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The Call of Marching Bell

starry night

By Zarlish Published 2 months ago 4 min read

Men never grow wise, and many old men retain attractive childishness and cheerful innocence. Thereupon elderly people are often much more romantic then younger people.

When you love someone you expect everyone around you to feel the same way, sharing joy and euphoria. And when that doesn’t happen, you feel surprised, then offended and betrayed. For there is something in one’s name which seems so private to oneself that any mention of it by others, brings for the moment a vague sense of discomfort. The air of melancholy surrounds you, yet the very stealth, the eerie quietness; of the things make it more magical. How? Let’s divulge this secret. I have a story for it;

World is a chilled hollow of dead white and blues with hypochondriacs living in it. Once a wandering dervish was praying inside a mosque .The stars were above him and the velvet sky; under the light of the stars the dervish wept and wept like a newborn child who just entered into a dystopian world away from the emulate days of him. The dried throat then started to speak;

“O, My Mighty, I buried, I buried the memory of those dodges for a rather long time call me to yourself, take my soul to you there’s nothing in these worldly treasures ”

Seeing this, a beholder stops and listens to this dervish weep behind the pillar of the sahn suddenly he saw the dervish take out a flute and there came a sound.

It was so captivating that the beholder held his breath; the cold breeze drew it nearer and nearer. He was so intimated in the music that he closed his eyes but opened it when he heard it no more.

When the beholder opened his eyes he saw the dervish spinning in breathtaking speed, his white skirt opened like a lotus flower, one hand pointing the earth’s roof and other pointing its basement. It was quite a scene. He couldn’t help but smile out of discomfort. He whirled and whirled for what seemed like an eternity. The wind covered the dervish like a wild desert wind. Finally he stopped the beholder remained still as an oak tree, the lotus flower closing up itself. A thick silence ensued.

There came a voice

“Hiding is as pernicious as a gun in the hands of a kid. Show yourself”.

The beholder scared like a lamb came in front; his eyes met that of the dervish. They were swollen ringed with red indicating recent emotional distress. The silence once again broke.

“What was that spinning that you were doing, before that why were you crying.

Who are you?” asked the beholder.

Raising his head towards the sky the dervish said: “I am my lords servant, been a while that I talked to him”.

“Then what he said” asked the beholder.

The dervish smiled and started walking when he said “we expect lord to be a vending machine, where you insert a coin and there you receive something”.

The beholder full of sagacity asked “what do you mean? Isn’t god supposed to answer his servants call?”

“Of course he is and he does it is us actually us who turn away from him otherwise you wouldn’t be here. It is actually what you believe; you still have some hope left in you. Your loss maybe serious; its replacement maybe difficult but you still chose him. Will that count for you?” exclaimed the dervish.

There was a swelling sigh and burst of tears from the beholders eyes. The dervish carried the beholder with him to the Mihrab. It was cold, fit subject for a poet, refreshment for the human spirits and exaltation for the soul.

The dervish made the beholder wash his face and make him do wudu. As they both sprinkled the water the dervish spoke, “when body and mind are out of gear I know who to call and I shall be well again , you see these white nights are just your sculpted thoughts as in this world, it is not similarities or regularities that take us a step forward, but blunt opposites. And all the opposites in the universe are present within each and every one of us. Therefore the believer needs to meet the unbeliever residing within. And the nonbeliever should get to know the silent faithful in him”. Winked the dervish as he walked away into a glowing light; serene golden light. It hit the beholder and he ran after him to stop the dervish,

but light vanished.

Jen woke as she couldn’t catch air her hands trembling with fear her ice cold body inside the dark room of a hospital.

“Oh honey, you have finally waked. We thought we were going to lose you” cried a lady beside Jens coma bed.

vintagefact or fiction

About the Creator


I wish I wore the way I imagine; but he says "She is spherical, like a globe. i could find out countries in HER"

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