“They called them messiahs of the broken birds—healers who could mend any wounded soul except their own.” A deeply touching poem about the unsung heroes who dedicate their lives to healing others—the counselors, caregivers, and compassionate souls who mend broken spirits only to face the inevitable loneliness when those they’ve helped move on.
A lyrical tale of unexpected reunion set against the atmospheric backdrop of Vienna’s cobblestone streets and the flowing Danube River. This contemplative love story explores the complex emotions between two former lovers who meet again after years apart, weaving together themes of desire, patience, and the transformative power of time. Through poetic prose and philosophical reflections shared with a mystical banyan tree, the narrative delves into the difference between fleeting desire and enduring love. The story captures the Portuguese concept of “saudade” – that bittersweet longing for what was lost – as the protagonists navigate their shared past and uncertain future amid Vienna’s old-world charm and melancholic street music.
‘Tell me why you are here?’ I asked, while softly caressing her delicate ivory palm, ‘Tell me why you are here with me, in this very moment?’
Her palm was soft and cold, but with a subtle warmth pulsating just beneath the fragile skin.
‘That’s a strange question, and I really do not have any answer.’ A tiny smile danced around the corners of her lips. She peered back into my eyes, looking for an answer or perhaps solace. Then she suddenly looked away and the magic was broken.
Vienna was the usual evening chaos. Desires were pursuing desires in an endless cycle. The lights of some old Gothic palace reflected in and danced along the soft waves of the Danube. The river was a cauldron of silence, and the moist evening breeze stirred both its calm surface and also our senses.
Across a cobbled yard stood a couple of street musicians. A tall graceful woman was playing a sad symphony on her old violin; while her companion, an old man, was plucking bits of joy from the keys of his weather-beaten accordion. I listened to their music closely and recognized loss and love, singing their eternal duet.
‘Why don’t you tell me why you are here?’ A challenge flashed briefly in her smiling eyes, ‘Why are you here in Vienna?’
For a single brief moment, she became what she was a half-decade ago – a beautiful golden dragon that breathed fire of unspoken desires. An unpredictable dragon and an independent dragon – free to roam the wide blue skies.
‘Why am I here?’ I asked myself looking down at the lines mapping the palms of my hands. Then I raised my head and looked back at her with an answering smile, ‘Perhaps I am lost or perhaps I am here for the love that remains.’
When I first met her, I was not as young as I once used to be, but I was as restless as the branches of a tall pine tree. She was strong wind, blowing through my branches after a very long time. Slim and charming with soft brown hair, which cascaded boldly around her lovely face, and a taut, sensuous body. Her strange and unnamable seduction, weaved its magic wand and I fell under her spell.
I remembered looking at her for the first time. She reminded me of the dark mysterious forests, smelling heavily of tropical rains. She reminded me of the moist green moss, climbing up and curving along the tree trunks. And she reminded me of the rain-drenched soil, emitting wisps of a fragrant mist. Whenever I try to remember what all I felt on first seeing her, there is a small whisper in my ears – desire.
Though all desires are sensuous, this one spoke more of unconditional love.
She always looked like a goddess and a bright light of brilliance peeked from behind her dark unsmiling eyes. Sometimes, under my worshipping gaze, her chiseled features melted into a soft and malleable kindness. But mostly, she remained a marble statue. She was a goddess who demanded to be loved while hiding behind tradition and humility. I was a humble priest who fell in love with her because the possibility of losing her in the whirling sands of time frightened me.
___________________________________________
‘I think I am in love.’ I excitedly spilled out my secret to the old banyan tree. We were the only two souls in the courtyard of the Tomb of the Lonely Saint. The saint was long dead, but his spirit, as I felt, resided within the tree.
‘And when did you realize this?’ The tree asked in its deep, old, and rusty voice – its texture as rough as his bark.
‘The realization came slowly, almost like the hesitant monsoon rain. But now that it is here, I feel as if struck by a thunderbolt.’ I said, while sitting down with my back to the trunk, ‘I can feel the lightening tingling along my spine and nerves.’
‘Beware, son!’ The old tree whispered back, ‘Love is a banshee disguised as a butterfly. She may be kind to the fools. But to those who recognize and understand her and submit to her power willingly, she is always cruel beyond words.’
‘She is not a banshee.’ I protested. ‘She is a butterfly and her wings reflect all the colours of this world.’
