Layla And Majnun By Daniel Brick

Dedicated to my Persian Princess, Baharak Barzin I have been following traces of Layla and Majnun. It is a labor of love, like their wanderings to find an asylum. Hardships began with winds and rain erasing their footprints everywhere they went. Some have concluded their story is only words on paper, which can also be erased. What do you think, my friend? I know they live in your heart, whether real or imagined. They prosper there, because your heart, young, vibrant, full of an excess of love, holds the secret. I often stop in some green place, sit in shade or warmth, depending on the season, and watch the things they watched. At this moment, I see flowers bending in the direction they took. The lovers and the flowers both follow the sun. As it begins to set, Layla and Majun blend into the darkness. The flowers toss their aromas into the night- scape. Layla breathes deeply the scented air, and Majun swells with pride as he senses her presence in the purple scent. Are they really together in this tender night? I do not know: the darkness heroically protects them, the night has absorbed them. Where is Majun in the wide expanse of the morning? He has found a forest clearing. He has braced himself against tree bark, and waits for her arrival. This is how Majun lives each day and every night. He is perpetually hopeful. He cannot accept any help. Any help would diminish his passion, and he lives only for his passion and Layla. I see his emaciated body, I see the longing in his eyes, and I pray for him. He is suffering in his inner and outer selves. In the bright light of mid morning, I see Layla standing on the cliff's edge. She looks into a sky filled with tumbling clouds. When I look again, she is sitting on a cloud throne, and her subjects cluster below her. They love her, her beauty and poise remind them of a rising sun. But Layla sees only Majun on a stage of her imagination. He sings to her, he dances for her, he recites poems he wrote to her. I am convinced they are together during his performance. Then, the bitter truth assails me: it is a mirage, I was deceived by hope. The next morning I awake in the summer palace of my friend, a minor nobleman. When I speak of my sightings of Layla and Majnun, the courtiers laugh: they assume I am joking. Then they leave my presence to pursue the games of courtiers. Oh, love, where have you fled? Is there not room in this mortal world for an immortal romance? Is there a secret truth about Layla and Majun? I will be the guardian of their passion.