tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54014254731134519442024-03-12T16:25:32.096-07:00MelodiesMahahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00836281820315404682noreply@blogger.comBlogger145125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5401425473113451944.post-83838710599160198152013-09-14T14:49:00.003-07:002013-09-14T14:58:18.480-07:00ندوب خفية<div style="text-align: right;">
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العودة إلي الوراء هي أحدي الهوايات التي نمت عندي علي مر السنين، أرجع إلي
ماضيّ لأعرف من أنا الآن. تنحتنا سنواتنا
الأولي بأحداثها و أشخاصها في أشكال يصعب علينا تغيرها، ننمو لنصير محض أطفال كبار
الحجم في عالم مرعب الأبعاد.عند العودة يستوقفني دائماً واحد من شخصيات الطفولة
أجده محورياً في تكويني و عندي من الأسباب ما يكفي ليجعلني اظن إني ما كنت سأصبح
أنا لولا أن تقاطعت طرقنا في الحياة، هذا الشخص هو علي.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span dir="RTL" lang="AR-SA" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: large; line-height: 115%;"> علي لا يمتلك وجهاً
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حتي جبهته مغطية إياها كلها و تصل لأطراف ذقنه مارة بشفتيه عند الحواف. ليست هذه
الندوب كتلك التي تلون الجلد بخط أحمر قاني عند الوقوع و تتقشر بعد فترة، ندوب علي
مختلطة بوجهه او لنقل أن وجه علي هو ندوبه. هذه الندوب ليست ذات سطح مستوٍ فبعضها
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يكون السواد ناعم ينساب علي جبهته و يغطي جزء منها. كان متوسط الطول نحيف بعض
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الاسم اتسائل: يمكن لورقة أن تحترق أو لطعام أن يحترق لكن كيف يمكن لإنسان أن
يحترق؟ّ سرعان ما تسرب هذا الاسم الغريب من ذاكرتي لأني لم أستوعبه فيثبت فيها. </span></div>
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<span dir="RTL" lang="AR-SA" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: large; line-height: 115%;"> مع هذا، فلم يكن السبب
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<span dir="RTL" lang="AR-SA" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: large; line-height: 115%;"> لعلي صوت عميق يشبه أصوات
الكبار به شيء غامض. كل نغمة من صوته تحمل في طياتها صيغة الأمر و إن لم تكن
كلماته نفسها مرفقة به. لهذا، فعندما يدق جرس الفسحة و ننزل جميعاً لفناء المدرسة
ثم يتجمع حوله أصدقائه الذين يشكلون كل صبيان الفصل يتشاورون فيم سيلعبون و يخرج صوته هو قائلاً
"لنلعب الكرة" أو "لنلعب الغميضة" أو "لنتسابق" تجد
باقي الأصوات قد صمتت و معها إقتراحاتها و يتجمع أصحابها حوله لينظم كيف ستسير
اللعبة. في حالة اللعب التي تتطلب الإنقسام لفيريقين، يرغب الكل في أن يكون في
الفريق الذي يقوده علي-فعلي دائماً القائد-و تفادياً لحدوث المشاجرات يبدل علي
الفريق الذي سيلعب فيه يومياً فإن لعب في يوم في الفريق الأحمر يذهب الذي يليه
للفريف الأزرق و هكذا. في غير هذا النوع من الألعاب يكن دائماً هو الحكم الذي يحدد
كل شيء و الذي لا يعترض أحد علي قراراته.أما
في غير اوقات الفسحة عندما نكون في الفصل فمقعد علي هو مركز للتحركات
الخفية و المقالب التي يدبرها الصبية للمدرسين. تستطيع دائماً أن تسمع صوت
الهمهمات الخافتة تنطلق قوية من مقعدة و تنتقل من فتي لآخر حاملة الخطة التي
سيدبرونها لإزعاج هذا المدرس أو ذاك. يحدث هذا في الفترة التي يدير فيعا المدرس
ظهره لهم ليكتب علي السبورة درس اليوم فإن حدث و اشتبه بوجود شيء ما يجري خلفه
يلتفت سريعاً لكن ليس أسرع من قوة ملاحظة علي الذي يغير هيئته في ثانية و ترتسم
علي وجههه علامات الإجتهاد و يسرع بقية أصدقائه في تقليده ليجد المدرس في النهاية
مجموعة من الطلاب المجدين ينقلون ما يكتب. يلتفت مرة أخري و قد انتقل الشك من
الطلاب إلي أذنيه و هم في ذلك يجتهدون لكتم ضحكاتهم. بعد أن يحدث المقلب و لجهل
المدرس بمدبره و معرفته أن معظم الطلاب متورطين فإنه يلقي بعقوبات عشوائية علي
طلاب عشوائيين لم يكن منهم يوماً علي، فالمدرسين، كالتلاميذ، يعشقونه. <br />
يهيء لي في بعض الأحيان أن في علي
شيء كالمغناطيس يجذب كل من يراه و يلصقه به، و لذا فأنت لاتراه أبداً وحيداً، بل
لايمكنك أن تتخيله وحيداً. يقبع دائماً في مركز أي مجموعة يقف فيها، تراه مستقيماً
موجهاً جسده ووجهه للأمام بينما الآخرون يلتفون حوله بوجوههم و أجسادهم. هو أيضاً
مركز لعواطف المجموعة فأي شيء يشعر به ينتقل منه إليهم، ضحكته تضحكهم و غضبه
يغضبهم و اشتداد بريق عيناه عندما تخطر له فكرة لمقلب ينعكس في عيونهم جميعاً و
صمته عندما يفكر ينقلب لهدوء الجماعة كلها.
إن كان لعلي ندوب لكانت ندوبه تلك ستجعله مختلفاً و أنت إن كنت مختلفاً
يستبعدك الجميع. أعرف هذا لأنني مختلف. <br />
أتذكر بشكل ضبابي أشياء بعيدة عن
نفسي و أنا في الرابعة من عمري أو نحو هذا. بدأت حينها أمي في شراء اللعب لي.
أتذكر السيارات الكبيرة منها و الصغيرة التي كانت تحضرها، تلك التي كانت تتحرك
بالدفع و التي كانت تدار عن طريق جهاز التحكم عن بعد. اتذكر أيضاً الألعاب التي
كانت تأخذ شكل بشر تضغط علي زر في ظهرها
لتنطلق بكلمات محفوظة داخلها لا تتغير، و هنالك أخري شبيهة بها بدلاً من النطق
بكلمات كانت تغني. اتذكر بجانب هذا تلك الألعاب التي تأخذ شكل حيوانات لها ملمس
ناعم و هذه لم أكن أعرف ماذا أصنع بها. أتذكر عن هذا كله مشاهد صغيرة. مشهد لنفسي
أركض مسرعاً علي أمي عندما أعرف أن معها لعبة جديدة، مشهد آخر و أنا أتأمل اللعبة
بعد أن فُتحت مذهولاً بألوانها البراقة مشهد ثالث و أنا ألعب بها لساعات طويلة و
مشهد أخيرآخر اليوم لنفسي و أنا ألقيها بعيداً بعد أن مللتها و راحت ألوانها في
البهتان. أخذت هذه المشاهد الأربعة تتكرر مع كل لعبة تشتريها أمي حتي تكونت لدي
كومة منها في جانب من جوانب غرفتي. توقفت أمي تماماً عن شرائها. لم أفتقدها. <br />
بعد هذا بفترة ليست طويلة، تعلمت
القراءة. أستبدلت أمي شراء اللعب بشراء القصص و هذه أيضاً أتذكر عنها بضعة مشاهد.
مشهد لنفسي أركض مسرعاً علي أمي عندما
أعرف أن معها قصة جديدة، مشهد آخر و أنا أفتح القصة متلهفاً لأعرف علام تحتوي مشهد
ثالث و أنا اقرأها لا أبرحها و لا حتي لآكل حتي أنتهي منها مشهد رابع و أنا أقف
علي سريري و أضعها علي رف عال بإحترام بعد أن أنتهيت منها ثم أجلس بعدها علي كرسيّ
أعيدها مرة تلو الأخري في رأسي. تكررت هذه المشاهد الأربعة مع كل قصة كانت تحضرها
أمي لي حتي صارت تشتري لي قصة أو أكثر كل يوم. <br />
استحوذت هذه القصص علي وقتي و عقلي
إستحواذاً تاماً. كانت تدخلني معها لعوالمها النائية و تأخذني بعيداً عن سريري و
دولابي و أرففي و غرفتي و بيتي و أبي و أمي و الأشياء كلها و الناس كلهم و تبقيني
محتجزاً هنالك دون رغبة مني في الهرب. مع الوقت صار هذا العالم النائي مستقل حتي
عن القصص نفسها التي أصبحت بعدها مجرد تذكرة الدخول، ثم، عند مرحلة ما، وجدت نفسي
أستطيع الدخول لعالمي هذا وقتما شئت حتي
دون هذه التذكرة التي تحولت مهمتها لتصبح هي التفاصيل التي أزود بها حياتي الأخري.
أقول حياتي الأخري لأنها فعلاً صارت كذلك، حياة يعيش فيها جزء مني جزء من الوقت
أكبر من الجزء الذي يعيش في عالم سريري و دولابي و غرفتي وبيتي و أبي و أمي جزء
آخر من الوقت. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span dir="RTL" lang="AR-SA" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: large; line-height: 115%;"> في إحدي حصص الرياضيات عرفت اسم ما كنت فيه. كتبت المدرسة
أعلي السبورة كلمة "القسمة" ثم رسمت رغيف خبز قسمته لأقسام أربعة و قالت
أن كل قسم يمثل ربع الرغيف و أن أربعتها مجتمعة تكون الرغيف بأكمله. عرفت حينها
أني كرغيف الخبز الذي رسمته المدرسة، منقسم، و أن ثلاثة أرباعي تعيش في حياتي
الأخري وحيدة و الربع المتبقي وحده هو الذي يعيش هنا. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span dir="RTL" lang="AR-SA" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: large; line-height: 115%;"> جعلني عالمي الآخر
مختلفاً عن الجميع. كنت كالفتيان الذين جاءوا من بلد غريب للمدرسة في أول يوم، يتكلمون بلكنة أخري و يتصرفون
بطريقة مختلفة و بعد فترة من الوقت قد تطول أو تقصر، يتقنون اللكنة الشائعة و
التصرفات المعتادة حتي يصبحوا كالجميع. كنت أنا فتي غريب أتي من حياة مختلفة أتكلم
كالكل و لا أستطيع التواصل مع أحد. <br />
كانت حياتي الأخري هي السبب الذي منعني
من التواصل مع الجميع فأنا لم أكن أجيد بناء جدران حولها تفصلها عن عالمي الحقيقي.
