The Lemon Tree and Death's Arrow
a poem and a short essay.
[I]
the branched lightning-like cracks in the wall
and the brown geometrical tiles of her room,
seemed to pull back the needles on the clock
—slowly the world began to stop.
she laid on her firm bed, right under the fan,
which creaked rhythmically as it spun.
and her eyes, so innocently dull, kind of like a dim streetlight,
proudly standing on a foggy night, where the drizzling rain
slowly
brings
its
light
to
its
end.
she held my hand so tightly,
with fingers so cold and pale,
but tender and beaming with hope.
the wrinkles on her face and hands mapped
a guide to her youth, to her perseverance.
words could barely evaporate from her tongue,
yet she repeatedly signalled us,
to have a seat,
to have the drink her daughter just prepared,
to come closer.
with my mother's ear so close to her pale lips she said,
"I remember all of you in my prayers, my wish is that you remember me too."
and once again, with her veiny hands, she coiled her palms around my fingers,
like it was an ode, a reminder—do not forget me when there will be no warmth left in my eyes.
on the way out, my father showed me the lemon tree in their backyard,
how he used to climb up and pick the yellow fruit, with his siblings and cousins,
and how it still stands there, in the same place even after decades.
the same tree, with my father's and every single relatives' handprints imprinted in its bark still bears fruit.
her veins extrude from her delicate hands,
just like the branching lemon tree roots that purge out from the concrete tiles.
the tragic relief of life is that the lemon tree will remain but not the generous hands who planted it.
[II]
health, death, and understanding
You do not understand the severity of your own medical condition in this society. Physical health is neglected, and don't even think about mental health. Unless you're fully equipped with knowledge of your illness, or you listen and take action to someone who advises you, you will not understand. Until you realize that death is an arrow that is waiting for you whether you're sick or not, whether you're old or young. Until the condition becomes critical, and you are admitted into a hopsital room, regretting having not cared before.
Similarly, you will also not understand the severity of someone else's medical condition, unless you know about it, or until you walk in the hopsital, and let everything tell you how fast this life is. The doctors in their scrubs and nurses with IV drip bags in their firm hands running, running with the patients, to the ER with nothing but hope left. You do not even need to look at the patient or even enter the recovery room, to understand how dire their situation is. Look at his daughter, coming out of the ward with her phone pressed to her ear, her trembling hands. Look at her eyes, swollen and dark, blinking so quickly to hide tears when you try to reassure her. There is only one phrase needed to to bring someone into tears, "Are you okay?" Look at her pace, moving back and forth with anxiety following her every step, with the intention of attacking any second. Look at her, raising her hands to her Rabb, begging. Only then you will realize how critical the condition is.
Death follows you and me in the air. It is an arrow, to be shot at the perfect time. The bow is already loaded. Like how my mom said, “Iss zindagi mein maut ke ilawa koi saath nahi rehta. Maut hamesha humare saath hai” (In this life, other than death, nothing sticks with us. Death is always with us.) And how my father said that going through a near-death experience leaves you in so much trauma, because you end up remembering everything, being in panic if you are even prepared for what comes after death. He said in other countries they regularly provide psychotherapy to those affected, but that is not normalized here. My grandfather entered the conversation and talked about how sometimes doctors are way more worried than the patient they are operating on, that they are quite literally dealing with death, even though that is really in Allah's hands. The surgeons might be the most vulnerable with the mortality of death. My father continued and said, “High-risk cases mein jaldi faisla lena, aur phir surgery karne ke lye bhi bohot zyada dil o gurde chahye. Har koi nahi karsakta.” (Taking a quick decision in a high-risk case, and then proceeding to do surgery requires immense courage literally translated from Urdu - you need heart and kidney. Not everyone can do it.)
If we knew the exact time, date and location of our death, we would not be able to live. It is simply this uncertainty, this fear of the unknown that allows us to strive. Are you prepared for death?
love,
afifa
I've written about how immediate death is and how scary it really is and this is so so true. Death looms around like a ghost and if you focus, you can see it. Standing on the pavement next to a car crash, sitting outside your neighbours house, clutching your hand as you walk home after sunset, and hospitals. Death lives in hospitals. You will find it on almost every bed, outside the OR room, in the waiting room next to the relatives, even inside the baby rooms. It is everywhere. If you think about it too much, it will consume you. The worst thing you can let death do, is consume you. Beautiful piece and AMAZING writing as per usual. Thank you for this ♡
Your mother's words are so true. At end we'll meet death and that's known by all of us but we foolishly run after this fleeting life when it keeps running away from us. Then when death comes to take us we have nothing, our hands are empty and the regret doesn't benefit. The regret of wasting a lifetime in carelessness and heedlessness, the regret of not realising the importance of this life, that is to not take it as a forever home but to live in it until the time of departure comes working for your permanent home. Don't you think if the uncertainty of death's arrival cannot keep us alert and we still become heedless then perhaps knowing the time of death certainly would also not benefit? Maybe T
those who are careless would still remain careless until death strangles them despite knowing it's time but those who remember it frequently will remain working upon that path being careful even if the time is concealed.