It happens when I tell a story

It happens when I tell a story.

For the lady sitting in the kitchen, cleaning green peas from the pods, my stories make her smile. As she listens to me, she distinctly recalls her first kiss and that first embrace so many years ago. I can tell by the gentle way she leans on the side as she reaches for the pods. As the mountain of peas grows, a discreet smile paints itself on her thin lips, expressing secret longings. As they open slightly, they release a soft sigh that I feel had been kept inside for a very long time. She looks up at me. She is silent and yet, I can read countless stories in her eyes.

For the children sitting in a circle, some leaning against each other and others looking at their toes, my stories fill them with wonder. They listen and see me gesticulate and exaggerate, and suddenly they are transported to the desert where the immense night sky is filled with countless stars. Some, they tell me, can even hear the gentle “cling clang” of the wooden bells baby camels wear. And when they leave the circle, the setting of their play has expanded infinitively.

For the man sitting next to me in the bus, my stories open his heart. He tells me how he felt when his first child was born, and when his second one died at just nine days old. He tells me with his eyes shining with tears, that his most precious desire in life is not to have a mansion, but to hold his son in his arms just one more time. He continues to talk and this time, I listen.

All this happens when I tell a story.

I like to tell stories. Maybe it is because I carry in my Arab blood the millenary tradition of telling stories and reciting poetry; or maybe, it is simply because I love to share and colour things around me.

Why don’t you try it one day? Tell stories to strangers and you will see how their eyes will shine and smiles will faintly trace memories and dreams on their lips. Open your heart and other hearts will open.

It happens to me all the time. Such a precious gift to give and to receive, don’t you think?

Now and again, some people may not want to listen or partake. That is fine of course. I then write my stories down, often in the form of a poem, and come here to share and colour the world.

Thank you for reading.

Kenza.

6 thoughts on “It happens when I tell a story”

  1. oui, tant de choses arrivent quand tu racontes une histoire …. la paix et la douceur, les jours de fatigue et de soucis ; un chemin quand les portes semblent fermées ; un rire les jours de pluie ; un sourire et une bouffée de tendresse les jours où tout semble difficile; un souvenir oublié, … Merci.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I always wonder what sort of story the person beside me on the bus has. I create all these narratives and as she leaves I think, “well, why didn’t I just ask her how her day was going?” We get so distant from others we forget that we really could be close, if we tried. Well done! And thank you for your support for my scholarship vote in my last article!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Most welcome Elle. Good luck with the competition. And thank you for your words. I love talking to people and you would be surprised on how easily people actually open up. Kenza.

      Liked by 1 person

  3. So beautiful Kenza. I love the lyrical beauty of your stories – within your story, the gentle simplicity, the heart of love wrapping everything within. Thank you for your presence. Thank you for your stories.

    Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s