كنت أقضي بها أغلب و قتي و لهذا فتأثيرها علي كان يغمرني كلي. كننت أعيش هناك
تجارب محال أن أعيشها في الحقيقة و أكون أشخاص لا يمكنني أبداً أن أكونهم في
الواقع. فتح هذا كله الباب علي مصراعيه أمام أفكار غريبة ما كانت لتنتابني لو أني
لزمت الحياة التي أتشارك فيها مع الجميع. شغلتني هذة الأفكار كثيراً بها و كانت
غالباً ما تأخذ شكل تساؤلات تُطرح في رأسي دون أن يرافقها جواب. مثلاً، في قصص
كثيرة قرأتها كان البطل يكتشف في النهاية أن كل ما مر به هو حلم و قد استهوتني هذه
القصص حتي اختلقت مثلها في عالمي الآخر جاعلاً من نفسي هذا البطل المذهول الذي
يستيقظ و هو في حاجة لكثير من الوقت ليستوعب أن كل ما قد كان لم يحدث أبداً. ظللت
أتخيل هذا كثيراً حتي تسائلت في يوم من الأيام: ماذا لو لم يكن أيٍ من هذا الذي
أنا فيه يحدث؟ ماذا لو كنت نائماً الآن و حياتي كلها لا تعدو كونها الحلم الذي
أراه؟ <br />
لم أحّدث أحداً يوماً عن عالمي الآخر
أو عن افكاري الغريبة و ما كانت تحمله من تساؤلات. كنت دائماَ أتخيل أني تحرٍ خاص
ذو شخصيتين، واحدة يعيش بها أمام الجميع ليست هو و أخري لا يراها أحداً سواه و تلك
هي ذاته الحقيقية و لا يمكن لهذا التحري أبداً أن يفصح عن هويته السرية. بيد أني
لم أكن بالتحري الجيد، شخصيتي السرية كانت تأثر بشكل كبير علي تلك المعلنة. أنا لم
أكن أفصح يوماً عن تلك الأشياء التي أعلم أنها تجعلني غريباً لكنها كانت تتسرب من
تلقاء نفسها لهذه الأشياء البسيطة التي ينطق بها الجميع مبددة بساطتها تلك. <br />
عندما كنت أتكلم أو أبدي رأيي في شيء
ما، أي شيء، كنت أري نظرات إستغراب في عيون زملائي لا تلبث أن تتحول إلي إستهزاء
يترجم نفسه في سخرية منطوقة. تكرر هذا في بضعة مواقف مما جعلهم يستهزءون دون حتي
أن أتكلم و يجعلون كل ما أنطق به مثار للسخرية. آذاني هذا كثيراً لدرجة ما كنت
أستطيع معها أن ألنزم الصمت وهم يجعلون ضحكاتهم الهازئة كالظل لي. و هذا ما حدث
توقفت عن إلتزام الصمت. عندما كان أحدهم يسخر مني كنت أرد عليه بسخرية أسوأ تجعل
منه الأضحوكة بدلاً مني. عندما كان يغضب هذا الذي سخر مني و يحاول ضربي كنت أرد
لكماته بأقصي منها، الأمر الذي جعلني لحد ما مرهوب الجانب لكنه لم يكن يجعلهم
يتوقفون عن إستبعادي. لا يهم، كنت أقول لنفسي، علي الأقل ما عاد أحدهم يجرؤ علي
الإستهزاء بي. لكن هذه العبارة ما إن تمر في رأسي حتي يتردد اسم واحد لم أكن أنا
أجرؤ علي ردعه مهما فعل بي هذا الأسم هو: علي.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span dir="RTL" lang="AR-SA" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: large; line-height: 115%;"> علي قدر ما أستطيع كنت
أتفادي علي. إن رأيته يمر في طريق اتخذت غيره و إن سمعت صوته يقترب ابتعدت لكن هذا
كله لم يكن ليجعله يكف عني. ببساطة أجده يدنو مني و دون أن أكون قد فعلت له شيئاً
تنهال علي سخرياته لاذعة و تتعالي ضحكات أصدقائه من حولي و في عيونهم شماتة غير
خافية لأن صديقهم-أو قل قائدهم- يفعل ما جعلتهم أنا عاجزين عن فعله. أنظر أمامي
لأجد ما لا يقل بأي حال من الأحوال عن عشرة صبية لو حتي حاولت أن أسخر من علي الذي
يقدسونه أعرف أني سأجد ضرباتهم تحيطني من كل جانب و أنا مهما كان بي من قوة لا
أستطيع أبداً صد عشرة في آن واحد. لا يترك هذا لي من خيار سوي إلتزام الصمت التام
ريثما ينتهي و التظاهر بأني لا أسمع لا سخرياته و لا ضحكاتهم حتي إذا ما رحلوا
ألملم أشلاء كرامتي و أبتعد.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span dir="RTL" lang="AR-SA" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: large; line-height: 115%;"> في كل مرة يحدث فيها هذا
المشهد كان سؤال هل لعلي ندوب يبرز في رأسي. أنظر إليه و إلي نفسي، لو كلانا
مختلفان هو بسبب ندوبه و أنا بسبب خيالاتي فكيف يصح أن أقف أنا و هو هذا الموقف
الذي يكون هو فيه محاطاً بالعشرات بينما
أكون أنا أعزل؟ هو محبوب و أنا مستبعد؟ هل ندوب علي خفية لا يراها إلا أنا أم
ماذا؟ </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span dir="RTL" lang="AR-SA" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: large; line-height: 115%;"> ظل الأمر هكذا فترة طويلة
لم يطرأ عليه تغيير، علي يسخر مني و يلزمني عجزي الصمت حتي يقرر هو أنه قد نال
كفايته من الإستهزاء مني ثم يرحل تاركاً إياي و شعوري بالذل و الضعف يغمرني، إلي أن
أتي يوم تغير فيه كل شيء.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span dir="RTL" lang="AR-SA" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: large; line-height: 115%;"> دق جرس الحصة الأخيرة. نزل
الجميع إلي الأسفل ليرجعوا لبيوتهم بينما توجهت أنا لمدرسة اللغة العربية لتدريبي
علي القصيدة التي كنت سألقيها في حفلة آخر العام. لا أعرف كم كانت الساعة عندما
انتهينا لكن الوقت و لابد كان قد تأخر فعندما نزلت للفناء كان خالياً تماماً. مشيت
للباب لكن أثناء هذا تعثرت بحجر ووقعت. غطي التراب يدي فذهبت لدورة المياه
لأغسلها. عندما خرجت رأيت علي واقفاً بعيد. أشحت ببصري للناحية الأخري سريعاً لكن
بعد فوات الأوان فكان هو قد رآني. توجه إلي، كانت علي وجهه علامات الضجر و عرفت
أني سأكون تسليته. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span dir="RTL" lang="AR-SA" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: large; line-height: 115%;"> قابلني بإبتسامته الساخرة
و هو يقول: "لم تأخرت هكذا؟ ألم تأت ماما لتأخذك بعد؟"<br />
كنت سأفعل ما أنا معتاد علي فعله من
إلتزام الصمت عندما فاجأني عدم سماعي لقهقهات تتبع سخريته. عندها، نظرت حولي لأجده
وحيداً، أعزل، مثلي تماماً.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span dir="RTL" lang="AR-SA" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: large; line-height: 115%;"> و حينها أدركت أن اللحظة
قد حانت لأنتقم لنفسي من كل إهانات الماضي. كنت أحس بنشوة الفوز و السيطرة تسري في
عروقي و تطرد ما عداها. أردت أن أخبره أشياء كثيرة. أردت أن أقول له أن ندوبه و إن
خفيت علي الجميع فإني أراها و أعلم أنها لا تجعله يستحق أكثر مما أستحقه أنا من
إستبعاد، أردت أن أخبره أن هذا الإستبعاد يتبعه كالصدي شعور دائم بالضعف لا يستتر
سوي بدفع سخرية أحدهم أو لكمه إن استدعي الأمر لكن ستري هذا دائماً من النحول بحيث
يخرقه هو و يخرق معه كرامتي وقتما شاء. أردت أن أقول له أن محض وجوده يخنقني لأني
أراه محاطاً بالجميع و أراني محاطاً بعزلتي. هل قلت كل هذا؟ بالطبع لا، اختزلت
غضبي كله في كلمة واحدة كنت قد نسيتها لما رأيت فيها من عدم منطقية لكنها و لسبب
ما عاودت ذهني الآن و انطلقت علي لساني.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span dir="RTL" lang="AR-SA" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: large; line-height: 115%;"> صحت به:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span dir="RTL" lang="AR-SA" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: large; line-height: 115%;">-اخرس يا محروق.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span dir="RTL" lang="AR-SA" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: large; line-height: 115%;"> و أنت طفل تمتلك منطقاُ يختلف عن منطق الكبار قد
تقبل بسببه أشياء خرافية لا يقبلها عقلاً ناضجاً و تستبعد أشياء أخري بمثابة
المسلملت. لا شيء غريب في هذا، لأنك في هذا الزمن الرقيق من عمرك تصوغ منطقك تبعاً
لمعطياتك البسيطة لحد ما و طبقاُ لهواك غالباً و هكذا يصير كل ما تحب حقيقة و كل
ما تكره إدعاء. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span dir="RTL" lang="AR-SA" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: large; line-height: 115%;"> أتذكر أني عندما كنت طفلاُ
و اسمت أمي ندوب علي باسم حروق أني نظرت إليها كما لو كانت لا تفهم ما تقول، أتذكر
أيضاً أن هذا كان منطقي: يمكن لورقة أن تحترق أو لطعام أن يحترق لكن كيف يمكن
لإنسان أن يحترق؟ </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span dir="RTL" lang="AR-SA" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: large; line-height: 115%;"> بعدها تأتي فترة ما بين طفولتك و نضجك تبدأ
فيها الحقئق الواقعية في التكشف الواحدة تلو الأخري داحضة معها الكثير من معتقدات
الطفولة. لا يمكنك بعدها أن تحدد أي حقيقة دحضت أي معتقد و لا تترك هذه الفترة
الإنتقالية معها من ذكريات سوي إيحاءات مبهمة بالخروج من عالم ملون للولوج في آخر
أسود قاتم. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span dir="RTL" lang="AR-SA" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: large; line-height: 115%;"> لا أتذكر بالضبط أي أشيء
جعلني أتخلي عن معتقدي بأن البشر لا يمكن لهم الإحتراق. أكان هذا عندما كنت بعد
صغيراً و قرأت في مجلة عن عادات الشعوب
الغريبة لأكتشف أن الهنود تطبيقاً لتقليد "الساتي" كانوا يحرقون
الأرملة حال توفي زوجها؟ أم كان عندما تقدمت في السن قليلاً و بدأت أسمع من الكبار
عن قطار الصعيد الذي احترق فيه ما يزيد عن أربعمائة شخص؟ أو يا تري عندما كبرت
أكثر و أكثر و رأيت بعيني صوراً لآثار القنبلة النووية في هيروشيما و نجازاكي؟ كل
ما أعرفه أني كنت طفلاً لا أصدق سوي أن النار تأثيرها يقف عند الأوراق و الطعام ثم
صرت ناضجاً أعرف أن النار لا تحمل قديسة لأي شيء طعام ورقة إنسان مدينة أو بشرية. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span dir="RTL" lang="AR-SA" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: large; line-height: 115%;"> حينها تساعد هذه الحقائق
المرء علي فهم كثيراً من الأشياء غير المنطقية بالنسبة له عندما كان طفلاً. عرفت
بسببها أن أمي لم يجانبها الصواب عندما وصفت علي بالمحروق و شرحت لي أيضاً تصرفه
عندما وصفته أنا بهذا. <br />
منذ سنوات طوال عندما قلت لعلي
"اخرس يا محروق" شعرت للوهلة الأولي بالسخط علي نفسي لأني في اللحظة
التي كنت فيها أريد حقاً أن أنتقم لم يخرج من فيهي سوي كلمة غيرمنطقية. تبع هذا
أشياء لم أفهمها حينها. رأيت وجه علي و قد ذابت ابتسامة الإستهزاء فيه و تبدلت
بنظرة حزن لم أر مثيلتها يوماً في عينيه جعلته تبدو كشخص مختلف. رأيته يقف مكانه
ثابتاُ لا يتحرك خطوة واحدة في أي إتجاه و عيناه الجريحتان مثبتتان علي و رأيت
دموعاً صامتة تنهمر منهما. شعرت حينها أن لو أصدقاء علي جميعاً تكالبوا علي و
أوسعوني ضرباً لما أحسست بشيء من هذا الألم الذي أحس به الآن. شلني الإرتباك عن الحركة
و بقيت مثله ثابتاً مكاني لم أتحرك عندما اشتد بكاؤه و لا عندما أمسك ندوبه
المنتشرة علي وجهه بيديه كأنما يريد أن يمزقها لم أتحرك خلال كل هذا و بقيت
كالتمثال الإسمنتي لولا أن من عينيّ كانت تنهمر كدموعه.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-size: large;">
<span dir="RTL" lang="AR-SA" style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; line-height: 115%;"> بهذا
المشهد الحزين انتهت قصتي مع عليّ علي المستوي الفعلي. كنت أتوقع في اليوم التالي
لهذا أشد أنواع العقاب و أقساها، كنت أتخيل كيف سأذهب للمدرسة و أجد أصدقائه الكثر
ينتظروني عند الباب و يوسعوني ضرباً. كنت أتخيل أن أصدقائه هؤلاء ربما استعانوا
بأصدقائهم الآخرين ليزدادوا عدداً و غلظة. كنت أتخيل أن بعد هذا سيأتي المدير
ليفصلني من المرسة و يطلب من المدرسين رؤيتي لا لشيء سوي لتوبيخي علي ما فعلت.لم
أكن أفهم بعد ما فعلت و لم استوعب لم آلمت علي هذه "المحروق" هكذا لكن
مجرد حقيقة أنه تألم و أني كنت السبب في هذا الألم جعلني أحس أني أستحق كل هذه العقوبات. عاقبني
علي فعلاً بأشد أنواع العقاب لكن بطريقة غير تلك التي تخيلتها. ما كان منه عندما
رآني سوي أن أشاح بنظره بعيداً و في عينيه اللتين لم يكن يفارقهما البريق يوماً
خوف و إنطفاء. ظلت هذه النظرة التي لم صار لا يلقاني إلا بها تطاردني حتي الآن
كنبع ذنب عظيم لم يجف أو يفارقني حتي الآن. ظلت معاملته لي هكذا حتي نهاية العام و
في العام التالي لم أجده. سمعت أنه سافر لباريس مع أبويه أو شيء من هذا القبيل و
إلي الآن لم أقابله مجدداً.<br />
علي المستوي النفسي, لا أستطيع أن أجزم متي
لهذه القصة أن تنتهي و قد رافقني ما أكتشفت من ورائها إلي الآن.<br />
لفترة ليست بالقصيرة ظل سؤال هل لعلي
ندوب يطاردني كطفل و كان هذا المشهد الذي وصفت لتوي خير شاهد أنها موجودة، موجودة
بصورة تألمه. ما كان سؤالي هذا سوي تهرب من سؤالي الآخر الذي لم أجد له جواب: إذا
كان علي يمتلك ندوب هو مختلف بسببها و أنا عندي خيالاتي التي أنا أيضاً مختلف
بسببها فكيف يحبونه و يستبعدوني؟ يحيطونبه و يتركوني وحيداً؟ أحتاجت مني الإجابة
علي هذا السؤال لسنين كثيرة أنضج فيها و أري ما كان مستحيل لعينيّ طفل أن تبصرانه.
<br />
و أنا صغير كان عندي من الوعي ما يكفي
لأن أفهم أن كلينا-أنا و علي-مختلفان. كنت أظن أنه هكذا نحن متساويان مما يحتم
كنتيجة منطقية أن تتم معاملتنا بنفس الطريقة لكنني لم أقف قط عند إختلافتنا تلك
لأفهم ماهيتها. <br />
كان علي مختلفاً بسبب مجموعة من البقع
ذات لون يميل إلي الأحمر و ملمس خشن تعلو صفحة وجهه و تغطيها. كنت أنا مختلفاً
بسبب مجموعة من الرؤي و الأحلام و الأفكار تستقر في ذاتي و تشكلها. عرفت علي مر
أيامي أن الوجه مهما يميل الناس لإضفاء أهمية كبيرة عليه و حتي لأكثر الناس سطحية
