Oriental rugs date back over 2,500 years with the discovery of the "Pazyrk Rug" found in a Siberian burial site. From nomads to kings, people have taken advantage of their warmth and prized their long-lasting beauty. Today, they grace homes and offices with their elegance and go with any decor.
We hope that you will enjoy the following piece by Farrokh A. Ashtian.
Your Persian rug
Walk on me
..............Walk on me
..............Walk on me
Touch me
..............Touch me
............................Touch me
Open up the windows, let the warm golden dusts of the sun flow in and invigorate
faces and bodies, yours and mine. Let the rays of the sun enhance our colors and
revive our happiness. Come besides me to rejoice the melting pendulum of time,
to recite our poetry and share our memories.
Descend to earth, come capriciously, pour a cup of tea and level with me. Tune
the tar, play a song and fine-tune our continuous ecstasy and harmonious
rhapsody. Glance at the bouquet of wildflowers that I have scattered at your
feet, the ones that you often overlook when you pass by me.
These wildflowers were brought from the grasslands at the foot of mount Sahand,
where once the Garden of Eden stood 7,000 years or so ago. There, butterflies
rule the land, bees follow the butterflies and big bears feast on honey and
gorge on blackberries while reclining on the grass watching the bees and the
butterflies drawing their canvases and performing their dances.
Take a look at your faithful Persian rug.
My soul was created and my wefts were woven on those after-the-fog dawns when
the ruby-colored berries sip water from morning dews. And cast their own
beauties inside the droplets hanging on the edge of their leaves before that
fist ray of the sun rises from the East.
If you ever visit my birthplace, then pause and take a deep breath. Inhale the
fresh air and feel the scent of lupines, soothing aroma of heracleum leaves, and
then listen to the euphonious melody of waterfalls echoing among the rocks in
the valley. Hear the bells of the goats grazing far away on top of the hills.
And watch the swallows fly by you so swiftly like the days of one's life or the
farewell of the late day sun through the yellow autumn leaves.
These flowers are gifts from the lands far away where nature's passion recycles
beauty and gives birth to irises, tulips and hyacinths. Tiny hands of little
girls who joyfully filled their baskets with flowers picked these colorful
selections for you and with their pastel dresses they matched the beauties of
the flowers scattered in those fields. And in the midst of those flowerbeds
among butterflies and the bees you could hear them cheer each time they found a
ladybug chasing the ants on the surface of the leaves.
Like the honeybees that no man can predict the next motion of their dances and
what path they may take in their romances, those little girls freely went from
one flower patch to another in search of the most attractive blooms. In their
excursion they kept brushing their colorful skirts against flowers and caressing
the new blooms. And in their innocence they cross-pollinated flowers just like
butterflies do and the bees. The following spring they will bloom into many new
colors and create a new spectrum for you to see.
Hence I am holding at your feet the best of the wilderness, dandelions and
clovers, gentians and daffodils.
These wild cyclamens were picked and gathered by a young bride wearing a lime
colored dress, henna on her nails, a garnet necklace and shyness in her eyes and
her rose-tinted face. Those majestic fields at the foot of Mount Sahand are the
looms for the nature on which all these wild flowers are the wraps and wefts and
the place where most elegant tapestries of nature are created.
Today is another joyous day so cast a glance at me.
Walk on me
...........Walk on me
.........................Walk on me
.......................................Touch me
.....................................................Touch
me
...................................................................Touch
me
I am your Persian rug, descend on me.
Look at these wild violets, poppies and forget-me-nots that were gathered for
you. I am that forever-faithful rug, the memory of your parents, and I carry
many stories in my heart and now at your feet.
Don't doubt me. Come sit by me to share our stories and tales of the past and
savor this day or two that our beauties may last. Discover and relish the
birthplace of these wildflowers that I have at your feet:
Pinch the thyme,
touch the chamomile,
and smell the rosemary.
I am your Persian rug, touch me and touch me, cast a beautiful glance on me and
then walk on me.
Please, walk on me.
© 2002 Farrokh A. Ashtiani