…You die a year before our lives

We lay down all our obnoxious epithets in the year that passes, and for each year that comes naturally and without permission, there are many desires that we carry with us each year. Not all the years we say goodbye to are bad, nor all the years we waited with interest and longing, even if sometimes unrealistic and unfair, did not give us the wishes we gave them.


It is not easy for us to realize that each passing moment will not return again, joining the cosmic race in its cycle of renewal for many years, that is the year of connection between the past. But memories, and a present that lasts only seconds, a future that none of us knows what it is. It holds surprises, be they pleasant or sad.
This dialectic between sunrise and sunset, between the cycle of days, gives meaning to our past through continuous life that passes quickly, as if what we lived many years ago passed yesterday. But the sweetest thing about this past is that it has loved ones that have become a memory and a song, not composed by a poet or composed by a musician. The most beautiful thing about the present is that it is a bridge of “ropes of wind” connecting the past and the future.
These are some of the thoughts I have gleaned from the experiences I have gathered over seventy years of travel and paint images in my mind that only come to my dreams. In this consciousness, there is an endless competition between a sigh and a heartbeat that is beyond and rapid in the inhaling and exhaling movement.
I was asked what I was looking forward to in 2024 and my answer was not the same as in years past. I believe it is not new but rather used. The applied Sunnah has informed us of its pros and cons. If I had to choose, I would choose only two years: 1982 and 2004. The “gifts” that freed me from the monotony of the calendar were reserved for me and those I cared about during these two years, and my life gave true meaning to this fleeting existence for everyone who breathes oxygen. Keeps them alive. This is what we mean by “to the last breath,” an expression we often use without ceasing its existential connotations.
When the hands of the clock embrace each other at midnight on December 31st and January 1st, many disappointments end and a new year begins, a year in the game of escapism, we bear it too much to bear. From the harsh reality to the unknown, 365 days later joins the club of lost and lost days called the past. These days are the days that bring back only beautiful or ugly, happy or sad memories.
Every year at this time, loved ones exchange greetings and wishes and expressions that begin to lose their meaning because of repeated repetition: “God willing, the coming year will be better than the last.” At the end of each year, the “last year” bids farewell and welcomes the “coming”… As the days go by, they are just like the ones that came before them, if not worse, the cyclical deceptions repeat themselves, putting the truth on astronomers, how many of them are there these days. , and attacking the invisible can be forms of escape from reality, like resorting to a metaphysics out of touch with the inevitabilities of life. All days are the same, with responsibilities in them and burdens and worries that plague us from dawn till dawn, searching for life with sweat and sometimes blood. Only the calendar days change, it never goes back. What is past is past, what is to come becomes the prisoner of the clock, so today becomes yesterday, tomorrow turns its page as the child of its hour, and in the process of numerical accumulation becomes the day that enters the hierarchy of descending numbers. Because the time machine does not stop, there is much to violate the cycle of days, and many desires remain unfulfilled, and cannot be compared to sensuality and lived, so anticipation is mixed with ambitions. Use sanctions to justify goals, so corruption spreads, chaos spreads, and hereditary proverbs become part of the fabric of life, including the ugliness of reality. I don't want to say a sad goodbye to a year in order to desperately get another one, but instead, I try to catch the moment with great care, so that the next seconds are different from the previous ones. To the rhythm of intermittent inhalations and exhalations and the symphony of destiny. As the clock at these moments strikes its last beat to announce the end of the passing year and the arrival of a new year, I conclude these lines with the hope that the New Year will not be like last year. So let's not go back to the beginning of similarities.
Happy New Year.

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