Every time they look out through the window to see the plants and flowers in my garden, their eyes search through the other end of the fence, on the lavender and the orchid that are yet to bloom; what wrong did the daffodils and daisy do for it to not have your attention, a caressing touch on their petals or a loving admiration for its beauty? That it is already blossomed, or that it is in front of you, within your reach?
The tourists at the Taj Mahal are struggling for choice of words to describe the magnificence of the marble structure epitomizing the love of a man for his beloved! The exquisite splendor of its pathways and the flowerbed and the reflective pools gets little admiration in the perceived magnificence of the dome structure at the far distant!
The strength and power of the base of Eiffel Tower or the Pyramids are of little significance in the eyes of men and women standing with their jaws down at its base, looking in awe at the farther end of it, the tip of the structure, oblivious of the might of the base that holds it beside which they stand, paying little attention.
Why is the blossomed flower in front less important than the bud that is yet to bloom? The flowerbed and the pool and the pathways together make the Taj Mahal wholesome, not in isolation. It is a mix of the less and the more, the small and the big, the short and the tall, the black and the white that makes the kaleidoscope beautiful.
What is familiar is less valued than the more unfamiliar; what is near is regarded low than what is far; what is here is admired less than what is there; what is mine is ignored for what is theirs.
In the end, when the path of journey meets an end, when the muscles are tired and when the beauty of fantasy is less colorful than the face of reality, we all turn to one place…what was familiar that we condemned, what was near that we overlooked, what was here that we devalued, and what was mine that we ignored.
Shahir
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