Home, Sweet Home...

It was a greatest dream, however not complete. I wanted it so much and I enjoyed it terribly...

The holiest person in the world was just by me for a whole month and I could see her eyes every morning, blinking as a star in the sky and asking if I want to wait for the car with Zarrine or whether I’m leaving on my own or am I going to the office today at all? Her worried voice over the phone: “I’m still waiting for you, my son… Why are you so late tonight? Didn’t you tell me that you wanted to enjoy your annual leave in here? But you are still working! Come back home as soon as you can!”

As those beautiful old days, when I was in pain from the severe control of the family. The same control I’m calling “beautiful” now. I felt as her little naughty baby, the most rebellious one, who preferred to spend his days outdoors with his thoughtmates and comrades. And sometimes with his first loves… For whom the house meant a bed to sleep. It made me feel a bit guilty too, as it used to do in those far-away beautiful days and I wanted to go back home as soon as possible.

But how? They were there! The people I had craved for so much. I could breathe from the same air with 2 fairest ladies in the town who I love as much as my own sisters. 2 drops of beauty: internal and external.

I remember how I managed to trouble their minds by my stupid question: by and large, do you really feel happy? Do you really need a husband to have a complete feeling of happiness? And their answers were as sincere as they could be. When I made up my own conclusion about the level of their happiness, both of them nearly burst into tears and insisted that they were the happiest people in the world! I think even if they are not the happiest ones, they are still very happy people of the world.

However, as I told before, the dream was not completely sweet. There were moments of bitter truth in the social and political life of the country that could and did damage my mood and an unhealthy wind from London was devastating at the end of the dream.

Most of all, I missed all of them; all my angels back in London. Now I am flying to them on the iron wings of a plane with no patience to embrace each of them one by one to present my hottest and sweetest kisses.

As you see, one can never feel complete. Wherever you go, the sky is of the same colour. It is not the soil in London or Moscow or Dushanbe or Teheran that can provide you with happiness; it is about the souls on those soils that can form up your happiness… I wish they could gather under one roof one day to make my happiness full and complete!