غير مهم. عندما نسير في الشارع نكن محض وجوه تقابل وجوه لا يهم ما تخفي ورائها، لا
يهم إن كان هذا قبيح أم جميل، فاسد أم نقي، طيب أم شرير، بإختصار يتلخص الإنسان
كله في وجهه الذي يصبح المعيار الوحيد للحكم عليه. عندما نتواصل مع شخص آخر
بالكلام و يزيد هذا التواصل عمقاً يبدأ الكلام و ما يمثله فعلاً من شخصية صاحبه
بالتشويش علي الوجه. حينها يكون الوجه كالغلاف الذي يغطي الهدية، قد يكون جميلاُ و
قد يكون قبيحاً لكن صاحب الهدية لا يلبث أن يلقيه بعيداَ. علي، لأنه يعلم بإمتلاكه
وجه مشوه، كان يعوض هذا النقص في ذاته بجعلها أشد الذوات جاذبية بدرجة طغت معها علي
الإيحاء أو الإنطباع الذي قد يخلفه وجهه. جعل هذا شيئاً سهلاً علي جميع من يعرفونه
أن يلقوا بوجهه بعيداً و ينظروا إليه هو. أصبحت حروقه من قلة الأهمية للحد الذي
جعلني أشكك في وجودها. علي لم يكن مختلفاً علي الإطلاق، لم تزده هذه الحروق في
وجهه سوي رغبة في أن يكون أفضل من الجميع الذين لا يملكون مثلها. في حالتي، الغلاف
لا بأس به، لكن عند فضه للنظر فيما كان يخفي يجد الناس شيئاً لا يفهموه، لا يعرفوا
إذا كان جيداً ليحبوه أو سيء ليكرهوه فاكتفوا بإستبعاده و إلقاء الهدية نفسها
بعيداً. عندما كبرت، اكتشفت أني أنا كنت المشوه الحقيقي، أنا هو صاحب الندوب
الخفية التي لم تفارقني حتي الآن. <br />
</span></span></div>
Mahahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00836281820315404682noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5401425473113451944.post-74794398218482783752012-08-16T17:52:00.001-07:002012-08-16T18:01:37.789-07:00طفلة السماء<br />
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<span dir="RTL" lang="AR-SA" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">يا بنيتي</span></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<span dir="RTL" lang="AR-SA" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">أوتسمعين هذا الغناء</span></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<span dir="RTL" lang="AR-SA" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">إنه لطفلة في السماء</span></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<span dir="RTL" lang="AR-SA" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">قد تاهت في الغابات </span></div>
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<span dir="RTL" lang="AR-SA" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">من مائة ألف عام</span></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<span dir="RTL" lang="AR-SA" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">أبداً عمرها </span></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<span dir="RTL" lang="AR-SA" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">ست سنوات </span></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<span dir="RTL" lang="AR-SA" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">كاليوم الذي فيه راحت</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<span dir="RTL" lang="AR-SA" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">الآهات رجع صوتها</span></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<span dir="RTL" lang="AR-SA" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">ففي صدرها الصغير</span></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<span dir="RTL" lang="AR-SA" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">اندثر ضياع<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<span dir="RTL" lang="AR-SA" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">كل من لا يعرفون</span></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<span dir="RTL" lang="AR-SA" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>للبيت طريق</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<span dir="RTL" lang="AR-SA" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">وحدها في المساء </span></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<span dir="RTL" lang="AR-SA" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">تقضي الساعات</span></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<span dir="RTL" lang="AR-SA" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">في البكاء</span></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<span dir="RTL" lang="AR-SA" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">تتساقط دموعها</span></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<span dir="RTL" lang="AR-SA" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">تحال إلي أمطار</span></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<span dir="RTL" lang="AR-SA" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">تنبت الغابات</span></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<span dir="RTL" lang="AR-SA" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">فيها يتوه</span></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<span dir="RTL" lang="AR-SA" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">مزيد من الأطفال</span></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<span dir="RTL" lang="AR-SA" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">ممن ظنوا مثلها </span></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<span dir="RTL" lang="AR-SA" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">أن الحياة مغامرة</span></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<span dir="RTL" lang="AR-SA" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">علي الجانب الآخر</span></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<span dir="RTL" lang="AR-SA" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">اطفال آخرون</span></div>
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<span dir="RTL" lang="AR-SA" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">يقبعون في البيت</span></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<span dir="RTL" lang="AR-SA" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">حتي يصبح</span></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<span dir="RTL" lang="AR-SA" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">عمرهم ستون عاماً</span></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<span dir="RTL" lang="AR-SA" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">علي السرير قبل الموت</span></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<span dir="RTL" lang="AR-SA" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">يتأملون الحياة</span></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<span dir="RTL" lang="AR-SA" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">فإذا بهم يرونها</span></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<span dir="RTL" lang="AR-SA" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">فراغاً</span></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<span dir="RTL" lang="AR-SA" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">يبكون فهم يوماً</span></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<span dir="RTL" lang="AR-SA" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">لم يذهبوا إلي الغابات</span></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<span dir="RTL" lang="AR-SA" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">من فيهم يا بنيتي</span></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<span dir="RTL" lang="AR-SA" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">ستختارين؟</span></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
Mahahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00836281820315404682noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5401425473113451944.post-65764706063223930262012-07-17T15:24:00.000-07:002012-07-17T15:24:00.604-07:00The Dream<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">“Who
are you?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span> </span>“What do you want to know?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span>
</span>“Everything.”<span> </span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span> </span>And I find myself, lost in a dream, not
knowing whence it originated, reveling in my ignorance, with her whom I know
still less, reining it.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span> </span>She lowers her eyes at first, implying a
feeling of indecision, then raises them again, an affable smile, restrained from
showing on her lips, glimmering in them. “But it is impossible,” she says at
last.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span> </span>“Why?” I inquire, letting my own smile
appear.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span> </span>“Because I know of no mystery ever being
interesting after you have known the solution to it.” Her gaze is fixed at me,
expectation of what I shall say suffusing it.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span> </span>“You insist on making yourself a mystery
to me? But no, I shall not have this as a definite answer. What I want is not
at all a solution; you have no distinct shape in my head, and I’d like to
clearly see you.” I pause, thoughts apparent in the creases of my forehead as I
consider what exactly I shall ask her. “Your family, your house, and all those
other matters may not show you to me. I want something that expresses you,” I
again keep on trying to find a name to such a thing, but encounter only
failure. “ Tell me about your friends,” I say at last, after realizing that I
have spent too much time thinking, with a somewhat low voice, meant to hide my
embarrassment of the silliness of the question that I asked only after I have
found that I couldn’t find anything to say. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span> </span>“I cannot tell you about them because I
have none,” she answers, not having recognized the abashment in my voice.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span> </span>She has unconsciously laid me a first
thread for real conversation, and I unhesitatingly catch it. “You can consider
me your friend then,” I say, feigning empathy that my former experiences with women
affirm that they love so. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span> </span>“Well thank you.” The quizzical look in
her eyes tells me that she has given me away. I lie in bafflement, not knowing
what to say. She saves me and continues after looking away smiling delightfully
to entail that I have been forgiven, “ After all, <span> </span>how am I to have friends when nobody ever
interests me? “</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span>
</span>“Why is that?” This time, I am genuinely curios.<span> </span><span> </span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span> </span>“ Nobody ever interests me enough;
nobody ever has anything new about him. Two minutes are enough for me to see
that if I shall go on talking with this person or that, I’d be risking my life
, dying out of boredom. Besides, I believe that the disliking I have towards
people is mutual; I believe all people just find me strange.”<br />
<span> </span>“Strange?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span> </span>“If you are about to deny it, then let me
save your effort; I <i>am</i> strange.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span> </span>My face, I am aware, falls into an
expression of bewilderment, like my thoughts. It is true, she is unlike all
others I have met; but to call her “strange” is nothing short of an offense. In
her uncommonness, lies a magic, radiant, now in her eyes, now in her smile,
that no one can ever call but enchanting, and it irks me still more that she
believes herself to be so. <br />
<span> </span>“You don’t seem to be convinced?
