Soliloquy III

Humdrum

Yesterday, I realized i was sitting on my couch at home without the faintest recollection of the 20-mins drive to reach there.
Nothing.
All erased.
Seems like one of these dreams that you know you had but of which you can't remember much;
Mere fragments of sighs and star dust that you see floating tauntingly, but can't seem to touch
Not even the monotone hunt for a parking space, pulling over under the gaze of the moon and the crossing of the street in haste, the usual salutations to the porter, the waiting on the lift, and the the habitual inspection of my attire and makeup on the back mirror just to make sure i wasn't looking like a loafer all day,
The stop at the 8th floor then the 11 steps to my door.
I counted them once.

When i was awake.

Stay, i don't remember at all reaching out to the keys in the left pocket of my purse and the two attempts at turning it at the hole.
Always two, exhaustive trials before i get it right. Strange, how I remember that
Not even my automated "I'm home" that is returned with a muffled voice with an onerous tone
Uttered by my echo from the living room busy ironing the shreds of disappointment that I soon wrap around my falling shoulders
Before i crash at last on the couch after that long, long day
That is all curtained by thick smolder
Of forgetfulness
Not even the thoughts that occupied me so, I could harness

How is that even possible ?

Perhaps, it is not wistful thoughts; the usual suspects, that stole my vigil
I can't seem to concentrate over this stanza of infinite frequencies ringing through my skull
And the constant bangs
In my chest that demand my full attention
ba-dum
ba-dum
ba-dum
ba-dum
You know, reigning quiet is actually disturbing
Ah, Ventricular Fibrillation, my Professor said earlier that day
I don't remember the title of the lesson, but I sure could put together bits and pieces as I regain my poise on my squeaking settee, shush down the noise inside my mind
And search for the voice
Of silence
The more I listen, the more i could recall
Or
ba-dum
Forget

It messes with your heart, he said, lighting bolts of l'amour,
And the slower they seep through one's pores, the more painfully their guard of reason discomposes
The jolt reaches so deep it causes explosions in their heart,
Makes it rain and decant fresh petals of roses
And a string of fervent poems would seep along the scum from their arid lips
That man looked like Zorba The Greek with eyes burning zelously
I could imagine him dancing to his own heart beats
Frantic kicks of la Mazurka, showering in the graces of the evening clouds
ba-dum
Strange man, long day
And my retention of events begins to wan
Oh, someone said that ephemeral strikes of existential implosions
Don't kill you
If they are short, no matter how acute
They make you ultra, instead, coughing smoke and desolation, true
Nevertheless an evolved species that live to carry through
Or
ba-dum
Something like that

The sleeve of such recollections always eludes my reaching fingers until I set still
And clear my ears
But i mysteriously started to forget my skillful ways
Could be when I was told to my face for the first time in many years
With a mocking scoff that I was a major
Disappointment
I smiled, and took off
Repeatedly sweeping my windshields on the way
Thinking it was raining when it was the tears in my eyes that blurred the world
I wasn't sad
Nothing of value was broken
I remember trying to laugh but the sound that came out was darkened
Along with my thoughts
Piles of chaff
Blown away by the wind through the cracked windows as I sped up hoping to reach
Somewhere
ba-dum
ba-dum
ba-dum
Do you sometimes freak out as you become so aware
Of your vital signs while engulfed in a bubble of silence and solitude, these lub dubs in your chest ,these green dwellings of your veins, and your swelling lungs, like the rising tide;

A consciousness so vivid of your being 
Alive and uproarious

It gives birth to bumps on your tremulous skin, though it was silence what you sought, and it was silence what you thought is going to coat you once you muffle the voices inside
But , alas !
Silence, eternal and solicitous, a nebula of mist in which you could hide for a life time
Is merely a myth, my friend

There is no escaping the loud chimes in your chest

And there are the thoughts you killed unborn,

All the words you bit your tongue before they were torn from the nibble of your teeth
These infinite records of white noise keep playing on repeat, until you don't feel the need to scribble the lyrics down

T'is so terrifying to realize that one can't settle in real quietness
Except for in the darkness of the tomb

What killed Schemkov wasn't an aching strike of ardor
It was the slow seizure of fullness 
The morbid mixture of fear and anticipation tumoring in his heart
The realization of his utter unworthiness , and falling helplessly into the vortex of existential degradation that his faint psyche
Just couldn't bear

Pray, who is Schemkov ?

Ah, I have a test on Lighting Protection this Thursday.

Starlight

Do you ever encounter moments in your life
When you suddenly stop in motion
Regrettably notice that you float upon a flimsy raft
Swaying in the middle of the vast blue ocean
You are kinda
Sorta
Practically
Lost
Though it doesn't matter
You even forgot why you started to hone your barb
Stormed out with nothing to spare for gear but your garbs
Prolly got tired and sick of the reek of mediocrity
And the major bore that is your comfort zone
Home
Is what you left behind
Or what you left seeking
Or
Thought you were

See, a point is easily lost on a plane
When you don't care where it lies

Amid the haziness of recollections you could only remember
The thrill of resolution pulsing up your spine
The moment you broke your chains and crossed the line
"I'm going places", you explained
"I'm meant to go places", you sustained
And here you are

Somewhere

Nowhere
Recanting your credo; little birds that boldly jump off the nest for the first time
Can't possibly be aware

Of the concept of  "Falling"

Man, grownups make everything sound so hard
You grabbed a hastily scribbled manual when you resolved to depart
That much you could remember as you hold in your trembling hands
A hefty book of regrets and What-Ifs
You wish you could retard to the point where it didn't matter much
Whether you grasped the smudgy footnotes left by an anonymous
Pages seem to waltz to the tempo of the blowing breeze
As you look bewildered about your chattering knees
And the falling shoulders
Of your expectations returning home to your wheezing bosom 
So crushed and appalled at fate's inattention
It's all so tediously blue around, they report
The tide is high
The dome is gray
A second is a day
An infinity is a night
The waves they chide
And doom is nigh
Your trembling bones could tell that a storm
Is on the way
Tomorrow, if not today
And all the gear, all the armors you could wear
Won't save you
For the waves will rave you
And leave you bared under the lashes of the sun
Scared and stunned

Trying to adjust the rhythm of your lungs

To the swings of your reaching arms
All alone, 
Facing the horrors of the unknown
See, you could row away, disappearing into the shadows
Or let the waves lead you astray into the night
But trust that the space you'd leave behind
Won't stay hollow
For long
The earth will keep turning as you wallow
And the sun and stars
The moon, and the waves
Even Jupinter and Mars
Will live on
Like you never were

What i'm trying to say is

Do you ever encounter moments in your life
When you are seized with the grand realization
Of your
Complete
And utter
Insignificance
That you shook to the core in ecstasy upon grasping

The true essence of freedom ?

