Diary of the pandemic inmate - Ibrahim al-Koni

Today I came out of my tomb, I was finally freed from my grave, which nature had imprisoned me in, but it taught me a lesson I deserved, like others of my kind, who did not hesitate to belittle the law of this mother, whom we mistreated unjustly, and committed sins against her, so she has the right to protest finally. Today I came out despite the ongoing harsh weather, and I was received by the cypress tree and the giant at the first turn, which suddenly blocked my way, stopping me with a melodious tune I had long missed, not because I missed it due to the alienation of the leaves in its branches with the arrival of last year's autumn, but because I missed it long ago, a forgotten time, which became a prize of memory throughout the years. Then the tree revived the lost mournful melody, and presented it to my hearing as a free gift, and I did not know how to express my gratitude to it. That song was borrowed from the lost time, borrowed from childhood in its most fragile identity, but also the most transparent, when the wind's playing on the strings woven from the customs of the tamarisk tree entices me, which I liked to call the beautiful strands always because of the softness of its branches, their flexibility, and even their slender size, moaning with that deadly nostalgic tone, to nourish my dreams, during my years in the northern desert, at a stage where dreams are the capital of the lives of my kind. So I used to surrender to its seduction before I emigrated from my paradise, to the wandering of worlds, to know that the wind has its fairies who enjoy enticing the seekers, like the passing Uliis, to lure them into the unknown.