But I tell you, it’s true. In my head, run there strangest of all thoughts, and
questions that drive me to the edges of insanity. I question everything,
everything. I<span> </span>keep on wondering, what
for instance would happen if I were another; then, I ask myself, ‘would my view
of the world change?’ for you know, some part of me likes to believe that
reality does not exist but in our heads . It also likes to believe that when we
are dreaming, we are conscious and alive in another world, and when we are
awake, we are dreaming in there.” </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span> </span>Her words are uttered, not with vehemence,
but with a deep quiet serenity that adds to their exoticness that I heavily
fall into. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span> </span>“So I now might be dreaming you?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span> </span>“Perhaps.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span> </span><span></span>“And
how am I to restrain that dream?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span> </span><span> </span>“You
don’t.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span> </span>She lowers my face to hers, and
delicately kisses me to prove herself real. At such proximity, I let my eyes
discern hers and drown in their depths. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span> </span><span></span>“You are beautiful,” I say. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span> </span><span> </span>But like in a dream, she has already flown
away. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"><span> </span><br />
<span> </span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>Mahahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00836281820315404682noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5401425473113451944.post-67735771763689396292012-04-19T13:23:00.003-07:002012-04-19T13:25:22.667-07:00YearningCertitude<br />
Light years away<br />
Doubts<br />
Uproot<br />
Faith<br />
<br />
Eyes<br />
Discern the invisible<br />
Melt<br />
In tears<br />
<br />
Love<br />
Serenades in the distance<br />
Hands<br />
Ache<br />
To reach<br />
<br />
Guillotine <br />
In hues of yearning<br />
Decapitates<br />
Dreams <br />
<br />
<br />Mahahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00836281820315404682noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5401425473113451944.post-17721702781195114022012-03-18T14:35:00.003-07:002012-03-18T14:42:53.581-07:00Happiness<br />
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">“Happiness is the consequence of personal effort. You fight for it, strive for it, insist upon it, and sometimes even travel around the world looking for it. You have to participate relentlessly in the manifestations of your own blessings. And once you have achieved a state of happiness, you must never become lax about maintaining it. You must make a mighty effort to keep swimming upward into that happiness forever, to stay afloat on top of it.” </span></i><br />
<b>From "Eat, Pray, Love" by Elizabeth Gilbert </b><br />
<br />
This quotation above is not here for me to hail it, say how it has changed my life, and recommend everyone to adapt it as a concept for happiness; quite the contrary, it is in here for no other reason but to be ridiculed. For here's a small fact, I'd never quote such a book as "Eat, Pray, Love" for any other reason but that. You might ask why I am that prejudiced, knowing that I never read the book, and I'll tell you that even if you can't quite judge a book by its cover, you can always get some sort of a bad notion about it acquired from many things: the name; the audience who favor that book; reading some excerpts from it; and at times- ironically- from how it has topped the "bestsellers"-Twilight for instance. <br />
My belief in the fallacy of such a thing stems from my other personal beliefs, and my personal beliefs have always agreed with <b>Charlotte Bronte's "Passion:</b><br />
<br />
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<i>"Some have won a wild delight </i></div>
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">By daring wilder sorrow</span><br style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Could gain thy love tonight </span><br style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;" /><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I'd hazard death tomorrow </span></i>"<br />
<br />
Happiness should not be but an offspring of coincidence, it should be effortless, it should have a flow to it and intoxication. If happiness was a result of hard work, search and seeking, it would regress from "magical" to "normal"; because then, happiness would be a most natural result to a group of factors summed up together. Happiness is happiness for no other reason but the element of surprise, take that away, and it would become banal. <br />
Of course happiness has degrees, the one I've just described is the last degree, the "absolute" one. Today, I am happy. My happiness comes somewhere in the first degrees. But it scares me all the same; and that is the part where my beliefs coincide with Bronte's.<br />
Happiness no matter how slight, has always been a bad omen for me; I always fear it. Life doesn't give something without taking another away, and I'd keep on wondering, what is in store for me. I am always cautious with happiness, and I always build boundaries around it, so that it would never be "absolute"; for what then would be imminent but strangling pain? For here's another thing I believe in, feelings are like pendulums, if you hold a stable one, fling it to the right, leave it, it would never go back to its rest position, it would be flung back to the left. <br />
At times, like today, I try to shake all that off, and keep on telling myself that I have already had my share of "strangling pain" getting nothing in return, so who knows, perhaps it might last a bit this time, and perhaps it won't end in disaster.But I know no fates to tell, and leave that for the days.<br />
I only would like to say, that even if it was only today, I am thankful for it. <br />
<br />
<br />Mahahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00836281820315404682noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5401425473113451944.post-86455200379186218112012-03-17T13:55:00.001-07:002012-03-17T13:57:28.937-07:00Few Things...I've had this blog since I was 14 and I turn 17 in three months.<br />
It means it's been 3 years since I started taking writing seriously.<br />
I wrote my first short story when I was seven.<br />
And that means ten years separate me from the beginning. <br />
I've written about 150 stuff ranging from prose to poetry to short stories<br />
Except for very few things, I hate all of them.<br />
"Why"' might cross your mind.<br />
It's simply because they've been written with a person I've always hated.<br />
That is me.<br />
I actually have an image of what I want to be.<br />
I wanna start transforming to her <br />
I have always wanted it.<br />
But beloved inertia always pulls me to the self I hate<br />
That is myself.<br />
How can you break the bonds ?<br />
How can I uproot me from me?<br />
But then, Enough questions...<br />
Let me start acting.<br />
<br />
<br />
A Few Resolutions:<br />
I'll never share myself with another<br />
I'll never forget that closeness has its limits<br />
I'll never forget that bonds can be too dangerous.<br />
I'll never quit reading again for long periods of times.<br />
I've always known how tricky minutes can be<br />
Now, I'll start treating them for what they are<br />
I'll find an hour for writing everyday. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Mahahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00836281820315404682noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5401425473113451944.post-570566694733969162012-03-17T13:21:00.000-07:002012-03-17T14:01:59.841-07:00A RestartTuck me into the unknown and let go<br />
I will be reborn into the innocence of the ignorant<br />
Or obliterate the three thousand yesterdays<br />
Weighing me down with crudeness<br />
And then<br />
With the blankness of those who never were <br />
I shall sing.Mahahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00836281820315404682noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5401425473113451944.post-33648509410921684932012-03-16T15:51:00.000-07:002012-03-17T14:03:34.675-07:00Songs of Falling<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">A marionette </span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Tries to move without the
strings</span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">She cuts them</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"> And falls. </span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;">
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">The rain is beating </span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">The thunder growls </span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">The sun is fading </span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">The shutters closed</span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">The tree is fragile</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">The wind is strong</span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">The birds are singing </span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Of the forlorn </span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Down down </span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">The branches fall</span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;">
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">A child </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Goes in circles </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">With eyes closed</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">He trips over the stars</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">And falls</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>Mahahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00836281820315404682noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5401425473113451944.post-36681700851409939352011-10-29T15:39:00.000-07:002011-10-29T15:39:17.720-07:00Wanderer<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><i>Wanderer, </i></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><i> Ask me not to describe, for everything lies so beyond the grasp of words. Let me unfold myself here in those layers of the unnameable and get lost once again. Leave me, but don't forget. </i></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><i>Never, wanderer. </i></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>Mahahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00836281820315404682noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5401425473113451944.post-80804990479855581442011-10-22T20:20:00.000-07:002011-10-29T15:44:28.688-07:00The Minutes<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"> “How many cups of coffee do you now drink?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"> The
tooth brush freezes in my hand for a second. I force it back into my mouth, get
it out, rinse my mouth and reply, “Six, seven, eight…don’t really know. Why do
you ask?” I get out of the bathroom. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"> “Nothing just wanted to know.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"> I close the door behind me and advance to
the living room. You have already gone there, seated yourself, in the brown arm
chair, beside the open window. You hesitate for a second before taking the
newspaper. You take it, let it drop, and smile. Curiosity was not filling me,
you told me all the same: “It’s funny. You used to hate coffee back then.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"> ‘Back then’ hangs in the air. I ponder
upon it. When was ‘back then’? You cut through my thoughts, “It’s very different
now,” you say. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"> “It’s very different now,” I echo. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"> You jump from your seat, throw the
newspaper and go. “Nothing worth reading about”, you muttered. I occupy your
brown arm chair, beside the window. I pick the newspaper from the ground, and
read. Later, I get bored and realize that nothing is worth reading about. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"> I go to the kitchen and pour myself
water. I look at the walls, as old as you and me, and ponder again on “back
then.” I spill the water. I get out of the kitchen without clearing the mess I
made. I go back to the living room, curl myself on the sofa. It’s getting cold.