ما أفعله بدلاً من كتابة أطروحتي

قبل المغيب، ترى أضواء المدينة قد أفاقت من قيلولة النهار

نحيب النوارس يبدو كترنيمة نسجت من زغب الحنين

 وهي تقطع عباب السماء عرضاً

باتجاه الغد

يستيقظ  الطفل بداخلي أيضاً وينظر باتجاه المغرب

حيث ينحسر الأفق إلى نقطة قبل ان تتزوج السماء بالبحر
ويولد القمرعلى عجل

 ل يسلي الأناسي ريثما تأخذ الشمس غفوتها هي الأخرى

 بعد سنوات ، هل سأعود بذاكرتي إلى هذه الغرفة

كبيرة النوافذ ، عديمة الستار؟

زجاجة من الرمال وأصداف كثيرة قد جابت العالم

 قبل ان تستقر على رفّي المكسو بالغبار

كتب مبعثرة في أرجاء المكان

قرأت نصف نصفها، والبقية متدثرة بغطاء هزيل من الإهمال

عناوينها لم تكن مثيرة

في إحدى الأركان بالونة زرقاء

 أخذتها من حفل عيد مولد

اشتريت له هدية، ذاك الفتى الوسيم

لا اذكر اسمه ، لكنني 

لمحته بالأمس ،محض غريب
 في بحر من الغرباء

كمنجة مقطوعة الوتر قابعة على الأريكة

تندب فقدها الجسيم
بصمت 

آلمتني وخزات الخيبة عندما عوقتها، فقد كانت عندي أثيرة

لكن ما أوجعني بصدق أنني
بكل حرص كنت أدوزن الوتر الخطأ

لم ألاحظ من قبل كم أن هذه الغرفة تمثلني

كل ما فيّ و كل ما أريد أن أكون
الزمن متوقف بين هذه الجدران
كحوض من زجاج يعزل الأصوات جميعاً
في لجة من السكون

قبيل الغروب حتى الطيور تأوي إلى مهاجعها
بانتظار الغد

في شتاء العام الماضي أخبرني احدهم ان بطئ الغسق مزعج جداً

 كنا على ذلك الشاطئ نرسم أحلامنا 

 خلسة على صفحات الرمال عندما يغيض الموج

ونضحك هنيهات عندما تتلاشى 

مع تقدم الفوج

لص بغيض، ترسانة من الملح والماء

يسكتثر على الأطفال فينا محض أوهام

في ذلك الحين
لم نكن نقدّر بطئ الكون كثيراً

"في قلبي" كانت "صدامات كونية" ،وعواصف من الإرتياع

بوادر من التخبط والضياع مطبوعة على محياي

و بواقٍ من حطام ذاتي الفتية
 تسري من الصدوع في صدري
كلما جفلت مقهقهة 

كنت مشغولة بـ "العيش", غافلة عن لحظية الحياة
وفجاءة الزوال

لم تكن حطاماً، تلك البضيعات التي تنسل من داخلي
بل حبيبات تنساب من الشقوق في ساعتي الرملية

و الغسق العجوز كان يأخذ وقته في تذكيرنا بأن ذلك اليوم
قد لملم سرابيله
بلا رجعة

أجبت بأن "جمال المشهد يكمن في سرمديته"
و ضحكنا كثيراً على تلك الترهات الشعرية
ربما كان الشعر يتسرب من داخلي أيضاً، كلما ضحكت وبكى داخلي كمداً
لم نعلم بأننا سنكبر سريعاً خلال عام

كبرنا سريعاً، وبتنا نود لو أن يطول الغسق أكثر
أن يمشي الزمن الهوينى
أن يأخذ الغد وقته في القدوم

كبرنا سريعاً وأدركنا بتوجس أن ساعاتنا
 قد شارفت على التوقف

وأننا لن نستعيد سويعات السلام التي لم نضحك فيها

أو لم نبك عليها قط

أننا سنهدر ما تبقى من أعمارنا نحسب حبات الرمال الصامدة

تتشبث عبثاً قبل السقوط الى دهاليز الِهرم

الغسق لم يكن دهراً، على نقيض ما ظننا

قبل عام
الغسق استمر وهلة

للحظة تجاوز الأفق حدود الزمان والمكان

لغمضة عين

ظننا أن الخلود ممكن، لبضع ثوان

لكن لحظات السعادة تمضي قبل أن ندركها 

ونحن نعبر خضم الحياة في مركب من العجلة

بعد عام من الغفلة

وانا انظر من خلال نافذتي

أدركت ان نصف ساعة من السكون شيء ثمين

في نصف ساعة قبل أن يلملم النهارمتاعه ويهم بالرحيل

 تبدو بوادر القمر على استحياء من بين أسدال العتمة
وتأخذ السماء لوناً أرجوانياً قاتماً
في غضون نصف ساعة ستشتعل تلك المنارة عند الساحل
 قبساً يهدي الهائمين
بينما ترنو أعمدة الإنارة على مد الخليج في سباق تتابع
هكذا ملحمة لا ينبغي استعجالها

في نصف ساعة سألف شريط محادثاتنا على ذلك المقعد 

وأستمع إليها مراراً تحت نور النجوم
بعد ان استيقظت في تذمر
مطلة على شرفة الماضي، وفي يدي

