He rests his head on her chest,
Her fingers enmesh in his beard,
Gratitude fills her, for he’s safe and back in her arms.
“Tell me a story,” he murmurs.
“My Love, there was a tall tree that stood aloof.
He was part of the flora, and yet not a part of it.
Unbeknown to him, tiny blossoms began to appear.
Their fragrance filled the air.
He was amazed.
The blossoms turned into fruit.
Sun warmed; moon cooled; fruit ripened.
Fruit-laden, he bowed.
Beings from near and far savored the sweet sun-kissed fruit.
Birds from near and far made him their abode.
The tree that once stood tall and aloof,
now bent is captivating one and all,” she whispers.
“Dearest, you have me confused. I am like a simal (bombax) tree, tall and stiff as an arrow. Birds that visit leave disappointed. The fruit is tasteless; the flowers are nauseating.”
“Hush! My Love, when the disciple was asked to shake the kikar (acacia arabica) tree, he did so without hesitation. The inedible fruit of the tree became sweet and edible, for Guru Graced. So, are you saying that my simal tree cannot produce sweet fruit? Are you doubting my faith, my Love?”
“Dearest, you are biased. You don’t see my flaws, my darkness.”
“My Love, I see your light. I see your aura. I see you. I want the world to see you through my eyes.”
He holds her tight,
She feels his tears flowing on her chest.
She kisses him and whispers, “My Love, know that you are blessed.”