grin as I kneel before her graciously imparted rays of wisdom.
“Badhra, Qamar, Asifah, Sahab—” my breath hitches as the final rune glows. “Attayurkhatra.”
I scramble for my papyrus and pen, tracing the symbols onto the delicate papyrus with trembling hands, unable to contain my excitement as my mind whirs to life with possibilities and interpretations.
As soon as my pen lifts from the final stroke, the light fades, as if it never was.
A giggle erupts from me, unable to contain my endearment at my beloved’s games. She always enjoys watching me succeed by the skin of my teeth, as if the rush of accomplishment that floods my veins makes her as elated as it makes me.
I cross my legs in focus, straightening my back as I take in a lungful of chilled air.
“Badhra…” My eyebrows furrow in concentration, my eyelids fluttering closed as I begin flitting through memories and teachings. “Something expanding? No, growing.” I make notes hurriedly; even so, I cannot help but process my thoughts out loud. After all, I have an audience of glittering admirers above who I must appease.
“Growth, I’m understanding it as plural, but not collective? Perhaps individual growth, but on a large scale.” More letters scratched out against the page., “Then there’s, let’s see… Qamar. It was almost instantaneous, so it must be entwined, yet it is not entirely overlapping.” I take a deep breath, closing my eyes once more as I rack my brain.
“Qamar, Qamar, Qamar—peace! Wait, it’s not simply peace, it can’t be. Growth is rarely a peaceful experience. Quiet? Contemplation?” I mutter quietly to myself, although it’s hardly to myself. “Guidance.”
The epiphany hits me like a singular star alone in the dark night, as if my gaze should have fallen nowhere else.
It’s the only possible explanation, for what else so perfectly fits into the contours of growth, other than guidance?
The pride that gathers in the pit of my stomach quickly sharpens into motivation as I flip to the next symbol pining for my attention.
“Asifah and”—I gnaw on the fleshy inside of my cheek—“Sahab.”
The runes had lit up together, connecting them in an irrefutable destiny.
“Turbulent skies? Something so sinister doesn’t feel appropriate.” I cast my eyes towards the clear, calm cosmos, her gaze twinkling with good omens.
“But what’s beautiful about bad weather?” I ask her, eyebrows furrowing as I squint into the gaps between her glittering skirts, trying to find the missing silver stars.
“Silver stars…” The words spark something in my memory, but it feels fragile and out of reach, like the heavy clouds on a thundering day, low and still unreachable.
“Heavy clouds? Wait!” I scribble letters against the papyrus as if they’ll evaporate in the next second. “Silver lining! Pain laced with hidden blessings, trials with secret opportunities woven into their hardship, tests and tribulations with yields so heavy they snap branches from their ripeness and allow the sweet nectar of divine blessings to dribble down our chins.” My invigorated rambling ceases with my chest panting and my hand cramped from effort.
One left.
The future lies at my fingertips.
I lean across the circular diagram at my knees, pressing my index finger into the rough carving of the final marking left to interpret.
This one is easy.
“Attayurkhatra.” The meaning is simple, unlike its winding pronunciation.
“Martyred innocence given wings of freedom.” I bite my lip as my nose stings with unshed tears. “The bittersweet enigma that is death. The pain of the living forced to persevere as innocence is ripped from the land, and the elation of the dead free to soar in the life gifted to them after they have been severed from their land.”
And with that, the future is clear.
I stand up to recite my final conclusion to the cosmos, moon, angels, stars, heavens, and whatever divine entity lies beyond.
“As the new year blesses us with its arrival, I have heard your wisdom and will share my humble interpretations with your magnanimous presence.” My heart leaps into my throat, and I swallow it down.
“This year will bring personal growth for many, allowing us to be freed from the shackles of guilt and the pain of our mistakes, so we can focus on bettering ourselves and moving forward. This pivotal growth cannot end without your guidance, and we will continue to develop with the help of others until life dips. However, this year our tests will not get the better of us. This year, we will take every hardship that comes our way in confidence. This year, we will not allow our tests to end us; we will persevere until we can see the blessings woven into the painful times, and we will have the guidance of our loved ones to advise us as we move forward.” I take a breath, the wind kissing my cheek in encouragement.
“This year, like all years, innocent lives will end. This year, like all years, that does not mean we fall into despair. This year, like all years, we must become beacons of hope for our fallen. This year, like all years, we cannot turn our eyes away from their suffering. This year, like all years, we will hold onto hope and humanity. We will embrace one another under the pouring skies, we will celebrate the living, we will cherish the innocent dead, and we will trust in your promise of giving them wings of freedom.” I don’t wipe the stray tear that trickles down my cheek; I smile at the image of green birds soaring far above the cosmos.
“This year, we will be able to look back and tell ourselves that we’re proud of ourselves, because we gave it our all. We loved wholeheartedly, forgave sincerely, and pursued knowledge with purpose.”
I take a breath, closing my notebook and smoothing my palms down the fabric of my outer clothes.
Before turning to leave, I look up for a final time, heart full of memories, throat clogged with emotion, lungs rife with anticipation. I smile up at the beaming moon—my beloved moon.
“Happy new year. May this year bring an abundance of blessings, meaningful reflections, countless moments of happiness, and safety for all.” The prayer slips from my soul, a place too complex to comprehend. “Ameen.”
I turn away from the slumbering runes, the winding path between the colosseum and home stretching out in a seemingly impossible distance before me.
Only I know it’s not an impossible distance, because it’s the same distance I’ve run across more times than I can count.
This time, I think I’ll take it slow, perhaps even stop to admire the flora every once in a while.
Alisha Umar has a deep thirst for knowledge and a beautiful appreciation for learning. She spends hours pondering over her recent reads, researching for her own stories and scouring every inch of the library. When she’s not engrossed in her books or posting on her social media she can be found spending quality time with her friends and family, engaging in meaningful debates with her loved ones, taking down the next food destination on her bucket list and fantasising about which places she wants to travel to next- whether fictional or real. You can find her on TikTok, Instagram and YouTube @authoralishau
Featured image by Benjamin Voros on Unsplash.