 كأس من التدبر

مزدان بروح من الطمأنينة
أرشفه ببطئ ، متدفئة بأنفاس المساء

في نصف ساعة من الصمت المطبق في داخلي
حواسي النعسى ستستيقظ من خمولها
وتحفظ تفاصيل ما حولها
صخب المدينة
بقعتنا المفضلة في تلك الحديقة
غناء جاري النشاز
وأصوات ضحك و صراخ من تلفاز
عقد الهُيام الغارق في قعر الخليج
قرقعة الزوارق على الشاطئ القريب
هذه الغرفة ، فارغة و ملأى في آن
بصدى دقات قلبي المتباطئة
و آخر ذرة من الرمل في ساعتي

صامدة في استنفار على حافة الوهد

وبعد انقضاء تلك اللحظة
التي تستمر قرناً من الزمان
سأرحل مع بقية النور وفضلة النهار

راضية 

نحو الغد

A Benediction

I'm sorry if you stumbled upon this by chance one day, but I shan't erase it
Because every bit of it stems from a genuine place, and i can't hide this part of me
From you

We sit, awkwardly, at the edge of our nuptial bed on our wedding night
This chamber is perfumed with fresh blessings and faint traces of Surrateya
I wiped my make up, and you took off your glasses

Ours is a typical story, you tell your mamma that you have grown too old to crash on her lap

So she declares that it's time to find you a mate; and she's got just the right maiden
Her younger duplicate; you see, pretty; with a touch of grace
Picks the right customary phrase while greeting the aunties
Makes all the witty remarks, and serves the best tea

She points her out to her son on a wedding tape

And moves on to enquire and charm the girl's mom

Arab mothers are so quick at arranging things, while men only sit to talk roots and figures
Is his blood pure? Are his roots obscure?
How much can he pay ? Does he regularly pray?
And the little princess classically peers behind a cracked door
Trying to steal a glance of the knight with the lance that has come to snatch her away

Her dad he says she will be conferred with, but he knows his daughter obeys his command
And she knows her daddy knows best, of course, but ,see, her daddy doesn't know her at all
"We shouldn't stall the gentleman long", he says
"We only wish to see you in a happy nest", her mother throws
What's new ? there is no apparent fault with the boy, that's of course beyond the ones
She could teach herself to love and the few she could try to change when push comes to shove
She said yes, still wondering what the fuss was all about

Her past joys, her graduation, finding a job, such cleared stages called for as big a celebration

As if becoming someone's wife outweighed her entire life

They must be talking about the wedding part of marriage
The glittering armor of gold, and the white celestial dress
Makes you wonder if that's the only reason girls ever say yes
And she said yes, true, but under her breath she would vaguely whisper
I could take on a storm, but I wouldn't handle the quiet reign of uncertainty

What if our celebrated togetherness brought the worst in each ?

What if we crumbled beneath the weight of passive repulsion
What if he gives up trying ? What if he blows out the candle on his own ?

What if he finds it easier to walk away ? What if it turns out less painful to be alone ?

It should be easy, they said : We bury our seed in a haven of trust
I could be the rain drops and you could be the rays
And I'm to try my best to cater for your needs and gratify your lust

But I, as you place my shivering hands in yours, and I look into your eyes
I know in my bones that turmoil will rise and swell from the friction of our grits
And the belly of this grave silence bears the child of our fate

What are you thinking about, right now, Vulcan ?

Soliloquy II

When you say that i'm not supposed to forget when i'm young and careless 

You don't know that I lull myself to oblivion just to get some rest

By a puddle somewhere in the realm of my mind, I stood and flung three stones
The tangled web of surges reaching to my feet didn't look like the waves they've been
But I could still tell their origins by the graces of habit
They whispered in different tones, what i knew by heart already

I've read somewhere that you could only make it
If you manage to block all the distractions trying to invade your wake
All but the one call that drives you to where you need to be
Arguably, i'm going to say that need to be, and want to be aren't always the same
But that is gonna have to wait for another time
I used to be able to do that when I was younger, listen to the lucid hymn within
In moments of extended peace I'd mute the world and have a conversation
With the echos inside my soul
So vivid and gleeful an interaction, when the biggest of my worries was a homework

And tomorrow didn't matter until it came

But lately, it has been ...so noisy
Everywhere, but inside my head mainly
It steals my sleep away; and my alertness during the day

Lots of voices colliding and mixing
Sinking and re-emerging to the surface of my grasp
Continual exposure to this self-inflicted angst is bad for the health so I tried
Talking to living folks loudly just to shush the ones in my head
And for a day or two they did
They would go away and leave me to regain my wits
But come back again, louder and clearer deep in the night
Working to keep me awake ,and feeble enough, so they could prevail
Thinking that I'm that frail
They vehemently drill through my brain during the gleam of the day, while I dwell in melancholy
I know they are getting close to the core of my sanity for
I often hear a piercing buzz of a broken mic
So vicious, the sneers I perceive as my foes strike a gong somewhere

Then stillness reigns

What is happening to me ?


What is happening to me ?



Psst, stop trying to do good
You ain't good
I merely do so to be remembered
Nobody cares

You need to smash more

Burn things ; REBEL !
Why ?
"Why?"
Thou don't dare, do you ?
You worry. A lot
I have to
BURN
Get along !
SMASH
Did ya know that worrywarts die young? 
And so very miserable
More importantly, alone
Those who seize the moment.
DESTROY.
Are trapped in a Mobius loop.
Of nonsensicality .
See it's all nonsense
It feels good to be trivial though
Ding dong : Reality check.
Life is a battle.
Then I'm unarmed.
No, life is a bottle.
WRECK !
And she's a Jinni.
You need to get out victorious .
No she needs to break free.
I want to be free.
It's not worth the trouble, believe me.
Stop denying it.
What ?
You are crazy about him.
He found him while drilling around here
Well camouflaged 
Don't stray off the subject.
Fine. Remind me,

What was clawing at your heart ?




I don't know.



They keep leaving, don't they
With little pieces of you
And you just realized it,
Didn't you?

You are next.