The tree felt silent and thought for a moment.
‘Perhaps it is yet not love. Perhaps it is desire – a desire that does not dissolve with the waning moon. But a desire that is capable of evolving into love one day.’
‘What if it always remains a desire?’ My heart trembled with the fear of possible loss.
‘Hmm…!’ The tree rustled its many branches, and legions of tired pigeons flew out, scared of the sudden movement. ‘Remember, son! Desire is one of the most powerful of all forces of nature. It is the force that makes the world go around in circles. Desire takes birth, deep within the warm recesses of our ever-hungry hearts. It climbs our souls like a vine climbs up a tree, entrapping and teasing the branches. It starts with an almost erotic touch and then embeds its tentacles deep within our lonely hearts. And then it starts sucking. It hungrily sucks in our soul and our ego and our character and our self-control, and it leaves us empty and dry.’
The tree said it all deliberately and in his usual sing song style. His wisdom was like an old wine – each sip to be savoured and treasured.
‘How do I ensure that this doesn’t just remain a desire?’ My fear was growing stronger.
‘Whenever two souls come across each other, floating along the river of time, it is always for a higher purpose. And that purpose is always love.’ The tree said.
‘Don’t worry, son!’ A few dry leaves floated down and caressed my shoulders kindly. ‘If it is meant to be, it will be.’
‘You have always had the habit of talking in riddles.’ She took a sip and her soft eyelids covered her dark beautiful eyes for a moment.
‘Well that is just me.’ I smiled at her, ‘Anyway, why are you here in Vienna?’
‘New York troubles my soul sometimes.’ She said while searching my eyes, ‘The chaos disturbs my quest for inner peace. And Vienna always attracts me with its old architecture and good music.’
We grew quiet for a moment. The musicians had stopped but the notes of their strange sad-happy symphony, were still echoing beyond the edge of silence.
I looked at her face. I was wrong. She did not look as young as I had initially thought. There were lines on her face – very fine lines. I peered at them closely. Under my careful gaze, each line became a crack and the crack widened into a gorge and within that gorge, there flowed the river of time.
‘Why are you here?’ She suddenly broke the fragile silence hovering around and between us.
‘I curate a small museum of antiquities along the Bräunerstraße. And in the evening I come here. I listen to the music and I write.’
‘Do you find it strange?’ She hesitated – her delicate mouth quivering like a bow stretched in full. ‘Do you find it strange – us meeting here in Vienna?’
‘I haven’t been able to understand something.’ I tried to change the subject.
‘And what is that, my son?’ The Banyan tree asked kindly.
‘Why doesn’t she ever smile?’ I asked.
‘And why do you want her to smile?’ He chucked softly.
‘I want to see her face breaking into a smile, and I want to see the light of happiness shining through. I want to see the smiling lines appear around the corners of her mouth and eyes; and I want those lines to become an intricate treasure map. And then I want to trace those lines with my lips and find the treasure.’
‘It is definitely desire.’ The tree chuckled, ‘But don’t worry, she will smile one day.’
‘And when will that be?’ I was growing sceptical.
‘Remember, son!’ The Banyan tree answered, ‘An oyster lies deep within the ocean and awaits the arrival of a single grain of sand. Once that grain enters the oyster, it takes years and years to coat that grain with nacre. With patience and with time, that grain of sand becomes a lustrous pearl. The oyster remains patient. It keeps that pearl secure within its shell – hiding it from greedy eyes. But one day, when and if a true seeker of the pearl arrives, the oyster willingly opens up and offers the pearl.’
‘So she is the oyster, and one day she may offer love with a smile if I remain patient.’ I had understood what the tree wanted to tell me.
‘I would like an answer to my question.’ Her voice broke my reverie.
‘Huh! What question is that?’ I looked at her while still thinking fondly of my old friend – the old Banyan tree.
‘I asked you if you find it strange – us meeting here in Vienna out of the blue?’ She reposed her question, deliberately.
‘Nothing is ever out of the blue.’ I smiled at her, ‘Whenever two souls come across each other, floating along the river of time, it is always for a higher purpose.’
