Камера Oбскура

Laughter In The Dark

Loath me not for my odious honesty, brethren, for I love thee

Despite thee

But I still wonder sometimes 

How I feel pangs of fervent love for humanity as a whole
Yet I fail to feel for the ones I could call
At times I feel that it is all just a long reality show
And we are the actors; though we don't stick to the script
We improvise, we add and omit
Forget our lines and stall in wit
Till our final moments of throe
Then abandon the show at the peak of the plot
And I've always felt
That I was excluded from this strife
As if I was a witness from the sidelines
And I fell back in the race of life
And decided to sit and watch who will cross that finish line
Trying to figure out when exactly did I lose my will to live
Why do I find bonding so inflictive
And mundane company so disruptive ?
How do I find it perfectly natural to be loved by another
But never work to towards the end of being together
Oh, how I enjoy snatching hearts like a crook
Collecting what I steal in a fancy sack
And then i empty its contents on my bed at night
I set about admiring and polishing my game in content
Put them for show on a grand shelf
And occasionally,
When I pass by them tokens of triumph
Not looking shiny and polished enough
I spit at them in a haughty repulsion
Because they are but monuments ; a nagging reminder of my revulsion
Against humans, one by one
And my compassion towards all of humanity

I never believe in chaste love, Batushka

But I believe in conditional fraternity
Because why love the molecule when you can adore the whole universe ?
When you feel the urge to fall into humanity's embrace
What need could ever exist for a single chum ?
If you think i'm Good-natured
Forgiving, kind, a hopeless fool
You must be blind
You should understand that I never kept sound any real bond
Since the time I've found i was being used as a tool
You should know how I'm genuinely appalled at the sight of unabashed goodness
It seemed that the very essence of human nature is bathed in depravity
And any explicit display of morality
Is essentially chaperoned by an ado of heed
Oh, how I longed to bid this world adieu
I was tired and sick of all this chaotic debauchery
And wanted out of it
Nothing to do with it
But, did you know, even my feelings are in grave dissension
For I love humanity, sir
I love humanity, very much so
For being so dexterous and inventive
In the ways it confuses vice for grace
How it decided who remains a pauper and who gets to hold the mace
How we choose to be humane
When being humane turns to be juicy
And ,alas ! when being our monstrous selves is pricey
It is so funny, I swear
How the entirety of mortal notions are falling to the pits of craze
Oh, and you say i'm wise, but let me tell you this
I would pass the offense, I would turn the other cheek
And I'd let you have it your way at my expense
Because next to the enormity of the universe
You and your fallen existence are as good as erased
And I'm bound to this damned race, mind you

I'm a mere brace for this wall made of Humans, with no humanity
A rigid brick trapped in my place,
And I can't rebel, I'm just a sorry thrall
Could never escape my dark fate, being a part of the grand wall
No matter how much I kick and squall

Though I'm called Candid, kind and forgiving I'm no longer
I'm solely a derelict scandalmonger
I take part in this soap opera because I lost my will to depart

Though I came to life wanting to live so bad

I got hit hard, before i knew what hit me
Now i'm just passing my days,
Crestfallen,
At how i couldn't join the chase

As for allowing myself to be crushed and debased by the weight of human atrocity

Pay no attention, because I do it out of animosity
I got nothing to lose since the time I lost the virginity of my heart
I could never forgive the world for how it turned out to be

And this is my ultimate vendetta, against an entire race

This outward cynicism, being nihilistic and bold

There is no rush to do it apace

Indeed, spite tastes sour no matter how cold

Ties of Compassion VII: Gymnopédie No.1

She was looking into the void absently, as if in a lucid dream, or an engulfing nightmare,
one wing crushed under the heavy tires, and the other flapping wanly,while the car was slowly moving back, pulping her sides, vindictively, like a harmful pest that needs to be annihilated.

Though a few minutes ago,she was a healthy creature,alive,taking shelter from the heat under a car with a welcoming shadow.She had a life,she had a purpose,she might have had little ones waiting for her at the nest to come back, little angels that would rally around her in a gay babble.

i fancied i could hear the sound of her bones, snapping like salt crackers at an afternoon tea table. Every bone that was crushed, crushed something in me, something at the back of my skull,plowed by the root the little sprouts of sympathy that grew on the plain of my heart, the way you would pluck weed, ..I could hear them;

tuk. tuk.tutuk.