I know.
Never forget.
I won't.
Your pronounced insignificance.
Why are you still trying ?
Your bones will turn to dust as soon
And you messed up so bad.
They got real mad this time.
Good for nothing.
Silence.
Walking disappointment. 
I'm not.
You need to stop f*cking shit up.
I'm trying
Cluster of failure.
Let me be
It feels great to let go
Of pain ?
Of your reason.
Sleazy ruffian
Let go.
It's been hurting your palms isn't it ?
And slipping is so easy.
So easy.
Just let go.
Lose control.
Run rogue , they all do.

You are a beautiful soul.

Your vanity is legit.
You think you deserve this.
Love thyself and all, child.
My carcass.
I love myself though.
He is in love with you too.
He is mad about you
Yet you torment him so
Impressive
No, he can't be. 
Because he never said it out loud ? 
You are more evil than i raised you to be
But right ? how dare he ?
BREAK HIM.
He could't have handled you anyway.
Oh, look, you messed up again.
Hahaha you won't ever make it out there
You ain't as smart.
It ain't about smarts.
And you will die alone.
It's not a competition.
But it is. Against your weakness.

Why do you feel the need to prove a point to someone?



I don't.

To whom, do you need to prove that point though?
No one.
Come, to whom ?
No one.
To whom ?
LOOK AT ME, 
TO WHOM 
DO YOU NEED
TO PROVE
THE WRETCHED POINT ?

He won't ever acknowledge you.

Mother

Ever since i was little i would wonder
What makes mothers so warm
And vast
I mean, I could bury my head in mother's chest and live there
Revel in the warmth and safeness as she brushes my hair
And her calm heartbeats a tender lullaby to my senses
I used to ponder; will I ever grow up to be someone's home
Like mother's embrace was my universe?
Would I ever master the craft of healing ?
Hear the muffled breezes of ache in someone's voice
As loud and crisp as if it was whispered through my ears
Would I ever be able to stand against time refusing to kneel
When my precious is shivering in fear behind me
Would I ever bear and give birth to little angels
That I'd love to infinity, beyond the sun and stars
That i'd raise on strength and affinity
That would leave when their spines harden enough
To steer the ploughs of their own lives
To fall and rise
Tread on, by grit or surmise
Accept with dignity, and give
Love and forgive
Then come back to me when the sun sits on their youth
To rest their heads on my lap
Lay their hearts in my hand
And their foolish botches at my feet
So i'd stroke their bald blotches, and trace the wrinkles
That life inflicted on their brows
Hidden to the world, blind and heedless to their existence
But visibly protrusive to my eyes alone

Would my children wish they would rather die before me 
So they don't die along 
When I leave them behind ?

Soliloquy

Nocturne, Op.55, No.1

Forgetting, is such a curious notion
Can't entirely grasp how it works;

They say time heals; and it does
But it cannot paint over scars
It just mars the memory; to be less painful
I guess we don't truly bury the pain under piles of neglect
Merely, the mechanism that translates recollections to ache
Dulls with time
You know how a fresh cut wouldn't hurt for the first few minutes
Then it burns for days after reality hits your brain
Until the flesh is healed

But the seam remains
Oh it remains

It's still there; always will be
It could fade a bit if you scrub with little joys and laughter
And you could let drapes of cloth and linen fall upon it
When you take a stroll under the sun
But it is still there. You'd need a new suit of skin if ya can't bear with the marks of time
The same way you'd need a new heart, young and spotless
To efface the eschars within

Sadly, humans don't come with spare parts
Perhaps it's what makes us humans, all too human

Though gleams of faces obscure,
Of people alive and breathing no more
Would still flicker in the canopy of your vigil
Venus of remembrance would shine ablaze beyond the haze of your daily struggles
Every once in a while
And the film of your grief would play on repeat in sleepless nights
As you lay amused at how it used to agonize your marrows;
To bob and sway your limbs to the foreign rhythm of oblivion
And the throbs of anguish climbing up and down your spine
As the needles of refusal are pulled from your strait nerves
Strangely, so it seems
When enough years had gone by so one could look back on them
You wouldn't holler as loud when the screen goes blank at the end
The beat of silence played on their memorial has been engraved on the inside of your eardrums
It no longer provokes the collapse of your calm

The memory of loss would no longer conquer

But instead, relapse and shrink, glancing from a door left ajar
Occasionally
A tear drop or two might trickle down your cheek
A spontaneous reaction, abridged and meek
Like a demulcent drizzle in spring
Followed by a faint smile, self-condoling
Painful it is not; reminiscence,
When you look at your closed wounds as battle scars
Mementos from the beloved beneath the eart
And remember that to forget is not to erase
It is but to make peace with the existence of sorrow
Making it some room among the residents of your heart.

Je Suis Human

He said,
"No man is an island, entire of itself;

Every man is a piece of the continent, 

A part of the main. 

If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less "

He said,
"Any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, 

And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls;

It tolls for thee."

His name was John Donne, he wrote Meditations

Dear Sir,
Darling,
Allow me a moment to say that if you could ever come back to life
And venture to take a stroll among the living
If you stumbled into a typical household of this century
Or attended a gathering of any coterie
You'd surely take back your noble statement
When you see how every single one of us is living on their own island
And I'm pretty sure you'd realize the extent of your naivety
For elevating the human nature to your high standards of goodness and decency

I say, perhaps folks hastened to give, and hurried to feel

In the old times, when a believer was willing to share his bread with his 7th neighbor 

But today, my good sir
We keep human bonding to the bare minimum advised by social norms 

Only mourn for a stranger when our civil depection is at stake

And this is quite evident in its simplest forms
At بيت العزا (a funeral)
My good sir, ever been in this situation where a distant relation passes away
And your household receives flocks of mourners offering their condolences?

You are just standing in a corner
Unable to shed the tears expected of you
Because you can't fathom the extent of your loss
And it's just so overwhelming how all these strangers sound more bereft than you do
How you'd hear the whines and see the tears but when you look closer
Their gazes would hit you as dull and austere
And you try to appreciate their nice gestures but deep down you'd feel pestered
Because you can't divine whether these good folks are here because they are genuinely sorry for you
Or whether they are just too good at pretending to be clement
And if it isn't so, why would they ever feel the need to display a sentiment
That isn't real
Nay, at such moments of great peril,

Why would you take the time to evaluate someone else's sincerity of emotions

When you can't even fake a squeal ?