____________________________________
We didn’t speak any more words. We just sat there beside the Danube – two silent shadows lost in their own thoughts. Then her hand moved and covered mine. It was warm and soft. I looked up into her eyes and witnessed a slow and subtle transformation. Her eyes crinkled a little, and the lines around the corners of her lips, formed a smile. It was the loveliest of all the smiles in the whole world. We slowly reached across the table for each other, and my lips found hers. I traced the lines around her mouth delicately and carefully, and finally found my treasure.
A profound allegorical poem exploring the transformative power of patience through the metaphor of a mystical, unreachable door adorned with precious gems and ancient symbols. This inspirational verse contrasts the failures of those who approach life’s greatest challenges with force, courage, or status against the quiet triumph of one who possesses patience as their only weapon.
There once was a door, beautiful and old,
of mahogany, silver, glittering gems, and gold
Out of reach forever, for both,
the most courageous and the very bold
Carved delicately, with all the symbols so mystic,
spinning and telling tales, both lively and tragic
Within that door, throbbed a warm heart,
but cold to touch, it was just magic
So many approached this formidable door,
the king and the beggar, the priest and the whore
So many returned from the cruel threshold,
walking on trembling feet, crawling on the floor
They came back with heavy hearts and sad eyes,
broken egos, burdened souls, and anguished cries
Lost forever within their dark regret,
they came back without gains, without a prize
Then came the one, a true soul and heart,
he was no warrior, patience, his only art
He was the one who dared to knock,
the door finally opened, not fully but in part
For finding the door, he feels so proud,
and knocking on it, he smiled and bowed
So lucky that the door chose to open,
but the quest remains, he secretly avowed
He may be called in or he may be told to wait,
either way for him, it would be great
He has the requisite patience; he has what it takes,
“I slipped out of my mother’s sleeping arms that summer afternoon and wandered into a backyard full of anacondas, deserts, and a talking turtle who had been waiting centuries to teach me about God.”
Introduction
A tender story capturing the magical world of childhood through the eyes of four-year-old Tipu, who befriends a wise ancient turtle in his backyard. This enchanting tale explores profound spiritual questions through innocent wonder, as the turtle gently guides the child to understand that God can be seen and felt through love, dreams, and the beauty of everyday life. Blending magical realism with philosophical depth, the story celebrates the unique perspective of dreamers who can perceive divine presence in nature’s smallest details - from squirrels and “anaconda” earthworms to warm maternal embraces. A beautiful exploration of how children naturally connect with spirituality and the sacred wisdom found in simple conversations between generations.
When I was very young, probably four or five, I was friends with a very ancient turtle. He lived in our backyard and talked to me. He told me many stories of times, long past and people, long dead. He was wise, very wise and the mind of a child was no match to his wisdom. But he talked to me because he loved me. And he loved me because I could listen to him for long with my pupils enlarged in astonishment and my brow knitted in curiosity.
It was a quiet summer afternoon when we first met. My mother was fast asleep, and I slipped out of her arms very quietly. I missed her warm, sweet smell, but outside, the adventures were waiting for me. Adventures have always waited for me.
It must have been a large house. But to me, it looked enormous. There were rainforests hidden deep within the rose bushes, and anacondas wriggled freely in the moist soil. My mother called them earthworms, but I knew they were anacondas. There was a desert in one corner of the backyard - my very own Sahara. My mother thought it was just construction sand, which was left behind by the workers. Adults can be so wrong sometimes. To me, it was a desert, complete with dunes, and when I planted some saplings, there was an oasis too.
I looked up and peeked at the golden sun from under the shadow of my palm. He was furious with the world but was smiling down at me. His golden rays kissed my cheeks and whispered in my ears, ‘Go ahead, son. The adventure is waiting for you.’
‘But it is so hot and you are ferocious today.’ I replied while readjusting my palm.
‘Not for you. You are a dreamer. For you, I will always be kind.’ The sun crackled a deep-throated laughter.
Reassured, I started looking around for adventure.
Suddenly, a squirrel hiding in the mango tree caught my attention. ‘Come down little one. I want to play with your soft bushy tail.’ I called her down kindly.
‘Always be kind. Kindness goes a long way.’ My grandfather said to me often.
The squirrel came down. I called her Sweetie, and we had always been on friendly terms. She shared her nuts with me, and in return, I brushed her soft tail. It was softer than my father’s shaving brush and was of a most marvelous silver-grey color.
‘Hey, have you heard the news? The turtle has woken up.’ She sat on my shoulder and squeaked into my ear.