I couldn't look away; the scene was so sublime, in slow-motion,magnifique in its cruelty,and awakening in its fatality :

The sun,slaying the earth with its rays
The world, oblivious and busy
I,watching in helplessness...and a slight strike of awe.

Her face portrayed surrender and submission, as if she was waiting for everything to end,so she could fly to her freedom, depart from this life,light and cleansed, her mind at ease, and her soul untroubled.

Was she beholding her life flashing before her ?

I didn't know what was more mortifying, watching this pure being slowly and horridly die in pain, or knowing that there was absolutely nothing i could do. That i , if it was possible to leave my place and run at full speed to where she was, had managed to stop the car by frantically banging at its windows , and succeeded in pulling the wretched thing from below that monster, broken, half-dead, but half-alive, I'm certain that I would've immediately regretted it; forcing the poor little thing to live in pain when she could have left in peace.

There were no bells tolling, not a moment of silence in grievance. She left quietly ,like a spring breeze ,unseen, cool in its passage..just like that. Nobody else noticed, not even the one who killed her,and her body was left in the out for the sun rays to pat on and for the wind to caress.

They still ting; her silent screams, distant ,but clear in my memories, and her fixed gaze towards the horizon.

Why couldn't I look away ?

Baracolle, Op.60

I took one look at his face, and immediately got the impression that it seemed familiar...
The more he spoke,with his animated expressions and smart ,curious eyes, the more i was ascertained of it;
We have certainly met , i don't know where,but we did....some time, in the distant past.

''Excuse me, sir, but have we met before ?''
I never let such thoughts dwell in my mind long.
He turned slightly, and carefully examined my face; ''..............I don't think so; it's possible though''

''I believe we did, I do remember you; you told me about your life before coming here; how you spent your youth in various countries and learnt so many languages", and I went on telling him all the details i could summon,"It wasn't anytime soon, but i still remember all of it''

I was surprised myself at my detailed recollection of someone else's affairs; for i don't even remember the trivialities of my own life to begin with;
I recounted what he told me before in a vain attempt to convince him, though i knew it was very forward of me, and quite unseemly in my position, but it didn't matter much, for if he didn't remember, he shall remain a stranger with a null opinion of me ,and we will shortly part anyway.

I could see signs of astonishment on his face, though; partly because he couldn't have possibly told all these details to a random stranger; but mainly, i divined, because if he couldn't remember our encounter, then it must have happened long ago; which makes it even unbelievable for me to remember with such accuracy.

"that's all true........how is that possible", he said with evident surprise, "though I still...don't recognize you, pardon"

He kept staring at my face, carefully, though astonishment turned to a sort of deep contemplation, with a tinge of embarrassment.

I said it was fine and dropped the subject ;I didn't really care if he remembered or not ,as i didn't tell him so with a certain objective in mind; i just wanted to let him know....and i knew well that he wouldn't remember me anyway; for not many people have my weird symbolic memory after all ...

I don't remember voices, see, i don't remember names, nor faces in particular; but i remember impressions :
this person have made such a memorable impression on me the first time; it's his vibe that remained printed in my memory; and i could recall it within the first few moments of our second meeting, the way the smell of a certain rose can tell you from which mountain it was plucked.

------------------------------------------------------------

Dear stranger, whose name i don't recall, and which i have no need to inquire about, I remembered you because you were the first person that told me that i'm beautiful.

Not "cute",not "fine", not "attractive", but "beautiful" ;  as if you took a peak at my soul before looking at its external projection -the hidden lump that was so inscrutable to me at the time, so bewildering ,confusing,though intriguing in its own way, and then described it as ''beautiful'' to sum it all.

I was caught off guard, you know, I realize that i'm okay looking and that a number of people might think so as well, not to sound like a diva or anything; but rarely ,if ever, does anyone ventures to tell me that directly, in a casual, non-flirtatious way, as if you were mentioning a random observation about the weather :

"............It's because you are beautiful, ma sha Allah"

Who would forget such words, articulated nonchalantly, and without any ulterior motives behind them ?  words said not to impress me particularly-though they did, nor make me feel better as a form of courteousness, but simply to let me know, to communicate to me,out of perspicuous candidness, a random thought that passed your mind, and without the remotest evidence of any sort of designs to be carried off after,as opposed to most of the people that abuse this compliment...