It so appears, we are an apathetic generation
We would rather send a text than call a friend on their birthday
Yet we venture to transcend situational boundaries
By displaying our protest to an unjust fatality half way around the globe
When sometimes
We don't even care to know the names of the casualties
And we can sleep content at night
Because we think we've paid our dues to humanity
When we've made a sympathetic Hashtag trend
That we've fulfilled our share of charity
When we've unified our display pictures in support of some cause
Or when we liked a philanthropic page on facebook
We all agree that technology has made displays of solicitude so commonplace

Except that the dead don't mind how many retweets their bloody photos get

We can only pretend to care when it's not our skin that is cut

We only dare to communicate our deepest emotions ,share our brimful compassion
With a bunch of strangers that can't judge us aught
Don't we all pretend to sympathize with fellow humans we haven't met
When we aren't even able to connect with folks dining with us at the same table?
So with all due respect ,Sir Donne
You are a big fool
And it pains me to differ
But every man IS a continent of its own
We don't actually feel deprived when some sorry soul in Europe is diminished
In reality, a little goblin is growing pests at the back of everyone's mind

"You don't know them, therefore they don't matter"

And the funny part is ,we don't even realize the absurdity of it all
When we grab a newspaper ,only to find that Kim Kardashian's behind took over the front page
While the massacre of a few innocent souls was pushed way to the back
Though you may argue that the logic here is to keep people entertained first
And informed next
Because looking at a body ain't appealing
When it's not naked
But look, I'm not here to criticize, ladies a gents
We are all humans in the end, with built-in flaws and dents
Convicted of the same crime
Of basically living our lives in selective oblivion
I'm just here to ask you whether it is really so gruesome
To live happily, ignorantly, basely, contently,
When we know that someone else is suffering in another part of this vast world ?
And that perhaps this happiness is built on someone else's misfortunes
Someone else's tears, and sweat
Someone else's time and blood
Someone else squalor and twit ?
While we keep living, and breathing,
Preaching our fake humanitarian slogans
As we cower behind the excuse that it isn't our fault
The way this world is wretched and unfair

And it's true; ain't nobody's fault that the other side of the moon is so drear

So dear sisters and brothers of the human race, this is a cordial invitation :

Not To Behead the last buds of our virtue
But to embrace our Gnostical Turpitude;

To shamelessly cover our eyes, and plug our ears

So we won't hear of the morbidity of our reality
I invite you all

To be ignorant human beings, without a spec of indignity 

The Expats

We, in the land of expatriation

Just like dandelion seeds

Have bid our motherland farewell, when her veins could no longer bleed

Scattered by the gale, trampled and crushed by the trials of time

But as they say back home, "Akl Al A'aish Jabbar" 

We don't join the chants on independence days, "what has mother done for us ?"

We whisper in shame ,having fled the ship before it sunk

We, in the land of expatriation, spend our youth looking for a place to belong

Those who have wandered for long, realize, quite languid and old

That a homeland, unlike a plot of earth, cannot be bought with silver and gold

That acting like Romans while in Rome did not eventually make them Romans

And for years, while drenched in drudgery, longing seeps from their skin

Mixes with their sweat, drips across their temples  

That old man with sunken eyes, silken gowns and apparent wealth?

Must have spent his youth collecting dimes in a trunk of patience

Dug in another man's junk and took what's usable

Kissed shoes and committed many a crime he found excusable  

Only carried through with the thought of his mother in his heart

Her scent as she embraced him at the door

"Ya Waladi Lalob Baladna Wala Tamr Alnas" 

You were right, mother, we were poor when we left,

But we're back, much poorer

Mother, we have docked our Dhows at your shore to spend our old age

Threw our heavy sacks of fortune on your dry soil

But mother, we are still expats at home

Our stranger children, our abandoned brothers, their faces recounting stories of toil

Meet us at the door with packed cases, and the ones that remained behind, stand in line

To collect the dues that they think we owe them

Back home, we are the bad seed with an alien culture, the enlightened breed

That tramples on the norms, and makes amends that no one asked for

Lo, for a reason obscure we so believe that our heaven on earth lies beyond the borders

Far away, where we can't remember the smell of the sprinkled clay of the Hoash

The petrichor after a drizzle, washing the sky, and the ashen faces of the homeless

Filling the cracks on their palms,

Stretched to the windows of foreign cars at the signal stop, begging for alms

Far away where we can't hear the grunts of helpless fathers, the coos of careworn wives

The squeals of abandoned foundlings, the sighs of Settat Al Shai

Somewhere beneath a void trunk of Tabaldi, in a barren outskirt of Tangasi

One of us dug their tomb, and tucked their heart in, while Mother wept bitterly 

A resentful existence that devoured her children, trying to get them back inside her womb.

Prelude, Op. 28, No.4, in E Minor

A Eulogy 

I'm not accustomed to crying ,which is why, it seems,
My body isn't accustomed to the aftermath of a crying fit
It has gotten so bad recently that my vision blurs for a while
And the headache lasts for a few days..
I dare say this year i cried more than I did in my entire life;
Excluding my few years of infancy

Yesterday, though, i could't breath.

I couldn't see, i couldn't speak, was shivering alone, weak
Gasping for breath in a side parking, holding my phone

News of sudden death hit you hard.

