Al-Tahita..Paradise on the sand
English - Wednesday 14 July 2021 الساعة 10:33 am
Mocha, NewsYemen, written by / Abdul Salam Al-Qaisi:
Passers-by on the western coast, or those familiar with the composition of these countries, or those who live in sea cities, believe that they know the coast and are not aware of the cities that lie behind the sand and hide among the shifting sands, as if they are guarding their existence with the dust that revolves around them, around Hays, around al-Tuhayta and around al-Durayhimi.
You get lost between the coastline and wander for hours and turn around while you search for the tahita, its name is from the bottom, and many images appear in your mind about the city of straw, poverty, heat and dust, then soon you see a vast city surrounded by trees and shaded by greenery that contrasts with the color of dust, and then you scream: Where did this city appear, Damn, how are you hiding like that?!
Cities behind the sand, the cities of the soul and the judgment. From Friday to every small city in Hays, at Tuhayta, and in Ad-Durayhimi, there is a lofty landmark in Judah, the color of time, and the nobility of history.
Did coal actually turn into gold?
No, it turns only in old tales and legends and the world of fairies that are tall and beautiful, and on the West Coast the sand turns into cities and the dunes into buildings of judges.
In the old tahita, we arrived and rested in the house of the languid sheikh. We sat on high, hand-woven chairs, and in front of me was an interior window made of plaster, like all the walls in Mubarraz, and in the window were old books with their old color that resonated in you the times of Al-Jahiz and Al-Sahraudi and all the beautiful, bright tales of the East.
In the Tuhayta Center, and in the Sheikh’s house, where the deceased is, you feel that you are in the Middle Ages, medieval times, or in the cities of history scattered in the hearts of regions, you smell the scent of civilization, and your soul is perfumed with the perfume of the stories and myths that you read in the books.
There is a wooden siphon with its striking inscription on the wall of Mubarraz, which we call (Diwan al-Maqil), and this siphon is for books, the history of the country is written in a mirage of ancient history.
As if Al-Tahiti refuses to leave his history, he refuses to contradict the originality with this contemporary modernity. The old books were touched by the old wooden charm with their beautiful and delicate carving.
There are many paintings in Al-Muqil’s Diwan, and the high majlis on which we sit is called the pulpit, and it is woven with the skill of Al-Tahiti, similar to the old family, but these pulpits belong to the qat councils.
In front of me on the wall is a painting of a white horse, and to the left of the painting I wrote the verses of Al-Mutanabbi (The Horse, the Night, and the Bidda Know Me) and talking about horses led us to the neighing emanating from the sides of this city.
Tahita raises horses
Dozens of horses, or even hundreds. Before the war, there was no horse house. Now because of the war and the looted farms behind the city, which are still under the priesthood, there are only about twenty horses in this town, as if I were in a dream.
Abdul Rahman Ahif showed me a picture of his mare that died a few days ago and her foal that she gave birth to soon remained an orphan mother, without a shepherd. He grieves for his mare greatly, and I grieved for myself that throughout my childhood years I dreamed of a horse and I would choose the horse over a crown of gold if they chose me one day while I lived The role of historical drama Then I discover now that horses are in all people.
We who all the time see ourselves as the people of the mountains and the great cities, the heart of the republic, history and civilization.
I told them about me, and about my childhood, after each episode of the series Tariq Bin Ziyad and Khaled Bin Al Waleed, and how we used to translate what we watched from the tournament on television into a game in the country's saddlebags, and we waited to ride donkeys after horses.
It suffices that the donkey resembles the horse, as it is of the same species, and I imagine Tariq bin Ziyad riding the donkey, and at the same time, after each episode of Al-Zeer Salem, the Tahiti child would go out to the horse stable to ride his horse.
It is the tahita, the echo of ancient Yemen, the rest of the antiquity, and the spirit of the frequent sea, a jewel among the heaps of dust that everyone should dig for with the brush of his heart and wipe her dust-soaked chest to shine again, in the lead.
The master of the house watched Al-Tahiti fascinate us with the scent of jasmine, so he took us to the second floor, where the true tradition is, as if someone says why are you impressed from zero and above you a thousand, in the digital creativity?
As I went out through a back door to a courtyard still in the middle of the house, ascending to the second floor, I took a picture of the walls and the adjacent houses, their gypsum-coloured and the yellowness of the steadfast judge despite the world, and the inscriptions scattered in every corner, wall and house.
We went to the second floor, a full-size divan, as if I were in Andalusia during the reign of Al-Nasir and his kingship, Al-Zahra.
Gypsum, cement does not exist, Al-Noura is the undisputed lightening cement, carved walls, and inscriptions, as if the Diwan is an antique piece from the European plains castles. Paintings are scattered harmoniously on the wall, with colors that indicate an Indian blending and ripples east of the ball with Tahita. It explains the depth of the connection between Tuhayta and East India and the connection between the port of al-Hima, which follows Tuhayta, and the port of Bombay.
Antiques, but a masterpiece, pictures of the leader Abdel Nasser, the painting of Ali Abdullah Saleh, everything there reminds you of the antiquity, the antiquity of the Tahita
A country with a judge and a good face, paradis