Dear stranger, It doesn't matter if we don't meet again, for the value of a poetic encounter lies in it's non recurrence, the utter impossibility of its happening again. Only then does every word articulated remain precious, and every second have a special significance.

Batushka, you made me feel accepted, deeply understood, you taught me to love myself, then left off, like a cloud hasting to join its sisters in the distant horizon.

Oh,how i longed to tell you all this. But it is of no consequence, for, after all, we shan't meet again. We shan't meet again, but i thank you, and I shall carry you in my heart, I shall remember you.

----------------------------------------------------------------

When it was time to leave ,he suddenly turned and said; ".....I remember you now !",with a wide smile.''it happened long time ago; you have an insane memory !''

I don't know if he truly did, or that he thought that it would be a nice gesture to pretend so, but something tells me,the way his eyes smiled, they way they shone ,that he remembered. Because they shone the same way the first time we met.

Funny, this life.
A stranger can say,with the utmost carelessness, on a random account when you are feeling that life hasn't been kind to you and that you need to get away from it all, at the time you felt suffocated with the world's obliviousness- they can just say one thing, the one thing that you have been longing to hear for so long.

"I remember you"

As She Lay Dying

Death is such an enigma.You think it's a usual happening,an inevitable toll to be exacted from humanity, a sort of a plague that hits a distant continent and wipes out its residents, but as long as it leaves you alone,all is good.

All is good, until it steals someone close to you.
----------------------------------------------------

News of a demise should never be conveyed through phone. It is an inhumane gesture and extremely crude; as you never know what the person on the other end is doing at that moment ;they might be engaged in a mirthful conversation and thinking that life is quite peachy and gay and generous, when they open their phone and get a terrible,shocking blow.

Not everyone can handle sudden blows to the jaw, It's something else when you don't see it coming.
If one had a weak heart they might lose their footing, or worse, their stability. In that case the bearer of the news becomes an ominous raven that causes another calamity by their lack of tact.

It once happened that a close friend of mine passed out when she heard of her cousin's death. She didn't wail, she didn't have the time; she just fell backwards, and hit her head upon the impact. Just like that.

News of a demise should never be conveyed in a manner that is not coated with caution and delicacy.
But I received a curt text.

It took some time to register at first, and for a while I didn't understand the very shortened text until I read it a few times. And then a fit took possession of me, something that rarely ever happens because i rarely ever lose my composure; I gasped for breath for a few seconds, i could hear my heart beats drumming right through my ears, drowning all the sounds around.

i was scared because i was alone at that time, scared of losing my breath and scared because the ceiling was rotating and getting further for some reason.
I dropped 5 tears. Exactly 5, to my horror and wonder. They dropped on my open notebook and dried up,visible on the white page; an everlasting reminder of all of this... a memento frozen in time. I thought they would evaporate and disappear but they didn't...Probably because of the salt.

Death, it is such an enigma,

I was saddened, I was convulsive and wincing in pain, though i wasn't hurting any where, I cried, but I...wasn't crying because she was gone.

I go on and on about compassion, about being able to relate to others and feel what they feel, but it is only when i'm a witness of the misfortune that befalls someone else. When I'm directly hit by its magnitude and depth..I couldn't relate to her, the most unfortunate of them all..

I dropped tears, but they weren't for the deceased, they were for him, his boundless sadness which its echoes i could hear across a thousand miles. His sadness that reached me, and shook my being, vibrating through my limbs and sending shrills through my nerves. I wept for him, and for his suffering that i could hear in his voice, sounding like a a formidable castle about to fall apart.

I was so horrified at my apathy and lack of sentiment I felt bad receiving all these calls, people I haven't heard from for over a year suddenly calling out of courtesy like it's important to make a good impression on a person they've lost their connection with. They would offer their condolences and then disappear for another year or two, when someone else is dead.