‘Huh! Turtle? Which turtle?’ I was surprised.
‘The turtle in the backyard, silly.’ Sweetie informed me while breaking a nut and offering me half of it.
‘There is a turtle in our backyard? Wow!’ It was marvelous news to me.
‘There has always been a turtle in the backyard. But he had been asleep for the last few hundred years or so.’ She chattered on, ‘Go meet him. Pay your respects. He would certainly like that.’
So I ran to the backyard, but I couldn’t see any turtle.
‘Mr Turtle! Mr Turtle! Where are you?’ I hesitatingly called.
I could hear nothing in response. All was silent, and the brick floor was shimmering in the bright sunlight.
‘Look closely son. He is having his siesta under the rose bushes.’ The sun whispered to me.
‘Where? I cannot see him.’ I desperately searched under the bushes.
The sun laughed quietly and shifted a little. The shadows changed, and I started to see something that was never there before. There was a mottled, hard, and curved shell - all dark green and grey. I poked at it with a small stick, and it moved.
‘Who disturbs me?’ A strange, low voice inquired.
‘I am sorry, sir. I just wanted to meet you and say hi!’ I said very, very respectfully. Turtles were serious business, and I knew my manners.
‘Hmm! Once you grow old, you will realize something very important.’ The turtle said in a tired voice, gradually opening up his small, deep eyes and looking at me. ‘Nothing in this life is more delicious than a siesta in summer afternoons.’
‘I apologize for disturbing your siesta. I am really sorry. You can go back to sleep. We will chat some other time.’ I tried to withdraw.
‘There is something else you will realize once you grow old. No time is better than now.’ He smiled at me kindly. ‘Sit down and let me have a closer look at you.’
I sat down with turtle under the rose bushes. It was very pleasant there. The dark soil was wet, and the anacondas were squirming happily. I prodded one with my finger. It was all moist and soft.
‘Now don’t do that. He doesn’t like it.’ The turtle admonished me softly. I withdrew my finger. But the turtle was wrong. The anaconda didn’t care.
‘What are you doing outside, at this ungodly hour?’ The turtle asked me gently.
‘What is wrong with this hour? This is the hour of adventure.’ I was confused.
‘You should get out at another time. It is hot.’ He looked up at the bright sun.
‘No time is better than now.’ I repeated his words, and the turtle laughed. It was a deep rattling sound, pleasant to hear. It was a warm laughter coming straight from his belly.
‘My mother is asleep and I am free. There are lions to hunt and desert gypsies to dance with.’ I explained politely after his laughter died down.
‘Aha!’ he grinned. ‘We have a dreamer here.’
‘Is it bad being a dreamer?’ I asked him. My grandfather always said it was better to act than dream.
‘Bad? Absolutely not. Being a dreamer is rather marvelous.’ The turtle winked at me, ‘It is the dreamers who change the world.’
‘Change the world? But how?’ I found his comment very strange.
‘Dreamers can see things that others can’t, and dreamers can sense things that others can’t. Dreamers can hear things that others can’,t and dreamers can do things that others can’t.’ The turtle said slowly.
It was more of a song than a statement. I loved songs. They were simple, yet meaningful.
‘Can dreamers see God?’ I asked him. It was a very important question, as my father always said that God was invisible.
‘Oh yes! They can. You can.’ The turtle raised an eyebrow.
‘Nope, I cannot see Him. Nobody can.’ I pursed my lips determinedly.
‘Hmm! What do you think God looks like?’ He asked an easy question.
‘He is big - bigger than everything. He must be a giant because He is all mighty and powerful. He moves His finger and the earth moves and the mountains crumble.’ I could go on and on, but the strange expression in the turtle’s eyes halted me.
‘Now who told you that?’ He asked concernedly.
‘My teacher has told me that.’ I said while visualizing my teacher’s deep green eyes and golden hair, which made a halo around her lovely oval face. She was probably my very first crush.
‘But she didn’t say what God looked like. I added the giant part myself.’ I said proudly.
‘Of course, you did because you are a dreamer.’ The turtle laughed again.
‘Can I feel your belly when you laugh?’ I asked the turtle hesitatingly. Touching somebody’s belly was not something I normally did. But I wanted to feel the warm vibrations.