And your instances of contact with the deceased
That have been slowly reducing start to loop in your head
And then come the cycling pangs of guilt and denial
Then a few seconds of regained composure followed by another crumble
Of dementia

I know now ,more than ever
That life is truly too short
To not lay your heart on the table.
And we, humans, are way too weak.
Too weak
Under the hammer of quietus
I wish i stayed in touch, i wish i made the effort;
I wish we talked more, i wish i didn't think of trivialities like prestige and formalities,
I wish i took you up on that offer, instead of playing hard to get
I wish i've been there for you, i wish i dropped by at the hospital
When i was there by chance
I wish i knew..
I wish i got to tell you ,before i brushed it off by saying
"i'm usually weird like that at first encounters";
How I was so jealous of your agleam person,
And your casual jest, and the easiness by which
You could slide into someone's comfort zone

I wish I got to tell you what color your vibe was

I wish i saw through, when you spoke of the simple joys of life
Instead of shrugging your shoulders like the rest of us do
Spreading good vibes and light humor
When i did exactly the opposite because I thought that
My life was the epitome of misery
I wish
I was half as strong and proud as you
Were
Still are
In our memories
In my memory
You said my poetry was beautiful
But it was you; it was you who had a beautiful soul
That could spot grace in pain and revel in it

I wish you could read this

It would have had the least bits of meaning
Had I actually gave you a good piece of my mind instead of
Convincing myself that everything turns out better taking its right pace
That we could take our time to find each other
When the tides have calmed and the clouds in my head have cleared
But you had none
You were leaving
There is no more of you now

And these lines echo constantly in one breath ; too late

Too late.

Too late.
Too late.

I wish you could read this
Or at least that I had the audacity to recite it out loud
In your memory
But i don't think my broken voice and shredded gist would be audible
And it's not my place; there are people that knew you better
And longer
Though it still hurts, I will pray for you instead
Because tears could never condole the dead
November second, 2015, is a celebration of your life, my friend
Not a commemoration of your departure
And may Allah grant you mercy and peace
And the grace of cleansing your soul of mundane sins
The constancy at The Question
And to ever lighten your grave
The way your heart was

I will remember you, mate

The Fall II

It took me seven years to break apart

I've got to give it to myself, it's quite admirable that I held it together this long
Whipping the diffused bits of my willpower back to the confinement of my heart
When lovers and mentors have left me stranded
Mid air
It was solemn, in a dreadful way
A tight knot eventually snapping when pulled from both sides
A bleak kitsch of confused essence, finally taking a conceivable shape
Splashes of chaos on a grand canvas
Of despair

That I don't remember when i started painting

Have you ever done this, to concurrently cry in a trembling spaz
And laugh at how easy it was to let go of your firm grip
On sanity ?
When no one else is bearing witness to your pathetic display of weakness
In a demented frenzy of madness that you knew in your bones was inevitable
See ,pride in your strength is commended
But the faintest treads can shatter a glacier
When it's conquered with a thousand veins of frailty
It would've been truly terrible, had I not been a muser
One that never ceases to admire the pictorial facet of desolation
And observes with a smile as it all comes down in slow motion
As the deep crack in my being expands and reaches to the core
And all my pillars of reason crumble to the floor
Unleashing the scattered beams of light curtained before by my bulk
Standing erect against the blows of time
Rigid as a mountain from the outside

Fragile as a newborn from the inside

Never thought I'd ever stop in awe before the grandeur of
My fall

Death In The Afternoon

My grandfather's 30 years old Oud falls from its display stand
And breaks in half
Suddenly, like death, interrupting heedless felicity

Father said with a sad air that it was its day and there was no helping it
Mother said it was pro'lly a deflected 3ain
And I just stood there looking at the broken instrument
Older than the walls it used to grace
A treasure once kept away from my curious hands
Its remains now carelessly collected in a box
The same way you'd throw the guts of a slain cattle

Lo, across the neat cut between the Neck and Ribs
Is a cluster of muddled strings, aghast and confused
Like an offspring of a divorced couple

That doesn't know with whom to belong
Makes you wish it was cremated to the bones and got blown with the spring breeze
To save the last bits of dignity it had
When it used to sing
It was one of these symbolic ends,
A full stop at the end of prose
The withering of a blooming flower in a dark nook
Death in the living room, ironically
Without a warning shot
In a quite afternoon

Did you know ?
Some losses scratch your heart gently, like the blink of a maiden
And others drill at your chest like a trapped rat tryinna escape a flooded tunnel
Some losses crack you a bit from the inside, you don't notice it then
Nor do you feel the ache
Not at the time
But one more blow, harder and more spiteful
Would shatter the fragile mirrors you keep in the boudoir of your heart

In my melancholic pondering i thought...
Perhaps if it was carved with the same piece of timber
It wouldn't have broken in half
Because joining two antithetical parts that don't belong and esteeming the union
Far above expectations
So they would look like a fine, perfect,untouchable piece of art
To the idle attendant looking from their stand on the dirt of mediocrity
Is the reason all things fall apart
And it struck me then
That I wasn't affected because the old damn Oud was suddenly no longer
It just got me thinking, though arguably it was unrelated

Are we, too, gonna fall and break into pieces out of the blue ?

Are we gonna fall from our polished throne of fictitious happiness
And shatter into convulsing fragments of hopelessness
Still clinging to the hem of denial's dress in a despairing fit
A splintered set of Chinese that can be easily glued back with 9oba3 Ameer
But it will never be the same

A limp instrument, presented with shame
Rendered inept of producing a sound without the dormant fear

Of ever crumbling again

Anarchy Of The Heart

I wasn't used to being addressed as a girl
Still am

Being told things like "you are pretty" and "graceful"
Or that i'm "wifey material" and all that flirtatious crap
That boys use to trap the girls of their dreams
I know the drill
I was the chill girl, back at school
Had a mountain bike and a pair of skaters
Read comic books and rocked in sneakers
Attended a class full of chaps
I grew up surrounded by boys

So I didn't think I needed to be with a boy,you know, that way

No homo
And I thought I was immune to this shit, man

A racing heart, a crimson-blushed face, an awkward wit
I thought I was too fulfilled to text first
Too wise to get swept off my feet by common courtesy
That Platonic idea of people being created in pairs
And had to set out looking for their missing parts?
That was way too ridiculous to me
You know, you can either force the pieces of a blank puzzle to fit
Or you can wait an eternity to figure which lays where
And some wolves are meant to stray alone
And thus I have led my life
Until I met you, you insufferable
And I came to realize that when the time is right
It appears that love is the awakening slap of a maiden's heart
I don't do this,fam, secretly writing our initials by the shore
Leaving them there, knowing that the waves will wash my embarrassment away
But still looking back to make sure that the ocean has collected my secret into safe keep

And I never had before, to stop and think if I should type "Hahaha" or "lol"
Or if i used way too many emojis in my text
I never do THIS,
Setting down to write a damn poem
About..
About feelings

About....love

How did it come to this ?