Until this moment I still didn't grasp the full reality of my situation, occasionally i'm obliged to make a face and assume a sad tone when i answer a condoling phone call,and momentarily i'm reminded of my spinelessness and apathy, and resort to melancholy brooding for a while. But most of the time i'm fine. I'm perfectly fine,i'm capable of resuming my life with perfect normality one wouldn't doubt that I lost someone close.

Her departure from this life seems to me like a vivid dream, as if it happened in a parallel universe, a separate reality that I could observe through a looking glass. Something trapped in a transparent basin;

She lays there,in her bed, motionless, breathless,pale, cold, dead.

And the whole scene keeps moving further and further beyond reach,and beyond vision,
to the back of my mind,where i can't think about it..

Is this what they call denial ?

To You, Adorato

Let me tell you something
About my strange soul
About my fickle heart

And dreadful malady

My chest, it has a void
For a heart-a black hole
'tis abyssal, for the night
Clouded it in tyranny
And It feeds on affection,
Sentiments and passion
Tries to fill that hole
Without a spec of infamy

As I had an abundance

Of stolen emotions

The only choice I had

Was to feign my devotion
So I told my dear ones
How much I regard'em
How their avid love was
What's kept me around
But this 'love' I pledged,
It lacked all zest
And its bashful echoes
They didn't recur a sound
Though,"love you", I'd say
In vain joie de vivre
To the gracious souls
I met along my way
As their boundless affection
And unwarranted tenderness
I could in no other way
Adequately repay
Though I split my heart
Into frivolous pieces
And along I shouldered it
In a smart cyst
And,
To the ones that showered me
With love and care
I gifted my sentiments
Right and left
Though these feels are benign
And are almost sincere,
They never sent shivers
Down my spine
It is "love" alright,
But arduous it is not
Like the Alps and the Rhine
Were neighbors, but taut
So, to the one I adore,
My beloved Eugene
I say,
You may only live
In the dungeons of fiction
I waited for you, darling
In our secret tryst
But you left me expecting
Drenched in depression
This is not a reprimand
For standing me up
But,
Against my skittish reason,
T'is a verbal insurrection

O, the one I adore,

To whom my heart calls
The one I waited for
Holding a rose

I may never say "I love you"

Nor would I give you
A fragment of my heart
Like the rest of the beaus
For true love is lived
Not verbally conveyed
Bargained in a market
Of supply and demand
Love is not a rhyme
You can jot on command
It's a thousand jolly rainbows
You can hold in your hands
Love ,
Is mental buoyancy
Love is a state of mind
When your heart soars ,evading
The mind's supremacy
All of these sentiments
I've described piano
That's not how I felt before
And this is not a blunder
But I can only tell you
With absolute certainty
That
The pouch of hearts i'm carrying
Poses as a hamper
This feel they call "affection"
Maybe
It isn't worth the trouble
This ambiguous sentiment
Is making me dander
Stay, Eugene, my dearest
Can't you see at all
That my poor soul is
Trapped between an anvil
And an atrocious pestle ?
That this wretched loneliness
Is way beyond perpetual ?
And that you've been languid
In your grand arrival?

And can't you see that I am
Trying hard to buy
That this emptiness I feel
Awaits you to occupy?

I may have been awaiting

But really i'm convinced

That if you actually did come
You would've been dismissed
That's because deep down
At the bottom of my heart
I believe in all honesty
That you. Don't. Exist

L'Albatross

The Seagull

When I close my eyes, I could always recall
Vivid memories in white and black
Every moment my poor little heart
Received a good thrashing and 
Got itself cracked
I looked and looked for a wise doctor
But no one had a knack for mending the broken
When it can't be touched
So when the bones of my soul started to whimper
And pride and vanity became a cumber
I decided that I should learn the trade myself
At first I was my only patient
But with time I became an excellent quack
Patched a good deal of chests
And my patients would flock 
Their sorrows they'd stack on my desk
And I believed I could fix the world, if broken
Even grow rich if I could collect some tokens
With every examination, grapes of rage grew
Along my ribs
These fools with riches to spend and hearts so sickly
How could these louts lack the courtesy and tact
To compare their scratches to my smashed bits?
When I was in your shoes you were so self absorbed
To notice the agony that I would hide behind a smile
So meticulously
My compassionate conscience would wring and chide
So to listen, as I do, I would soon abide
But the weight of the aches was too much to bear
An Albatross off my neck I couldn't tear

My fragile heart couldn't take the shear
Pressure of emotions clasping from every side
Being a doctor, for fun, takes its toll on the soul
This causes wear on the long run
Though I made it my trade and transfigured it
Into some form of art
Alas, a doctor that gets sick by healing folks
Is better off becoming a hack
Spreading patches of poetry on their sores.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

This is addressed to no one,
This is addressed to everyone,

Why do you think it is okay to open up to me, to let me know about your miserable encounters, all the misfortunes that befell your sorry life and weigh me down with your 'sufferings', totally ignoring the fact that i, too, not only have my own problems, but that i need you to listen to me as well......and fix me.

Wretch.

It is the height of exploitation and abuse to take advantage of someone's compassion, knowing fully well that they are always willing to shoulder the weight with you, because that's what they do, because without the weight of compassion, their existence is just too light to hold still on earth...because the unbearable lightness of their being is what makes them soar in the air like a stray balloon, desperately trying to cling for salvation.

"For there is nothing heavier than compassion. Not even one's own pain weighs so heavy as the pain one feels with someone, for someone, a pain intensified by the imagination and prolonged by a hundred echoes."

You don't need to tell me how broken you are, i'll figure it out myself, and i'll fix you. Without you noticing.
That's my life-long curse, and it's also my pride and joy.
You'll get better without ever knowing that i was the one who fixed you, and if you did; the patient shall never repay the doctor for his services because he thinks the doctor does that for internal satisfaction.

Well, what do ya know ?, maybe he's right.

It's very difficult to constantly have to weigh your words and always try to think of the right thing to say, because you know well that every syllable you articulate is going to have dire consequences.
It's a tough responsibility that comes with wisdom; a wisdom that i don't really think i possess, but allegedly attributed to me by virtue of my good counsel.

The question is, why do i care so much ?
Why do I have to be so compassionate as to think ahead of the consequences of my advice lest it ruins a life? The one who seeks solutions should handle all the side effects themselves.

Why do I take it upon myself to fix people, when nobody bothered,bothers, to fix the broken ME ?

And why do i think i'm special enough,being on a higher mental plane, that I was assigned a specific role in this life ;to fix what's broken ?

Compassion is such a dire malady, dear batushka.
I don't want it.
I didn't ask for it.
I was looking for an anchor to keep me down, but instead I got a seagull wrapped too tight around my neck it's becoming harder and harder to breathe.

It's true that i find it delectable to fix people, and it is true that no doctor out there can heal me when i'm sick , for even if there were; i would defy them out of spite; because i know better and i have more experience in fixing wreckage i'd rather spare myself the trouble and the embarrassment.

But i'm actually hurt that no one really ventured to examine me for emotional ailment.

Do I look, by any chance, like a problem-free person ? A happy person that has the luxury of offering counsel to the unfortunate ? because that's the reverse vibe i get from people around me.
Doctors get sick too, haven't you heard ?

“To have compassion for those who suffer is a human quality which everyone should possess, especially those who have required comfort themselves in the past and have managed to find it in others. ”

Confound you, Bocaccio. You are a fool, and you don't know what you are talking about. It is those who did not find comfort in others that know how empty it feels, how light it feels, and make it their life's mission to be the balsam of the heartaches and the Atlas that shoulders everyone's weight.

5 Seconds

I don't cry......often.
I added that "often" because i'm a human being, not a robot, and above all, because i'm a woman. And women are naturally disposed to crying.
When i say 'cry' I don't mean the silent tears that one usually drops when upset. I drop a tear or two when i'm stressed and having a bad day, when i fight with someone that is dear to me or when i yawn (oddly enough)...By 'cry' i mean whining, squealing, the real thing that females do when they finally lose every bit of self-possession and grace they have.

When i do finally lose it- something that rarely ever happens once or twice a year, it's usually when i'm laying my head at night, muffling my sobs with my pillow. It hurts my eyes a lot when i do cry now...because my eyes aren't used to producing tears, i guess...My head hurts so much and my face gets hot and red it becomes really uncomfortable to do this crying thing...

I almost never cry in front of people at all. Nobody must see this pathetic display of weakness and vulnerability. Nobody needs to know that there is a side like that to me : I listen to people pouring their hearts out all the time, and i'm usually the one doing all the comforting and patting and hugging, but you know what ? i judge these people...Severely...For being so weak and helpless as to do nothing but cry and depend on someone like myself to provide them with emotional security. That's just pathetic if you ask me.
So I wouldn't really like it if i'm one of these people as well; unreasonably breaking into tears in front of someone that probably doesn't give a crap...i do, but i don't think many people have the same capacity to process all this drama and solve the world's problems.

I also think that people would take advantage of me if i show my vulnerable side to them ; i noticed that some people change the way they treated me in the past, like i'm some sort of fragile material that needs to be handled with care....The only thing worse than having to show your weakness to somebody is being pitied for it.
And some of them used to "pry" on this weakness of mine, dropping hints and bringing it up around other people, taking advantage of my total submission to them having no hidden cards to defend myself... this kind of people is the reason i used to hear a snapping voice in my heart in the past...“something seemed to give way inside me, like the snapping of a tightened bow.”
So i just avoid all that bulshit by keeping my complains and troubled confessions to myself and a very narrow circle of people i deeply trust.

And hence it was established that I'm a very calm person : i don't lose it, i don't panic, i don't freak out, i don't cause scenes and all that; i'm known for being cool and collected it ceased to be a pretense anymore... i don't even remember the last time i lost my temper or yelled at somebody; really yelled out of anger -not pretending to be angry to keep appearances because that's the normal reaction, i don't remember the last time i felt angry to the point that i didn't care about ruining my image...Being calm becomes a life style you forget how to snap after a while.

I've been rolling just fine although i've led a difficult life for an average 22 years old living in such a comfortable country (al 7amdulellah in all cases ) ; i rarely ever think about all the difficulties and bs that i had to deal with that much because i keep myself busy ...But when i do, when i realize how unbearable sometimes things could be; and my tears start to flow and breathing becomes difficult and everything looks blurry, i immediately check myself and stop.

It's not that I feel "ashamed" of crying per se ; it just dawns upon me how utterly useless it is to cry in reaction to a certain devastating event, instead of directing my whole emotions and efforts to sort it out. I just truly believe that crying like a baby doesn't solve anything. Does it feel good to cry ? yes. But would it solve the problem ? absolutely not. Well, unless i'm in mourning. So my shame comes from the fact that i actually did something stupid and pointless being completely aware of its stupidity and pointlessness.

Therefore I only allow myself a very limited time before slapping myself into awakening :
1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
"What are you doing, Rawan? Stop this childish huff".

A sudden, short burst of emotional breakdown actually helps a lot in reducing frustration -if there was actually a need to cry out of frustration, and any more than that is just a pointless waste of emotions...and time..and a fall from grace..And it is actually healthy to know how to control my emotions and know when to stop. One reaches a certain mental age after which they stop needing someone to tell them to pull their shit together. Maybe i learnt that in the few years i've spent living alone in a strange city where i had no one to comfort me when I felt down and needed a hug, or someone to tell me that everything is gonna be okay...
Maybe that's the reason i grew to be emotionally independent ; i just don't frigging need anyone to "be there for me", regardless of the fact that i don't really have such a person anyway.
When i left home I was still that cry baby that used to call her parents everyday and tell them that she wants to go back home. I don't remember when exactly did i stop being "weak" and started confronting people and life...and my own weakness.. but it just happened that i grew out of that crying brat, the spoiled little girl that thought tears would help her go about surviving life, that appealing to the compassionate side in others and showing them my weakness and fragility would make them go easy on me. I grew out of the naive girl that needed her parents to interfere and save her from this cruel, chaotic, so unpeachy world at some point..and for good...
I told myself that I shall be an independent girl. I shall be strong.
I shall be strong.
A strong woman that needs nobody to summon strength to go on, a fierce survivor that is perfectly capable of being on her own.
A strong woman...Let me repeat it again for my own sake: a STRONG woman.
And strong women don't cry, ladies and gents.

It's actually funny how I feel so fresh and humored after i explode for these 5 seconds, mostly because i see how funny my face looks in the mirror. I look very unseemly...Sometimes looking at my teary face and my red eyes and swollen lids and cringy face in the mirror shocks me into silence for a while i forget the original problem...