‘Oh yes, you can, my boy. You can do anything that makes you happy.’ He answered with a jolly laugh, and I gently placed my palm against his belly. Those were good vibrations. They traveled up my arm and reached my heart. They tickled my heart, and I laughed too.
‘God is somebody you can easily see and feel.’ The turtle finally said after we both finished laughing.
‘How do you feel about your mother? I mean, what if she gets up when your eyes are closed? Can you feel her leaving?’ He asked.
The turtle had asked a very strange question. I had never thought about it. So I closed my eyes and imagined myself lying in my mother’s embrace. And then the answer came to me, as clear as sunlight kissing a brilliant red rose.
‘I know, I know.’ I answered excitedly. ‘When she gets up and leaves, her warmth and fragrance leave too.’
‘Exactly!’ The turtle nodded with satisfaction. ‘Now tell me, what makes your mother, your mother?’
He saw the confusion dancing in my eyes and so repeated his question. ‘What special quality makes her your mother?’
‘She gave birth to me. I came out of her tummy.’ I was wise, way beyond my years.
‘Yes, true. That is basic. But what quality makes her your mother?’ He asked again.
‘I guess that would be her love. She loves me no matter what. She loves me even when I break a glass. Of course, she is unhappy for a while and frowns, but she still loves me.’ I answered after really thinking hard.
‘Yes!’ the turtle sounded jubilant. ‘Her love makes her your mother. You see the love in her and sense it.’
‘So? What’s that got to do with God?’ I was a bit perplexed.
‘That’s got to do everything with God.’ He said matter-of-factly. ‘He created you, me, your mother, and everything that exists around us. And He loves us all unconditionally.’
‘So my mother is God too?’ I thought I was finally drawing a connection.
‘Hmm! Let’s just say that God is greater than her and different from her.’ The turtle was alert now. He was very alert and was looking at me with eyes sparkling with ancient wisdom.
‘Different how?’ I was mentally ready to start a comparison.
‘Different because, unlike your mother and mine, He runs through us and through everything around us. He makes you sense your mother’s warmth, and He makes you smell her warm fragrance. He makes you move, and He makes you stop. We are alive when He breathes inside us, and we fall dead when He leaves us. He is the sun, the moon, and the stars, and He is the rain forest, the desert, and the earthworms.’
‘Not earthworms. They are anacondas.’ I rudely interrupted him.
‘Yes, I am sorry. He is the Anacondas and not the earthworms.’ The turtle corrected himself with a kind and affectionate smile. ‘And most importantly, God makes you dream. He makes you dream so that you can see Him and sense Him in all His glory and warmth.’
‘Tipu? Tipu? Where are you?’ My mother’s voice echoed in the distance.
‘Oh shit! She is awake.’ I cursed and then suddenly stopped. Cursing was bad, and it was especially bad in front of a grown-up. You could get spanked for that.
‘No problem. You can always curse in front of me.’ The turtle winked at me knowingly.
‘Will I see you again?’ I asked while brushing off the seat of my shorts.
‘Oh yes. I will always be here. We will talk more and then some more. We will keep on talking till it is your time to move on.’ The turtle said while settling back down comfortably in the moist soil.
‘Hey, there you are. How many times have I told you not to play outside at this hour?’ My mother asked with a frown.
I ran to her and hugged her legs. She smiled and hugged me back. We started walking towards the cool shade under the verandah. I looked back and waved at the turtle. I could not see him because the sun had shifted again. But I was sure he could see me.
‘Who are you waving at?’ My mother looked back but couldn’t see anybody.
‘I made a new friend today. I was waving at him.’ I smiled at her.
‘A new friend? Who is he?’ She sounded a bit worried.
‘A turtle!’ I happily informed her.
‘A turtle?’ She looked surprised for a moment. But then she bent down and kissed my sweaty forehead. ‘You are a dreamer, my son. You will always be a dreamer.’ She had seen the happiness in my eyes, and she was happy that I was happy. I was happy because I was a dreamer and I could see God.
A powerful metaphorical poem that maps the spiritual journey from isolation and struggle toward enlightenment and self-understanding. Through vivid imagery of storms, hidden doors, and eternal knowledge, this inspirational verse explores the transformative path beyond life’s difficulties. The poem presents a progressive journey through four stages: confronting loneliness, facing life’s storms, seeking hidden wisdom, and ultimately finding pure understanding and self-realization.
Shehryar khawar 