There is no more beautiful journey than traveling within yourself. There is no greater battle than the raging battle with oneself. There is no debate as fierce and captivating as arguing with oneself.
In the midst of contemplation I heard a melodious voice, I turned my head, put my wide ears sharply, closed my eyes because the melodious voice was disturbed by the distinctive sound of a gentle breeze blowing that just passed by my ear, I stood up and turned my head towards the sound of the voice getting louder and clearer, his voice lilting made my heart droop without moving to the tune and rhythm of the song, and I saw a young man about 29 years old walking on a path full of pebbles and small weeds between the stones while humming one song. a poem belonging to the sufi martyr, Al Hallaj.
With a stick in his right hand and a large bag on his back. Impressed he is a cheerful young man, his face radiates the language of light acceptance of all kinds of realities of life, the lights of resignation that can only be enjoyed and understood by those with big souls emanating from laughter in between the singing of poetry. As he continued to sing, the artist stopped every now and then and danced, how cheerful the young man was. What history now makes him a cheerful person, isn't the past history of a person the raw material for forming ideals, views of life, and character?
When a woman is used to crying, disappointed and heartbroken, she will be more alert, tough, and full of suspicion.
The young man stopped singing and started walking without even glancing at me. Hardly anyone was more grubby and messy than him. The young man, thin and tall, seemed more likely to be in a phase of vacillating between stubbornly holding on to idealism or starting to submit to reality. A turban that is used to cover part of his head, his brown face due to the scorching sun on the horizon, the twilight that always colors the lovers, the unique color that is not imaginative, inspires many young people who are in love, jealous and yearn to write poetry or simply express their feelings. which is difficult to express but in the language of tears. The language of longing will be understood by a meeting and parting. Rain and twilight are the language of longing.
The movement of the wind before sunset mingled some of his long hair that looked unkempt, his chest was thickly hairy, some of his fur peeked out from the sidelines of his blue shirt which was starting to become shabby and wet with drops of sweat, his pants were black, torn and very shabby, starting to turn white. in one knee and a hole in the other so the knee was sticking out of his pants.
A mix of sweat, heat, long journeys and dust all worked together to add an unspeakable gloominess to his tattered appearance.
The young artist named Aron. He was born during the rainy season, in the middle of the night, in a small hut belonging to a husband and wife who both work as farmers. Being born and living from a family that is less fortunate in terms of material things did not break Aron's passion to go to school and work.
His parents were only able to send him to high school. But Aron never gave up on pursuing his dreams, even though his parents couldn't send him to school anymore, Aron still tried to continue his education with his hard-earned money. Aron earns money by making works of art in the form of sketches of philosophers and abstract paintings that are quite attractive to the public. Aron struggled to sell his work, so chasing the train conductor was nothing new to him. Aron was able to pay his school fees with the results of his hard work until he finished college. Because Aron studied painting majoring, Aron, who struggled alone, his father died of illness, while his mother died while giving birth to Aron, he needed a lot of money to buy painting tools, such as canvas, paint, etc.
Aron lives alone with his girlfriend Elisa in the house left by Aron's parents. The place where Aron lives is a painting studio. His study was always as if it had just been hit by Hurricane Katrina, swarmed by thousands of bulls, and perhaps there was no room to call guests seating.
Aron lives alone with his girlfriend Elisa in the house left by Aron's parents. The place where Aron lives is a painting studio. His study was always as if it had just been hit by Hurricane Katrina, swarmed by thousands of bulls, and perhaps there was no room to call guests seating.
The End
Image source: My own painting