Winter must be impending. I close the window. I forget what I was thinking, but
I don’t care. I’ll think something new. I think and think. I think and cry.
Thinking makes me cry. I stop thinking and I pace the room. But memories flood
me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"> “Back then” is fixed at a point in time.
Every day, the distance between it and me widens. It creates a gap, a huge gap,
and everything is sucked in.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"> You
come out of the room, the one at the end of the corridor. You don’t see me and
it makes no difference. It’s not me you got out for.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"> Between me and back then, there is a billion
or so minutes, forever divided between two pairs of eyes. Two pairs of eyes see
different things. And then, the past is lost, in between. It doesn’t scare me
that now will also eventually turn into another “back then.” I don’t care for
now. But the minutes, they hold me captive. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"> You, wherever you are, so attached to me
I cannot bear you, so faraway I miss you, have you ever thought of it? For the
minutes do hold us captive. Years will pass through our entities, broken into
minutes, and we’ll live, in them, never getting out, hoping we did. And we’ll
live them, together, but away. It will kill us, but we’ll draw a feeble
pretense of life. Now, we are only rehearsing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"> You
get out. “You have spilled water in the kitchen?” you say. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"> "Yes. I’ll go clean it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"> “It’s okay, I already did so.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"> And you go away. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"> You, whomever you are, do you still love
me? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>Mahahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00836281820315404682noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5401425473113451944.post-63113017372328547832011-10-16T18:13:00.000-07:002011-10-16T18:17:23.795-07:00Another Age TrickAll through the day, there has been vulgar music coming out from somewhere down the street. It's easy to tell somebody was getting married. It was noisy and annoying, and nothing short of agonizing when I had to study having it as a background.<br />
It's silent and still now. I have just hung up with my friend after having a prolonged conversation after which I reached the conclusion that even when I am okay, I am not okay. I also, for the thousandth time, kept on discussing how there is no chance for it to get better. At the end, I wound up lamenting my so-called adolescence.<br />
I kept on repeating, " But I am sixteen." over and over again, as though trying to convince myself that life is still ahead of me. It made things worse, for here's how it is: I <i>am</i> sixteen and the last time I recall having fun in is three years ago; I have only one friend and it's because of my fastidious nature that does not accept to befriended with people who discuss nothing but the things that enter my very own category of "things unbearably stupid it makes me want to throw up;" I have not crushed on a guy, been crushed on by a guy-the very sound of it is weird-or had any remotely similair experience for like, more than three years and all is due to how this entire thing comes first in the list of things unbearably stupid it makes me want to throw up.<br />
I am missing out on life .<br />
Is this not just sad?<br />
I have not contributed in the HBBC for a long time now. I was pretty delusional when I thought that "I will just when studying gets a little bit less tough" It is not, but yeah, I have changed my reasoning and am now living with it. So, perhaps Insha' Allah, I'll be able to post this time. I <i>really</i> with too.<br />
There is Holy Quraan now playing outside. The sound of it is very beautiful. I think I am going to turn it on in the room and sleep.Mahahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00836281820315404682noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5401425473113451944.post-48647325332388253942011-10-15T13:55:00.000-07:002011-10-15T13:55:18.977-07:00Writing, Time, and A Beautiful Classic PoemPencils and papers have grown too intimidating.<br />
<div>
The mere idea of writing something sends a wave of dread through me. Words come with no fluency. Fear consumes my heart. And then, I am left, with the conclusion that the easiest thing is not to write at all. </div>
<div>
And it scares me that I may forever linger in this place. Forever "afraid of nothing..nonetheless afraid". But, it is true, it is easier not to write. It is easier to leave those velvet images of mine free of words and definitions; it is easier not to have to be faced over and over again with the futility of it; it is easier not to be disheartened every time I realize that not a person cares. I do not at all know if i am any entitled to call myself a writer; but if I were not a writer, I do not know who I'd be. </div>
<div>
But no; I do not believe in this all, I never did. Because writing is not those few minutes when you put pen to parer; writing is a state of being. And I, I am haunted by words. I am haunted by long narratives that bereave my eyes of the peace of sleep; I get lost, deeply engrossed, within lined pages that have the little secrets of life in them; and my thoughts, my hellish thoughts. they consume me and send me to the brinks of insanity. No camera would capture that and steal it from time; only words. </div>
<div>
And time, i have concluded, is a villain. I need it to freeze. Physics just says it cannot. And, according to my own belief, time is the progression of life; without time, we would be imprisoned by an everlasting moment of nonexistence. But then, that is actually my wish...never to exist.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
P.S. </div>
<div>
I am not a great fan of classic Arabic poetry and tend to have a great liking to the modern one. Today though, in my Arabic curriculum, I happened to come across an enchanting classic poem written by Ibn Al-Roumi. It was a lament to his dead child. Even though we are not supposed to memorize it, I have read a lot already I know it by heart. Here are my favorite two lines:</div>
<div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<b><i>فيالك من نفس تساقط أنفساً تساقط در من نظام بلا عقد</i></b></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">and</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">و أنت و ان افردت في دار وحشة فإني بدار الانس في وحشة الفرد</span></b></i></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
</div>Mahahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00836281820315404682noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5401425473113451944.post-25547357802871155962011-10-06T15:20:00.000-07:002011-10-07T15:06:29.897-07:00Getting Through the NightI am too sick and tired.<br />
Complaining about things that may never change has worn me out so completely.<br />
And now, I am sitting on my bed, trying so hard to resist the gloomy gravity. Only at times like this, believing that an army made of one soldier can beat life seems like quite trifling.<br />
I need somebody to tell me it's not. I need another voice echoing what I want so much to hear.<br />
No voice resonates through the blankness but my own.<br />
Is it too shameful to admit that I am alone?<br />
Well, I am, very much.<br />
<br />
Tonight, everything feels painfully alienated.<br />
<br />Mahahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00836281820315404682noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5401425473113451944.post-43353646334231081612011-10-06T13:50:00.000-07:002011-10-06T15:23:05.364-07:00MeasurementsMy back hurts intolerably.<br />
I am now in that place where time starts having substance and meaning, and where squandering it does not come without consequences. Is not the mere idea that your entire future hangs on two years enough to send shivers down your spine? And then, it all takes me back to that thing I say quite often these days...."Stupidity Prevails."<br />
<div>
I need to get rid of this sense of duality engulfing everything, of this "Jekyll-Hyde" state of being. And you know, it all comes with bitter irony that makes me have the urge to laugh and cry at the same time. And the 'funniest" thing is, I am 16. I cannot bear how this number contradicts everything I am; even my very face is five years older. And yet, it does not make me hate growing up any less.<br />
<br />
I need a place where things exist beyond measurements. </div>
Mahahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00836281820315404682noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5401425473113451944.post-8679227339250635342011-10-04T15:18:00.000-07:002011-10-04T15:18:09.483-07:00I am dying to write.<br />A feeling of disgruntlement combined with fear would take over me on asking any grown up why he no longer reads; it's the answer that freaks me out: "i don't have time."<br />well. I wish I had enough time to finish a decent post, or weave those long narratives that keep on hunting me into a story.<br />
Sadly, I do not.<br />And it's like...I am still fe Thanwya Amma!Mahahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00836281820315404682noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5401425473113451944.post-52209298143739000672011-09-03T08:38:00.000-07:002011-09-03T08:42:18.968-07:00Crossing Roads<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">The weatherman did not point out an hour ago that it would
be raining. <br />
It is raining though.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"> In both houses,
everybody is asleep except for them; she in the east of the very big
neighborhood, he in the west of it. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"> In her room, she is
sitting by the window. As the raindrops hit the windowpanes, she finds herself
lying between alertness and sleep yet not completely surrendering to either.
She is thinking still; her thoughts are lost in an impression of dreams. It does
not bug her; at least now, she can lose sense of reality while being wide
awake.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"> In his room, he lies on bed. In an attempt to
find sleep, he keeps on counting from one to ten over again. And yet, that too
fails; every single number of these has a significance that opens a whole new line
of thought. He observes ironically how sleep shifted from being a relief to
being a burden and decides to cast it all aside giving up to that desire in him
to stay awake. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"> And so, both forget
about having to rise in the early morning, forget about the morning itself and
live in the night. But whether they like it or not, the morning has to come.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"> When the alarm goes
on, she is found to be still sitting by the window in almost the same position
with the same expression. Her eyes are wide open and her mind has long ago been
lost; in what exactly, she will not be able to tell. And so, it scares her a
little when that pesky sound interrupts her state of blankness. She leaves that
chair tiredly to get dressed and start a repeated old new day. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"> When his mother
enters to wake him up, she finds him pacing the room and thinks he has woken up
earlier today; what she does not know is that he hasn’t had one moment of sleep.
He halts his motion pondering on the dreaded fact of having to leave home for
yet another day. A thought of breaking the order of things roams his head but
leaves quickly being rendered as only a stupidity. And so another repeated old
new day begins for him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"> In the street, as the
sun hurts her eyes a wave of hate towards her inability to close them overtakes
her. She does not regret last night though; she can regret everything but last
night. She finds an ineffable effort in merely walking, and yet, she walks.
Does she have another option? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"> In another street, his feet present him with
no trouble in maintaining his motion; it is that feeling of abhorrence in him towards
everything that does. He can find no reason at all for going to his
destination, none still to his life, but in both cases, something greater
pushes him to unwillingly go on. He has no other option. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"> She takes another
route. She doesn’t know why but she just does it. Perhaps it is only because
she feels a desire in her for things to be more in her control; perhaps it is
not. She does not care, not any longer, not at all. Her body though revolts on
her instantaneous freedom and makes her almost swoon. She doesn’t fall to the
ground; he catches her. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"> As their faces
meet, they find familiarity but not recognition. Familiarity is there not because
they saw each other before; it is something beyond it. They could not have met
before. And yet, could they be soul
mates, potential friends, or even enemies? Neither had a say in his future but
both felt it was too far away, too unrealistic stop happen. But could it be,
could it be in a parallel dimension? Their minds wandered to a different world
where their souls were not split by an entire neighborhood having tens of buildings,
a couple of hundred flats and a thousand rooms which contain a million corners having
innumerable insomniac minds. Could that be? Maybe it could, only in a distant
past, away from a present where everything loses its main property to become a
cell, just a cell. But alas! They live in that present, and in that present, everybody
is destined to live in alienation. They are not bigger than an ugly life to
beautify it; they are not brainwashed like most of the others to think it is
beautiful, and so they lie in infinite agony feeling that something is missing
but not quite knowing what is it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"> They have to divert.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"> Before this, he
breaks the norm of social traditions and asks her, “Will we ever meet again?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"> At
first, his question takes her by surprise; but then, she admires the frank
boldness in it. “Perhaps we’ll cross roads,” she replies. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
</span>Mahahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00836281820315404682noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5401425473113451944.post-43799487384742186872011-09-02T02:29:00.002-07:002011-09-03T08:34:55.974-07:00Self-love<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px;">
<span style="line-height: 24px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><i><b>This is an HBBC post. For other takes on self-love visit <a href="http://haiku--life.blogspot.com/2011/08/meet-hbbc-members.html">this</a></b></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px;">
<span style="line-height: 24px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><i></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px;">
<span style="line-height: 24px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"></span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 13px;"></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 150%;">In life, absolution is
nonexistent. We get to determine the state of things by subjecting them to a
chain of comparisons of which we can deduce what the best <i>in</i> that chain
and the worst also <i>in</i> that chain; outside it, there lies nothing, just
nothing. So, for instance, when you say that a certain person has a beautiful
face, it is because your mind has automatically made a comparison between that
person’s face and other faces, and found that among those faces he has the
best. It is owing to the fact that beauty does not exist in an absolute state
for you to measure things on it, you just <i>compare. </i>Whether you do it
consciously or unconsciously, we always determine our position in life in
relation to others.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span> </span><span> </span>It is
needless to say that we always have an incessant desire to be the best. This
desire is reflected in how our comparisons are always in our favor as we all
tend to magnify the wrong-doings of others to make us feel better; this also
why <i>any</i> wrong-doing of <i>any </i>person is always an enjoyable subject
for people to tackle. This, I guess, can be noticed every time you open a
newspaper and find an entire page dedicated to telling, in details, the
scandals of a celebrity whose personal life cannot be of any importance to
anyone. If you are asking why all of this happens, the answer will be
self-love. Because if you cannot be the best, it will do you no harm to
belittle others.<br />
<span> </span>You are yourself; the statement may
sound ridiculous, but it is as simple as that…you are yourself. And since you
cannot possibly separate yourself from you, the self remains as an obligatory
companion throughout your life experience. Such a companion that won’t go away
will always need to be patted and told how amazing he is. Yes, we are talking
about <i>you</i>, <i>you</i> always need to be patted and told how amazing you
are. This too is pretty simple, but you may <i>never </i>underestimate it.
Discrimination, all kinds of discrimination, stems from that. If you cannot see
the connection, try to perceive things backwardly. We have that street sinking
lowly in poverty. Most of the inhabitants of that street are Muslims and there
is a minority of Christians. They are looking angrily at how humans quite like
themselves are treated in a very different way. They lose their self-respect as
they realize how they are in the bottom of the social ladder. They are getting
closer to hating their own selves. If they hate themselves there will be no
survival for them. Quickly, what do they do? Well, it is clear that their
situation in life cannot be better any time soon. There might be nobody poorer
than they are, but who said it’s all about money? Here, the Muslim majority
will automatically look down on the Christian minority using the ugly excuse of
“God said so”, and if they can look down on them, it defiantly means they are
better. Because they couldn’t feel “amazing” when comparing themselves to
others, they had to lower one group of them so that they would be better than
some people at something. There are lots of these streets in Egypt, and others
all over the world and throughout history having injustice as a constant and
reasons as variables. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><span> </span>This is not it. Self-love is literally
everything. We love our football team, our family, our neighborhood and every
other thing that is ours, simply because it’s <i>ours</i>. We always say that
it is us who belong to these things but it is actually these things that belong
to us; they, as us, need to always be the best. Why? Because they are
extensions of ourselves. And so, even patriotism can be considered a form of
self-love. Need I say more? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 13px;"> <div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12.5pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12.5pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: x-small;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
</div>
Mahahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00836281820315404682noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5401425473113451944.post-32312030142602054502011-08-28T17:37:00.000-07:002011-08-28T17:37:20.066-07:00Art runs deeper than flesh and blood<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I have made a </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">vow never to write about writing; now, though I am feeling a deep desire to do it. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> This is my fourth cup of coffee in a relatively short time. Why am I doing it? Certainly not because I am that much in love with coffee; it has got something more complex to it. My brain has formed a connection between writing and coffee that now I cannot do the former without having the latter in hand. What is even weirder is that I often wind up forgetting about it until it goes cold. It is as though the mere idea of me having made coffee gives me comfort. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> I was not going to write about that in the first place. I was going to write something which typically belongs to my journal but which is also mentioned in it way too much it would be simply boring to repeat it. But then, I could not write it in here. You can just say that I am the closest thing to being allergic when it comes to mentioning something that is deeply me. That kind of what you can call embarrassment completely abandons me when that person I am forsaking detailed things in me to is nothing but a character I have made in a story of mine; I even detest anything I write which does not have me between the lines. In reality, I remain the furthest person from being me. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> When the door of my house is closed behind me as I head to the outer world, I undergo a thorough transformation in attitude: I smile, a lot; I use my hands excessively and my voice becomes shrill. The me I know myself as is not any of these. That all takes place when I am talking to people. I do not usually feel nervous on a conscious level but it appears that my unconscious has another say about that. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> I have digressed, so back to writing. You know, it is actually like this: I do not put myself into words for the fear of repeating it all again in one of my stories; it is like my stories deserve me more than I deserve myself. That does not irk me in the least. I am only a mortal made of flesh and blood; they on the other hand are Art.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 6.6pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Art runs deeper than flesh and blood. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<br /></div>
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Mahahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00836281820315404682noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5401425473113451944.post-28682821383300404052011-08-23T16:38:00.000-07:002011-08-31T06:05:31.869-07:00خواطر ليليةNever wrote Arabic Poetry.....but then again, who knows? <br />
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يسدل الليل ستائره</div>
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علي يوم قد مضي و انقضي</div>
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و اندثرت في ثناياه </div>
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ذكريات لماض سحيق</div>
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فأنا لست أنا</div>
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فقط بل محض صدي</div>
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لصرخات كل من تأوه </div>
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وقال لا ادري كيف البقاء</div>
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كيف الحياة</div>
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كيف التنفس في هواء</div>
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قد اثقلته الشجون</div>
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تدفنني الاغطية </div>
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و قبري سرير</div>
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اتقلب ابحث</div>
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عن ساتر يسترني </div>
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من تلك الرأس رأسي </div>
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تجرعني الالم كؤوس</div>
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فلا أجد من ملجأ</div>
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سوي أطياف لغد</div>
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أتواري فيها </div>
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عن الافكار عن الظلال</div>
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عن اشباح الجنون</div>
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و لكن يا اسفاه</div>
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فمنها لا اجد</div>
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سوي الطرد الي </div>
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الي الان الي</div>
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لحظة تأبي الا ان تدوم</div>
<br />Mahahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00836281820315404682noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5401425473113451944.post-62818239302290998452011-08-21T16:54:00.001-07:002011-08-21T16:54:20.235-07:00A World With No Personality (1)<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Every Egyptian student has to encounter, at least once, in the exam paper, this Composition Topic: </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> <i> Technology has greatly influenced our lives making them much more comfortable and easier.</i></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Write in this topic expressing your opinion of how Technology has changed life to the better.</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> There of course comes my mental sarcastic smile asking, "And what if I do not exactly think Technology has made life all that good?!" But, quickly, I halt that opposing pattern of thought to conjure up the best ways of betraying my beliefs in order to fill three pages praising how fantastic life is because of Technology. Now, though, I am at complete liberty to express my genuine anger at the technological world we are living in. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> The common belief is that we live in a "progressed" society. Let me just ask one basic question: From what aspects? Why do we always assume that how Time is in relation to us as humans goes in a shape resembling a stairs where you are always going to be going from good to better? Why are we not realistic enough to grasp that the future is not necessarily better than the present, and the present is not necessarily better than the past? In fact, I feel like that the more we progress in time, the more everything deteriorates, and I believe others share this belief with me. Judging also by another common belief, it is easy to deduce that most people make a mental connection between progression and Technology making them both the closest thing to being synonyms. But, is it really so? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> I once made a comparison between us with our Rockets and bombs, and our Stone Age ancestors having only caves. I found that we are both the same: most of us both have no purpose in life other than securing food clothes and shelters. It might sound like unreasonable, but just think of it with me for a while and you will find that we are only a more refined version of them. We go to school, then to college, to learn? No, to be qualified enough to find a job. When we work, are we doing it for the sake of some great cause? No, to get money. And what do we buy with money? Food, clothes and houses. Then, will somebody tell me what is the great difference? But no, there is one: the Stone Age man saw himself for what he is; we don't. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> I asked myself once if it has always been like this. I am not well read in history enough to answer this, but I do know, that in past times, there were people who lived not just for the abstract purpose of staying alive; they lived for more: they lived for a belief. They are Prophets; they are Philosophers; they are Artists, and they would be changing lives, and with lives, changing life itself. The sad thing is, we do not see any of these anymore. </span></div>
Mahahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00836281820315404682noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5401425473113451944.post-62186750363236347932011-07-31T19:04:00.000-07:002011-09-01T23:57:31.780-07:00The Dim Haze<div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Georgia","serif"">It is one day since he’s slept, and two since he’s eaten. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Georgia","serif""><span> </span>It remains a mystery to him how he is still capable of motion. Walking comes rather mechanically: he puts the left leg forth then the right one and repeats that tedious activity all the way. All the way to what, he does not know; it is the way that always stretches endlessly before those who have no destination that matters, and not what is awaiting him by the end of it.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Georgia","serif""><span> </span>Strange memories are flooding his mind; memories that have the odor of things long forgotten and dead it becomes perturbing when they appear again. Amongst them is a vow, made too many years ago, by somebody who is strangely him: he vowed not to leave a street in Cairo unvisited. He also remembers that by the first week he started fulfilling his vow, he gave it up. He remembers why. It was painful to see the same scenes and faces, with their old corners and creases reiterated with different decorations. He came to the conclusion that it would suffice to look out of the window and see specimens of that big thing called life. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Georgia","serif""><span> </span>He feels that his legs are going to give way under him. Physically, he can walk no more; mentally, he cannot but walk. And now, it is his desire to escape feelings he can find no name to that propels his legs to keep their activity. And with every step, the objects are sinking further into a haze; all things melt into each other. The deep blue color of the sky suffuses the clouds; people fade into the grey of the asphalt; and the horizon…it lies lost in the hues of brown of autumn’s leafless trees. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Georgia","serif""><span> </span>But then, he decides to keep on walking. He lifts his gaze from his shoes and notices that the night has befallen his side of the globe. It seems peculiar how last time he looked it was day and now it is not. It is peculiar because his shoes are still the same, and the sky is different .His eyes look searchingly at everything and it is unchanged. It is like the sun and the moon and summer and spring and fall and winter all are backgrounds that shift and change to the monotonous theme of our lives. But perhaps it is not so; we do change. We do; only it is not as systematic and predictable as the seasons. He himself has changed.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Georgia","serif""><span> </span>He starts thinking of himself. He does not stand and analyze like everybody else would do; he is questioning the very essence of being. What proof has he that he is him? <i>Him?</i> And he keeps on repeating his name. He is detached from all it is that is him. He focuses on the sound of his name. He has said it all his life but now, now it is anything but familiar. He repeats it, nervously, and it turns from a murmur to an almost angry shout. “<i>I am me!” </i>he exclaims, laughing hysterically.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Georgia","serif""><span> </span><span> </span>On this very moment, his eyes fall on his shadow. It is taller than he is; yet, it retains all his basic features. He stares at it; it stares back. He runs; from the corner of his eyes, he sees it following with the same pace. He stops, panting and feeling more fatigued than ever. He curses himself for his stupidity, however; another glance at his shadow sends a cold shiver down his spine. It feels like everything corrupt and defiled in him was standing there, looking at him challengingly; a dark projection of his soul that without he will have no existence in life. It stares intently at him. It is as silent as grave; yet he hears an echo, springing from the very core of him resonating: “Yes, I am you, and you can’t run away.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Georgia","serif""><span> </span>In the midst of the clamor, he hears a voice calling him. He cannot recognize it at first and it seems to be uttering something unintelligible. Soon though, the voice gets clearer and so the words it is saying. “My dear husband!” he hears. He is beside himself. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Georgia","serif""><span> </span><span> </span>But it is only his old neighbor; his first friend and sole wife. They got married at the age of 6 only to separate a few days later; he tore the eye of her favorite doll which she called “Candy”. He bought her another one on the following week, and was bestowed forgiveness on the spot; only they did not remembered to get married back again.<span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Georgia","serif""><span> </span>All these memories and more come into his head on the sight of her. They manage to translate themselves into a genuine widespread smile invading his face, as he retorts, exhilarated, “My beloved wife!”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Georgia","serif""><span> </span>Midnight is an hour away. She is riding a car. He is in the street. She tells him to get in and now they are both driving off. To a nearby cafe’ she says they are going. And he does not mind. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Georgia","serif""><span> </span>The time in the car is spent in an endless chatter about what came of the family of each after her family had moved away years ago. After about half an hour later they arrive at the café’.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Georgia","serif""><span> </span>After they get seated and order, she looks at him for sometime which places them both in an awkward silence. She changes the direction of her gaze suddenly, smiles, and says to him, “You have not asked me about me yet.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Georgia","serif""><span> </span>He answers, abashed, “Oh, yeah. I am sorry.” He pauses for a second then asks monotonously with a hint of sarcasm in his voice, “So, you’re married?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Georgia","serif""><span> </span>“Pretty much. I am engaged to be married.” There was unmistakable happiness in her voice,<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Georgia","serif""><span> </span><span> </span>He starts unable to conjure up anything to say. “I am surprised,” he says, quite without having prepared it. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Georgia","serif""><span> </span>“What? You are not married?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Georgia","serif""><span> </span><span> </span>“No.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Georgia","serif""><span> </span><span> </span>“Engaged?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Georgia","serif""><span> </span><span> </span>“Not that either.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Georgia","serif""><span> </span>“And I thought I was gonna die an old maiden!”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Georgia","serif""><span> </span>“Well then,” he retorts, smiling, “you are not.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Georgia","serif""><span> </span>“But tell me, why is that?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Georgia","serif""><span> </span><span> </span>“I have not found anyone to love me. Besides, I want to be free. Free like the birds.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Georgia","serif""><span> </span>“You people are so shallow.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Georgia","serif""><span> </span>“Excuse me, I didn’t know I was talking to one of these marriage-maniacs,” he teases. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Georgia","serif""><span> </span>“Shut up. You know I am not. I just need to understand why everyone identifies freedom with birds. Have you ever tried to imagine yourself in the middle of the sky fighting gravity and wind risking your life to reach a destination because that’s just how you are designed? I find nothing free about that.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Georgia","serif""><span> </span>He is somewhat taken aback by her words. For the first time, he finds himself really similar to birds.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Georgia","serif""><span> </span>She looks at him inquiringly. “What are you thinking of?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Georgia","serif""><span> </span><span> </span>“Animals,” he titters. “You know animals can be very interesting. I was just reading yesterday on the defense techniques they have got.” He pauses abruptly. “What is your defense technique?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Georgia","serif""><span> </span>“What is a defense technique?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Georgia","serif""><span> </span>“I guess if you are talking about humans, it means a special trick you use so that no one will see through your weakness.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Georgia","serif""><span> </span>“When I am feeling so vulnerable, I get aggressive. I shout at stupid things; <span> </span>things I’d usually laugh at. When somebody I was just thinking of calling calls, I find myself fighting with him for no apparent reason than wanting to fight. I don’t think it’s about anger-not the whole thing anyway-it is about me trying to appear as the opposite of what I am feeling; I hurt people because I am afraid they’ll hurt me. What about you?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Georgia","serif""><span> </span>“I also act opposite to what I am feeling but in a very different way. I appear the happiest when I am the saddest. I don’t make it up, it just comes. Perhaps someday it used to need some effort to make it up, but now, it comes automatically. It actually annoys me at times.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Georgia","serif""><span> </span>“Well, I think you should start searching for another defense technique.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Georgia","serif""><span> </span><span> </span>“Why?” He looks intently at her. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Georgia","serif""><span> </span><span> </span>“This one is not working. You laugh and joke and act happily, but believe me; I have never seen a sadder look in somebody’s eyes.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Georgia","serif""><span> </span>He still cannot take his eyes off her; not from anything but pure astonishment. For a minute even thoughts are paralyzed in his head. His first attempt at talking comes as a strain of unintelligible words. He closes his mouth and opens it again; still, no words manage to come out. He laughs. He then stops and assumes a rather stern face. “I’ve once talked to a cancer survivor,” he finally commences, “He said to me that all doctors in the world could not have cured him if he hadn’t had it in him that he should rise back again on his feet. He also said that cancer was the enemy, and he had to defeat the enemy. But then, here’s the thing with pain, you cannot make an enemy out of it; pain swallows you up. You carry pain around, everywhere you go, you just carry it around. It consumes you so completely you cannot consider it a separate entity from your own self. It fills you up<span> </span>so that if one day it decides to leave, you start feeling empty.<span> </span>And if you try to fight it, the first blow you give will be to yourself. It is like your shadow, can you escape your shadow? Can you uproot you from you? And if you do, what remains? How on Earth can you beat an enemy like that?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Georgia","serif""><span> </span>“Stop putting pain in test tubes. Stop making it part of an equation with two unknowns. Here’s fact: you will never get pain. You know why? Because pain is stupid and stupid things make no sense. And if pain is stupid, treat it in accordance to its own IQ</span><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL" style="font-size:9.0pt;line-height:115%; font-family:"Arial","sans-serif";mso-ascii-font-family:Georgia;mso-hansi-font-family: Georgia;mso-bidi-font-family:Arial;mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi"><span dir="RTL"></span> </span><span style="font-size:9.0pt;line-height:115%; font-family:"Georgia","serif"">level. Or no! Be stupider. Pain is not treated by thinking and theorizing; pain is treated by acting. So act! Laugh when you are not supposed to. Dance in weird times. Smile randomly at passers-by. Do you hear me, act!”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Georgia","serif""><span> </span>The utterance of her words came with vehemence that shook her both literally and figuratively. He too was shaken, only in another, deeper manner; the deepest of his beliefs has just been controverted. What she said still resonates in his ears and yet; he is not thinking of it, he is rather filled with a sweeping feeling of gratitude. As she has just advised him, he acts. He holds her hand tightly saying with a voice that cannot fail to interpret what he is feeling, “Thank you.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Georgia","serif""><span> </span>Sitting hand in hand for a moment longer than what was expected, they sense awkwardness finding a way between them. As though suddenly realizing it, they quickly move apart. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Georgia","serif""><span> </span>She blushes and looks away for a second but then looks at him and says in undertone, “I know you were lying when you said you are not married because nobody has loved you enough. When we were young half of the girls in the neighborhood were crushing you.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Georgia","serif""><span> </span>“That’s because we were just young.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Georgia","serif""><span> </span>“And because we were just young it means that when we grew older the entire neighborhood must have been crushing on you.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Georgia","serif""><span> </span>“Okay. Perhaps I was lying when I said I am not married because of that. The second reason though has nothing but truth to it.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Georgia","serif""><span> </span>“What? That you want to be free?” she answers mockingly. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Georgia","serif""><span> </span>‘”Yes that I want to be free, “he says earnestly. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Georgia","serif""><span> </span>“And are you?” she challenges.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Georgia","serif""><span> </span>“I am free of many things: I am free of predestined future, a future that I know already all the details of because this future is the life of all of those I have seen. In it, I don’t wanna lose myself. <span> </span>I just wanna keep me, in the absolute way of being me. I wanna be me, not relevant to somebody, just me..only me.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Georgia","serif""><span> </span>“If we are talking about freedom on the human scale, it does not come for free; you have to pay something to get something in return. What are you forsaking?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Georgia","serif""><span> </span>“I know what you mean and I have thought of it over and over again. I know that I’ll be alone. I know that when I am old and ill, nobody will go with me to the doctor or be concerned if I am okay. I know that I’ll have no children who will always bear the memory of me. But that’s all when I grow old, and when we are old, we are as good as dead. Will I give me up for a ghost? I find all that a fair price I pay for not losing myself to somebody I don’t trust and to a life that is bound to be a copy of a million others.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Georgia","serif""><span> </span>“Only if you get to have that. <span> </span>Let me give you a description of your free life: nothing. You will be too caught up in the nothingness. You’ll do all that you want to do but for no reason than wanting to do it. And then it’ll all be gone to no avail. You say you don’t wanna lose yourself, it might be so, but then, you’ll be lost within yourself. An entity that is not anchored by another can have no definite shape, and you’ll then be drowning within you. You might even die down there and walk with no soul flowing in you. And then all of your life will really be forsaken to a ghost; only you won’t be old and as good as dead, you’ll still be young, you’ll be young and it might happen soon, or maybe it has already happened.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Georgia","serif""><span> </span>“You know you are saying nothing new? You know I know all that? You know that every moment I am breathing in the air of what you have just described? But I am afraid. I am nothing but afraid. And then maybe it’s all about trust. Maybe if I trust somebody enough that choosing to live with won’t bereave me of me, and in that case, will complete me, I’ll break my chain of freedom. Which makes it all about love. Maybe I just need to get rid of that self I am wallowing in to be able to love, to love and be loved. Maybe it’s just really all about that.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Georgia","serif""><span> </span>“Yes maybe.” Her smile comes radiating warmth, and this time, she is the one who softly holds his hand. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Georgia","serif""><span> </span>For the past ten minutes, she has been taking fast glances at her watch. Though he has taken notice of it, the idea does not enter his mind that she might have to leave soon; for a reason that defies sense, he is not willing to accept that. But now, now is really time for her to go. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Georgia","serif""><span> </span>Saying that she is now taking leave and trying to assume the proper expression for the occasion, she finds herself stopping mid sentence. Her face is the closest thing to being frozen; her eyes have their gaze fixed on him with a look that speaks of deep empathy, almost of love.<span> </span>In them, there is hurt too reflected, but not for her own self, for his. She is hurting for him. She is feeling his pain. She is touching his brokenness. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Georgia","serif""><span> </span><span> </span>And he can sense it all. He can sense how at this moment, a deep vulnerable string is woven between their hearts, and through it, he is flowing. Each second added to their moment makes the weight of <span> </span>the impending departure pressure them more. He feels a needing for her that he has never felt for anyone or anything before. And that needing is not simple, not normal, it is a needing that shall never cease long after she goes: <span> </span>in her lies his sole cure. And she too needs him: <span> </span>leaving him now will dig a wound in her that will bleed forever. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Georgia","serif""><span> </span>But she eventually leaves. And later, he too leaves. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Georgia","serif""><span> </span>The way back is always longer. On going to a place, the zeal, no matter how slight, and the excitement, no matter how imperceptible, manage to make the road less tiring, more bearable. The dilemma always lies in the way back, when all is seen and done. The road then stretches to a destination that offers nothing new, no expectations. At this time, walking back becomes a mere obligation. And so, he drags his feet back home. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Georgia","serif""><span> </span>He thinks of his long walk today. He does not know what made him do this barely sane thing, and something tells him he was not acting just on a whim. Perhaps his inexplicable need for walking and not stopping was a projection for his wanting to escape himself. The idea seems too hopeful: as his shadow previously stated, he can never run away. And now that he is going home, the question haunts him: instead of escaping, can his self ever <span> </span>feel like home? But it hangs unanswered. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Georgia","serif""><span> </span>On entering his room and lying on bed, all the tiredness seems to leak out of him and into the open window. In his momentary release, all his life fades into a haze. His haze is dim, except of patches of color here and there. His chest now widens enough to grasp it, all of it, with its tiny details. His life really is not that big: his life is only now, only this minute, where he will always be living. And when life is only that one minute, it is much easier to be lived. He breathes, in and out, slowly, savoring the taste of each breath. He abandons his thinking and theorizing: for the meantime, he shall make no sense and be glad of it. His head is then flooded with dreams that can have no possible existence in reality.<span> </span>Tomorrow he’ll wake up and make fun of them; but now, he is possessed by an idea that nothing matters but dreams.<span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Georgia","serif""><span> </span><span> </span>After some other minutes, the entire room is bathed in the delicate color of the rising sun. The day has befallen his side of the globe. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:9.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family: "Georgia","serif""><span> </span>It makes him smile.<span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p></span></span></div>Mahahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00836281820315404682noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5401425473113451944.post-49750029443937222952011-05-11T10:28:00.000-07:002011-08-29T17:39:45.007-07:00Impressions<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">And then dreams</span><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Long and persistent</span><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Take me off to you b</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">eloved you </span><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Not unlike </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">when all in me turns cold</span><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I should find life vi</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">gorous and strong</span><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Ringing the bells</span><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Of my soul’s dingy door</span><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Asking permission</span><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">To let me be again</span><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">And in the day t</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">he sun comes shining</span><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">So tender in me y</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">ou melt</span><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Leaving only</span><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">An impression of warmth</span>Mahahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00836281820315404682noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5401425473113451944.post-6899189037711714732011-04-25T12:05:00.000-07:002011-08-29T17:39:45.007-07:00The Irony of Love<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8Un0f6cgsTFrPy9V0zBjJRQqZgVoX_lLva0-P33g3g9ys2DcFBF23M6nUA3rhNEZ_eecGI7ujX5C0xtX5TdUWbpvFYmMhXZtGcGdbLhyoO_h9dni-2T_OpR7Ot8VSJXuzQ-c8cpj36CT7/s1600/Ocean_by_sketchart1002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8Un0f6cgsTFrPy9V0zBjJRQqZgVoX_lLva0-P33g3g9ys2DcFBF23M6nUA3rhNEZ_eecGI7ujX5C0xtX5TdUWbpvFYmMhXZtGcGdbLhyoO_h9dni-2T_OpR7Ot8VSJXuzQ-c8cpj36CT7/s320/Ocean_by_sketchart1002.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://sketchart1002.deviantart.com/art/Ocean-50422805?q=boost%3Apopular%20ocean&qo=4">here</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">He advances towards her with heavy steps that evoke no motion in the sand beneath his bare feet. The urge to burst out and evaporate into the air now abandons him; it’s hurt so much it doesn’t hurt any more.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> She sits two footsteps away from where the waves hit the shore. Her eyes flash to the sky. An eternity ago, she could tell time by the position of moon; now, though, everything stands transfixed. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> As their two haggard entities intertwine, they feel it digging its way through the holes between them and a dream-like past, it crashes them and yet binds them together; and as they hear its sinister silence lurking beneath their tears, it becomes impossible to elude…they have inhaled all the glow love had, and now, it is time to be burnt by the fire. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br /></div>Mahahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00836281820315404682noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5401425473113451944.post-34622971441267236312011-04-23T17:38:00.000-07:002011-08-29T17:39:45.007-07:00To you who is no longer there<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br /></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://crossingmissvampire.deviantart.com/art/A-L-O-N-E-117824218?q=boost%3Apopular%20dust%20rain&qo=38" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5_pCJMCoop2xnhoxLisWyiY-V24UNCp7vnJhCvc2Y70rfqGbsZVqMzy2iQUwvAMwXE_XAUkZpTR6CnswrmRWlmbUlxEI3mYBb2lYepGD8Z2l8Khq-vsASymOV94gdYqBCVdOv-ihxsy9A/s320/N_U_M_B_by_CrossingMissVampire.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br /></div><div align="center" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="http://crossingmissvampire.deviantart.com/art/A-L-O-N-E-117824218?q=boost%3Apopular%20dust%20rain&qo=38">here</a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br /></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I will fight all that's tempting me to be poetic, and I"ll catch words as they come. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> I try to imagine how things would be like if caught by a camera. I shut my eyes and paint everything in sepia. And when the world fades to black and white, I wish for colors resurrecting it. But at times, when soul breathes into life, I find myself crashing within the tempests it evokes. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> And I envy the characters in movies; free from existence, but in their folds, you can see all the tiny complexities of how it is to be alive. It's then when I weave myself into one.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> I just need to tell you..there is nothing intricate to me; draw a line between a million drop of rain with a black pen and I will be the image glittering behind your eyelids.</div>Mahahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00836281820315404682noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5401425473113451944.post-62512342489550450602011-04-22T06:30:00.000-07:002011-09-02T00:31:27.515-07:00Scene Zero<link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5C2011%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"></link><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5C2011%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_themedata.thmx" rel="themeData"></link><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5C2011%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_colorschememapping.xml" rel="colorSchemeMapping"></link><smallfrac m:val="off"><dispdef><lmargin m:val="0"><rmargin m:val="0"><defjc m:val="centerGroup"><wrapindent m:val="1440"><intlim m:val="subSup"><narylim m:val="undOvr"></narylim></intlim></wrapindent><style><br /><!--<br /> /* Font Definitions */<br /> @font-face<br /> {font-family:"Cambria Math";<br /> panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4;<br /> mso-font-charset:0;<br /> mso-generic-font-family:roman;<br /> mso-font-pitch:variable;<br /> mso-font-signature:-1610611985 1107304683 0 0 415 0;}<br />@font-face<br /> {font-family:Calibri;<br /> panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4;<br /> mso-font-charset:0;<br /> mso-generic-font-family:swiss;<br /> mso-font-pitch:variable;<br /> mso-font-signature:-520092929 1073786111 9 0 415 0;}<br />@font-face<br /> {font-family:Georgia;<br /> panose-1:2 4 5 2 5 4 5 2 3 3;<br /> mso-font-charset:0;<br /> mso-generic-font-family:roman;<br /> mso-font-pitch:variable;<br /> mso-font-signature:647 0 0 0 159 0;}<br /> /* Style Definitions */<br /> p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal<br /> {mso-style-unhide:no;<br /> mso-style-qformat:yes;<br /> mso-style-parent:"";<br /> margin-top:0in;<br /> margin-right:0in;<br /> margin-bottom:10.0pt;<br /> margin-left:0in;<br /> line-height:115%;<br /> mso-pagination:widow-orphan;<br /> font-size:11.0pt;<br /> font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif";<br /> mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri;<br /> mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;<br /> mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri;<br /> mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin;<br /> mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri;<br /> mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;<br /> mso-bidi-font-family:Arial;<br /> mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}<br />.MsoChpDefault<br /> {mso-style-type:export-only;<br /> mso-default-props:yes;<br /> mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri;<br /> mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;<br /> mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri;<br /> mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin;<br /> mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri;<br /> mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;<br /> mso-bidi-font-family:Arial;<br /> mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;}<br />.MsoPapDefault<br /> {mso-style-type:export-only;<br /> margin-bottom:10.0pt;<br /> line-height:115%;}<br />@page Section1<br /> {size:8.5in 11.0in;<br /> margin:1.0in 1.0in 1.0in 1.0in;<br /> mso-header-margin:.5in;<br /> mso-footer-margin:.5in;<br /> mso-paper-source:0;}<br />div.Section1<br /> {page:Section1;}<br />--><br /></style></defjc></rmargin></lmargin></dispdef></smallfrac><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia", "serif";">Behind a screen </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia", "serif";">Of red green blue </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia", "serif";">She is entrapped </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia", "serif";">And breaks </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia", "serif";">As luster abandons </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia", "serif";">Her eyes once so luminous </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia", "serif";">And before him </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia", "serif";">She stands </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia", "serif";">In a white paper </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia", "serif";">Suffused with her</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia", "serif";">Painted in </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia", "serif";">Colors quite different </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia", "serif";">Between never and forever </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia", "serif";">Both dance</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia", "serif";">And tear off the heavy </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia", "serif";">Garments of now</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia", "serif";">But the curtain has </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia", "serif";">To eventually fall </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia", "serif";">And instead of the end </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia", "serif";">It’s written </span><span style="font-family: "Georgia", "serif";"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia", "serif";">That to love </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia", "serif";">There is no moral lesson </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"> </div>Mahahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00836281820315404682noreply@blogger.com7