Wish this was actually a love poem
But it is not, alas !

I don't know how to write love poems even
And this is a grievance letter, mind you
Though I'm not in grief, I'm cool
Cool as in dead inside
But there is a pool of darkness within me that needs to overflow
Come, I met you, you cruel, and you crowned my unconscious search with a meaning
You treated me like a princess, without having to bow
You flirted with my nerves when you blinked ,without realizing
You brightened my life when you smiled, innocently
You changed me
You made me blossom
You made me love myself before I fell for you
You calmed my intrinsic commotion
You made me believe I could love, and be loved
With an equal relish of passion
But classically,
Would like to say sadly, but i
Regress
Oh, it was bound to end like this
And I don't wish to reminisce, but it had to be lain out here
So, classically
You took my heart and left
Leaving me bereft, and in pieces
Because
You were like me, a incurious wanderer
Accused of hearts theft
When you don't even care for collections
And I don't even need my heart back
You can keep it
It stopped beating when your eyes told me you loved me
And it withered and crumbled like rotten petals when I saw your eyes courting hers
That was me there
Did I look this vulnerable up against your evil spell? how gross
I can tell you are planning to toy with her heart then stomp on it just the same
Apparently to you it's just a game
Perhaps you could give her my heart ,as a final display of courteousness
And she could use it as a spare
When hers doesn't work anymore
For ,we don't need another walking corpse now ,do we ?
But nevertheless, thank you for the experience, Kindred spirit
I'm not bitter at you
I don't loath you
In this hollow where my heart was
There is only tenderness

The last remnants of the short eternity of bliss
We had

Atlas Shrugged

Heaviness

Is a concept your hands won't entirely understand

Until the weights you are carrying slip from your grip

And fall to crush your feet

A weight you don't need to suffer
But you do, because you love them

So you load yourself with their secrets and sins ,reeking of pain

Told in whispers reflecting off the smudged panes

In a parked car, past midnight

And as they invade your heart and make it their home

Out of concern, you willingly flip through the pages of their unspoken tomes

And accidentally read the cryptic avowals

Scribbled on the quires of their eyes

Because you got just the right face that vibes of benevolence

And trust

It becomes a tiresome must

After years of working full time

Fussed, with no pay

Even though it's vexing , you nevertheless stay to plaster their wounds

Patch their cracked selves, and dote their feelings around

There is no emotional gain even

They slash you because you are the closest to them

When they can no longer bear with the shame

Of being vulnerable, and  the guilt of being a burden

Well, Atlas has an itch

Somewhere in his chest

One he can't relieve, because his hands are busy carrying your grief

And he believes you couldn't scratch it for him

Since you didn't even notice the twitch

You don't have the time to search, and you are not an expert

In guessing, nor a huge fan of caressing someone else's hurt

So Atlas has come to this conclusion;

He thinks it's time to dump your wreckage on your head

He thinks it's time to redd his own life

He's been held back by kindness for too long

And with every stop, passers-by added more to his junk

As if his tolerance was a bottomless trunk

He's so done collecting your tears in a jar

So tired and sick of the constant din in his ears

Of being consumed

Expired

Wrinkled, like tiny flumes carved on a shore repeatedly visited by the same waves

Leaving nothing behind but vain spumes

Listen to me

I need you

I'm sad

I'm crushed

Here is some pain, would you carry it for me?

You never thought that, perhaps he needs you

Perhaps he wants you to listen to him

Perhaps he 's more sad and broken than you will ever be

Perhaps your constant need for a wall to lean on

Is the reason

Atlas has mastered the art of supporting the world

While faking glee

Kilig

Love makes you do strange things

It colors them with a burning hue you could pull them out of a crowd in a whiff

Makes you sniff out the remnants of their cologne in an empty room

Remember every word, every syllable, every half smile, and every giggle

The frequency of their blinks

Their favorite drink

Unconsciously

You take them in, whole, when you can

For the short while you won't be able to

It makes you avoid their gaze to hide what your eyes audaciously cry

Move about restlessly, so you won't get hypnotized to your swoon
It makes you laugh louder than usual, when they jest

To muffle the quickened pounds in your chest

And the vibrant carnival of panic and zest happening beneath the still pond that is your skin

You try yourself as you lay at night, for the way you have been too manifest

In your infatuation

And time stops for a few seconds when they unfold from the mist of your imagination

A jolt of ecstasy and nervousness palpitate between your stomach and throat

They set fire to your insides and you could swear the line "I love you" has melted and evaporated into a seething cloud that battles to get out, breaks all seals and roars with a loud peal to finally get caught between the tip of your tongue and your incisives

And you try so hard to hold it right there

Before it betrays you ,

But it only looks like you are awkwardly curt when they ask you how you have been

And you answer tepidly that you are good, with the shortest breaks in your breath that you can afford

Lest the words you so dread they flee, break free from bondage and run absurd
To embrace their temples

To bed in their dimples

Poems of longing
And vale

Love makes you do strange things

Unrequited love, that is.

