Beauty and Wonder
Yemeni mp
Ahmed Saif Hashed
The Aeroflot plane took off, carrying us from Cairo Airport to Moscow. My first astonishment on board was the beautiful flight attendants—their tall figures, captivating whiteness, and the grace that ensnares your wandering imagination. Their eyes, crystalline with hues of the sky or the deep blue sea, possess a magic that overwhelms you.
The sparkle in their eyes beckons, stealing your heart and tempting your modesty, along with all the piety and sanctity that reside within you. They are pearls that capture your gaze, surrounded by the whiteness of clouds and the enchantments of the heavens that obliterate your denials and defeat your defenses. Their eyelids seem to promise salvation, with brows that embrace treasures and regal noses that accept nothing but challenge and confrontation, while you stand powerless, your virtue vulnerable against such overwhelming beauty that borders on folly and madness.
Everything snatches your heart from your ribs, pulling you as if by fate. No matter how confident you are in your virtue, its strength falters at the first glance, surrendering all your armies, collapsing your towers and castles, and raising your white flags before this destiny that possesses you.
An enchanting beauty captivates your attention and curiosity, seizing you from your A to your Z, prompting you to shift your gaze from the glass of the window and the wonders beyond it to eyes sparkling with joy, marvel upon marvel, as miracles unfold while you ponder the exquisite creation of the Creator.
* * *
“We passed through the skies of Turkey, the homeland of the great rebel Nadhim Hikmat, the playwright, novelist, and poet who was imprisoned for nearly 17 years and exiled from his country until his death due to his struggle and his beautiful humanitarian poetry, siding with the poor and oppressed of his people. The poet whose jailers died, while his verses, poems, and anthems lived on.
Nadhim Hikmat, who died yet did not lose hope, famously said: ‘The most beautiful days are those we have not yet lived… The most beautiful children are those yet to be born… The most beautiful poems are those I have not yet written.’ He rebelled against the misery of his exile, just as he revolted against the injustice and suffering in his homeland.
Those days that have not yet arrived, or that Nadhim may not have experienced, perhaps not many others either, we await them for long, as they remain distant from us, or we hasten their delayed coming, fearing the aging of our hearts. This sentiment is beautifully captured by Nizar Qabbani when he said: ‘O happy moments yet to come, could you take a
shortcut before our hearts grow old?'”
In our journey, Turkey appeared from the sky like a bride just emerging from a bath. It was a sight of clarity intertwined with shadows, clouds and rain, diversity and detail, a beauty that invites you to linger in it both winter and summer. For the first time, I beheld a land like this, as if it were a piece of paradise. Turkey captivated me from the air—what a wondrous land! Such lush greenery spreading across vast expanses. A breathtaking nature, flawless in its beauty, leaving no room for flaws or deceit. Throughout our flight above its skies, we relished the view until the sunset, believing it to be the entirety of the horizon.
* * *
Night fell as we crossed into the borders of the Soviet Union—an entity once formidable and grand. We traversed the skies over the Black Sea, enveloped in darkness. From a distance, we glimpsed the lights of the city of Odessa in Ukraine, located on the Black Sea coast, separated from Kyiv, the capital, by over 400 kilometers.
We arrived at Kyiv, the capital of Soviet Ukraine. As I stepped out of the plane, I felt as if I were entering a freezer. The temperature was around 7 degrees Celsius, a chill I had never before experienced. I thought to myself, “This is not an airport; it is a cosmic freezer.” The weather in Ukraine was uniformly cold, or similar to that, marking my first experience on land with such low temperatures.
After about an hour, we resumed our journey towards Moscow, the capital of the Soviet Union. Upon arriving at its airport, we were greeted by several high-ranking officers led by a general assigned to welcome us and accompany us during our visit, along with a translator of utmost nobility, courtesy, and refinement. They surprised us with a reception filled with warmth, care, and respect.
We were welcomed with a fleet of luxurious vehicles designated for delegations, waiting for us. Each pair of us was assigned a car. Even the red traffic lights were disregarded, despite the strict enforcement of laws and traffic rules there-perhaps because it was late at night. What a celebration, such a warm welcome and immense appreciation! It was something we had never experienced in our homeland, something we could hardly have imagined, even in our dreams.
* * *
