PALOMA AND ME

Some people enter into our lives to make us change the day we listen the doorbells or a very old melody. And quite often we change the way we see a rose or a bird. Paloma Lopez made me realize the beauty of roses in a new way.

I used to know rose as a flower, an emblem of love, a must-have for Valentine’s Day and to keep in your pocket to look cool or orthodox…whatever! I was walking alone nonchalantly to celebrate the cold winds and she adventitiously appeared before my eyes. I saw an woman in long, flared, flowery, floor-length skirt and a small top; her bun was adorned with fresh, aromatic red roses; she was dancing to the music of her street-musician fiancé or husband. She was a proper brunette with mesmerizing eyes. On seeing my messy look she just glowered and it took my breath away. Her lover kept of playing the Spanish music instrument, and she kept on dancing to its tune. I don’t know Spanish but their attitude confirmed, it was a really sad love note. I saw some greedy eyes devouring her but she was so easy and flowing.

The evening was pinkish, the city lights were yellowish and people who circled Paloma were in bluish dresses; she was like a true red rose in the street and everyone swarmed around her like honey-bees. When the dance stopped, I came to her and said “Hi.”

“Hola,” her eyes were curious.

“You look beautiful.”

“I know…anything else?”

“Where is your home?”

“Andalusia, Spain.”

“Nice to meet you,” I saw a hand coming for handshake; it is her husband. He is Sergio. I loved how protective he was to his wife. I got to know Andalusia, a province of Spain, is famous for cathedral, mosque and cuisine.
“Guess what, we both were theatre artists; sadly the theatre is now closed because of some legal issues and we don’t know anything else to earn our bread.” Sergio revealed; I saw his eyes glittered with teardrops; cautious Sergio didn’t let them fall.

I looked at Paloma, her eyes were also moist. Still, she tried to smile. She is so glorious even in minimal make-up; her sweet face, pouty red lips, lean waist, flared skirt made her a true rose. However, not all roses get what they deserve. Some stay in queen’s bouquet and some bedeck the traces of a harlot!

Before biding them a goodbye, once again I looked at her, her rose-donned bun, her brown locks and I thanked God for taking my breath away!

©Joyee

Published by

joyeesorceress

Thinker, writer, poetess, dreamer, worshiper of creativity, film enthusiastic

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