Claire De Lune

I was walking in the dark once upon a time

And the path ahead was arduous to see

My heart was hardened by tenacious rime

And my wistful life was void of glee

I thought on my own I would do just fine

I thought I didn't need any light to tee

But I was stumbling in puddles of mud and slime

Until the bright moon smiled upon me

He said, "my heart shalt always be thine, milady

I shalt love thee till the end of times"

"If my light is to be your beacon", he said

"For you, my queen, I shall always shine"

I thought, I could stroll in the night some more

That he is the one I've been searching for

I could close my eyes and cross the moor

Because the way he shone was so sublime

So I marched into the night with evident grit

Because of my vision now I couldn't repine

I whistled songs of mirth and wit

That echoed in the night in wonderful rhymes

Until I tripped and fell into a hidden pit

And my way around I could not divine 

I thought that my friend was pulling a jest

And that he'll return, my claire de lune

But I looked to the sky and was so scared to fathom

The darkness above and the darkness ahead

I called and called for my precious moon

But all I heard was a ruthless twit

He said my heart was the one that's blind

That our strings of affection did not entwine

He said, with his love I've been feline

So I was thereby deserving of jilt

My exuberant moon was shining no longer

And alone in the dark I was left to wander

I thought what we had could pass for ardor

But alone and miserable 

I wallowed in guilt

Ritocchi

"Fine tuning" has become the axis around which my everyday life spins
Endless hours digging on the subject of Non-parametric fine-tuning of artificial Gas-Lift PID control
Which is more cringe-inducing than it sounds
Fine-tuning the strings of my beloved Japanese violin
Which is never really done, considering my terrible ears and the changing humidity
Fine-tuning the frequency of my roommie's car radio
To her mp3 player's
I could never find it, so many days I spent on this passenger seat trying
But it keeps me too busy to complain about her reckless maneuvers
And her constant jabber about her ex
Fine-tuning of the dial on the multi-purpose Gramophone in my living room
The one I capriciously bought at an online auction
A whimsical gesture, of which I'm not proud, but perfectly content
And even more capriciously called Nikolai
Fine-tuning of my vocal cords so i don't sound like a dying whale
On the 2 hours drive back home
My dad once told me that i'm a very patient person
He throws in some peculiar observations as such every once in a while
Out of context , and without introductions
I think i got 80% of my Weird from him, the rest I got by keeping myself company
It didn't really occur to me that the reason i never have the time to complain
Is that I invest a great chunk of time painting my mishaps on a canvas of amelioration
Dissipating all my energy in construction of beautiful things
Redirecting all my rage, all this anger
To hit a stern wall
Of indifference
I don't even remember when I adopted this ''chill'' credo
I'm not exactly a ''chill'' person, i rage and smash things
With far less fuss than i make it sound
It just doesn't happen often
And I know that taking my own pace as I do, and redo things
Perfecting my homework, or reading a line of a book over and over
Till it seeps through the pores of my grasp
Polishing the mirrors in a house full of them, and scrubbing the floor till it shines like ivory
Sketching a stranger from nebulous memory
Getting to really know someone before calling them a ''friend''
Deciding on my stream, for I took 4 redundant courses
Taking 2 months to decide if i should buy my car
And exactly double that to select the topic of my thesis

It is all
To avoid the sudden eruption of my inner volcanoes
By deflating the balloon of my restlessness
Slowly
Patiently
Quietly

So it doesn't explode at the first pin-poke

Memento Mori

The whisperer in the still of the night
Caresses your temples and rests on your chest
Breathes into your lungs
With every inhale
And sniffs on the perfume of your soul
When you exhale

Tick Tock

I didn't die today

Am I gonna die in my sleep tonight ? I wonder
Wouldn't know; and it's not up to me
But dear God, just one more day is all I'm asking for
I'm gonna make amends; I'm gonna sin less, and dole more
Pay attention to what my angels scribble
And the advances of the devil I'll surely fend
Dear God,
If you took my life tonight
I don't know to which side my scale will recline
And i don't know if I'd ever leave, content
Knowing that I could've ,but couldn't
Carry out my lain designs
Dear God,  tomorrow
I shall live; I shall ride that carousel they built at the Marina

Tomorrow, I shall achieve, and will surely excel
Tomorrow; if only you spared me one more day

If you won't dispel my existence away

Because, dear God,

I don't want to die

And because in the flare of the sun i remember
The overwhelming darkness of the tomb
And Azrael crosses my mind when I talk about plans
Far off in the realm of the future
When I outrageously spend on myself
Or stuff another book I won't have the time to read into my shelf
Truth is, I'm afraid of death
We all are
And of the sins I don't know about

Even more of the ones I no longer pout

When I commit
I'm a shameless sinner, and yet, I want to see God
I want to see God, and yet I'm a shameless sinner

One that trembles in regret and outpours her untold prayers

Cries her eyeballs dry on Ramadan 27th
At how heavy her sack of guilt is

I'm a sinner
That begs for forgiveness but delves back to her state of stupor
When she folds her prayer rug

I look behind my shoulder while walking at night

Because death is creeping around stalking everyone
And we won't get away, you and I
If not today, it's tomorrow
Or the day after, 20 years from now
Or next week
So i walk faster while mumbling to myself
Prayers that I memorized with repetition and forgot their meaning

Don't lie

Miss your mother more often
Pray like it's your last day
Don't abscond from the eldritch beggars roaming at the parking lot
You actually like to be courted, don't you ?
Makes you so gassed

Pull in these dyed strands

Why were we placed on earth, pray tell ?

To roll the dice at the tables of drudgery
Or to steer clear from vice and debauchery
And devote our lives strictly to prayers and veneration
Because DUI of life is a clear way to hell ?
Perhaps To Live
Is a compromise between the two occupations
A journey on a balanced cord buoyed across the void
And death,
Is a traveling tremor that trails us all the way
To tumble us off before we reach the other shore
One cannot avoid this
There is nowhere to go
We can only crawl faster, clasp our hands and gnaw with our jaws
Before we are caught off by the gendarme
Of Vertigo

I know I've wasted enough time

Thinking that life is a SEGA game that is made to be finished

If you play by the rules, and make the right connections

And I flipped when things didn't go as planned
Left behind what hindered me, cut off all the strings attached so i wouldn't trip

And I would cross that finish line before the adapter blew
Yet , vehemently, I'm a sinner
That is fine

With finishing last

On the one race
That is ever worth winning

Though all I wanted was a few cheers upon raising that excellence shield

And to be remembered when my tomb was sealed
Because I'm afraid of fading away from your memories
And I need you to remember me when i'm gone

Promise you will remember me, so i won't cling to life so tight

I want my name to be brought up in ardent talks for years to come
And for you to tell apart my face while flipping the pages of recollection
Long after my bones have turned to dust and ashes
And my existence is perpetually gone

Tell me, sir, how to live without forgetting death ?
And how not to die from the inside when you are ablaze and alive ?