A Dance Without Questions

by Maryam Shokoohi · Den Haag, NL

In the meadow, a yellow tulip, its face full of the wind’s laughter, danced among the grasses. And on the rocky peak, a red tulip, alone, blossomed in the embrace of stone and silence. A passing breeze whispered: Who made the meadow’s soil so gentle? Who gave the mountain its heavy share? Why is one left unshielded, and the other cradled in plenty? As a child… I believed that what is rare is worth more. That what is alone deserves more love. Today, in the meadow of life, sometimes I stand in the field, sometimes upon the hill, and I ask myself: Which hand began this quiet game? Is there justice? Or did mere chance scatter each blossom on its patch of earth? Perhaps… perhaps it is enough, simply, to turn to the sun, like the tulips, without questions, and in the breeze, without reckoning, to bloom— and to dance: