My dear friend
Our eyes perceive a world that isn’t ours. That transparent layer fuse with our pupils, making it impossible to see the greenery of the grass. Instead it dissects everything around us into tiny little things and we suddenly become artists who use squares to turn random details into a painting. We never cease to wonder, my friend, why we reach for the clouds when everyone seeks the rain? Why do we erase lines when everyone is drawing shapes? what about the dreams we build every single day? what about that beautiful unreachable universe that is constantly evolving inside us? Will it ever find its way out?
Yes my friend, I think it certainly will. I am tired of tearing the patches by my own hands. The taste of bitterness is poisonous, it metastasize faster than cancer, killing one notion after another. It’s a sickly disease that stand between us and what we might become. We say we’re powerless, stuck in an inverse reality, caged within solid walls. Yet they did it before us my friend. Nizar Qabani’s words penetrated those bricks. They were more powerful than the wind that roared beyond them. .Fairouz’s voice, Abdul Nasir’s resilience, Al-Sadat’s daring act.. if they could escape them, why can’t we my friend, why cant we? Now, the doubt starts to creep into our minds every second, like a ping pong ball, it throws reason after reason, back and forth, of the why instead of the why not. It’s us who decide my dear friend whether to throw back and be hit again, or throw it far away, never to return.
We might as well laugh ,my friend, that kind of laughter that makes our hearts cry. We might as well fall to our knees and weep every time we try to get out, only to find ourselves hitting the hard concrete. No one said they’re transparent. If anything, they’re solider than iron. That’s what you get when you combine those identical minds that knows no distinctness, no individuality, no perception. Like clay, they become one strong “something”.
My friend, or I shall say my dear sister, life taught me that Hope hurts more than a dagger entrenched into flesh, yet it also taught me that the lack of it, blinds your whole world. Slowly everything inside you shuts down and even the memories you once held so dear, starts to seep through your veins. We both know that we are more than a dot, more than a blob, more than a thing, and definitely more stronger together than the wall they created. I can’t do it. But I know that “We” can.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Thursday, February 12, 2009
She walked amidst the crowd rushing through the gates. Today is a new day, a different day. She watched the black mass in front of her dissipate as she made her way to class. Silence usually dominates the corridor in the early hours of morning, broken occasionally by the trill of heels or excited chatter and sometimes by her own loud thoughts. Why does everyone move in a rhythm that is unfamiliar to me, why can’t I grasp their words? and why God why do I always feel out of place?
She opened the door to the classroom and navigated for a second, aware of the frozen stares, she made her way and sat at the back. She didn’t like to sit at the back but she learned to avoid certain situations by taking the easy way out. It’s always better to save my face and sit alone rather than hear the usual “My friend is sitting here” phrase. Though it can be uncomfortable at times, it was much more liberating to her to not know anyone in the class. They can be judgmental; I don’t know them to care. They can disagree with me; I don’t know them to care. They can criticize my beliefs; I don’t know them to care. I can be me; I don’t know them to care.
She listened to the professor speak and every time her mind sought to wander off, his voice grabbed her back in. Passion is what it was. He spoke it. He breathed it. He was it.
The power of his words reached deep into her core and slightly changed something inside her. She realized that maybe for once she shouldn’t cry on spilled milk.
She left the classroom with a positive aura. Why cant I? Why not? She passed through the corridor, and with each step she took, and in each face she met, she found her answers. Because! You’re not him! Because! You’re here and he’s there! Because! In his reality, he never knew a “never”. By the time she reached the elevator, her aura was a dark unyielding cloud.
She sat down and succumbed to her ethereal reality, where the deafening chatters were muted and the recognizable faces were altered. To the reality of her novels where she met characters who, even though intangible, were more profound than the ones around her.
She knew that the minute she would step in, someone would pull her out and drag her into a long insubstantial conversation. Mostly, one-sided.
It was a society within a society. A system within a system. It felt like she was trying to fit herself into a small box that was already fitted into a smaller one; suffocating, overpowering, impossible. Every time her hand would touch a corner, she would try to tear it out and yet end up tearing herself.
But it was an alternate universe after all. She could be independent. Choose. Speak up. Free her winged thoughts. She could even dream within those walls. She could inspire and be inspired. She could be. She could be.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Emerald green lace; porcelain skin; sparkling lashes ; vivid details..
the twinkle in her eyes sparkled through the dim lights..Fear intertwined with joy. anticipation with anxiety..reality with illusion..everything moved in slow motion..frozen moments in time..trays crashing, heels clicking, lyrics floating..
The serenity of the night was rivaled in beauty by her astonishing entrance..
There she was..
The bouquet of flowers clutched in her hands as white as a newborn's soul. it all seemed to fit perfectly, perfectly for she...
Listening to the cadence of her own heartbeats..
Walking elegantly on the linings of a dream.
Faces clouded her vision and laughter rang through her ears
Always and forever..
Always and forever..
At that moment, everything was right with the world…perfection
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Do you know that every time I listen to the loud clatter of rain outside my window I hear your weeping grave?
Do you know that every day I try to hide behind the normalcy of the world, only to find that it will never be normal again? I seek comfort in the novelty of the now, knowing the solace is just a façade?
Do you know that every time I look at the waves descending to the shore I feel cheated by the scene? By the pretense it holds to be the same with or without you?
Do you know that every time I hold your photograph, I see the malice of reality in your sparkling eyes?
Do you know that every time I listen to your favorite song, it’s your voice I strive to hear, over-shouting my sorrow? And every time I try to find it, the loud music blasts against your urgent pleas?
I close my eyes and pull myself into the past. I attempt to seize your heart with my hand. I feel the providential warmth filling the hollowing space, inducing a peaceful calm into the air that once was musty with death. My surroundings seem to take on different features, reshaping their existence, inverting their previous reality
.. Hope..
I see you..
You are the words on every page I read. You are the lyrics in every song I hear. You are the warmth of every sunny day.. you are .. the wisdom of the old, the laughter of the young, the everything of mine..
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Figments of Ali’s imagination
I crouched on my knees and mustered all the courage to open my eyes and peek at the creature under the couch. I knew the creature behind the bookcase was in its turn peeking on me. I look at the people seated on the couch, oblivious to what resides under it, their eyebrows arching at my unacceptable behavior. My mother refuses to believe a word I say since the creature under the stairs had broke her favorite perfume bottle. I don’t blame her, it’s not her fault that she don’t see it .After all, these creatures materialize only to me.
My parents accepted that their eldest and only son, their pride, the apple of their eye,- had an openly wild imagination and was frightened by what they called the “imaginary monsters”, but they could never accept the fact that my dear creatures were behind the loss of their car keys, the breakage of their sunglasses and the flight of our parrot.
“Ali” my father would say, strictly. “You have to stop this. You’re a big boy now”
Four years. Since I emerged from Mama’s womb and into their world..Four years..big..im a big boy..
My creatures don’t have a physical form until my mind has settled on what it was that they looked like. The creature inside the closet have a very long steel nose made of jeans zippers. ..its eyes- made of shirt buttons- are always sad and sinking down. The creature under the stairs- Mr Indomi- has no definite start or end. A bundle of shoe laces sharp on every tip. Multiple weapons..multiple weapons..
The creature under the kitchen sink is very loud. I never got really close before it started hollering.. BANG BANG BANG..
They evolve too..my creatures..constantly..
I think it, they have it..the power of my mind fuel them..
Recklessness has no place..
Once I thought of razor blades shooting from Mr indomi’s laces..and
There I was, being dragged under the stairs by a bundle of laces, a low growl emitting from its anonymous throat, showering me with razors..
I never thought next to the stairs ever again..