The sound of hope

I don’t want to be a melted piece of ice ……just the raging rain in the draught..
Neither do i want be too hot; causing sweat
Just the warmth that causes living
..to be a rope in the mighty storm
The boat between the mountain waves
Not a strike of thunder!
Not the drowning rain
But the tenderness put on a stinging pain
a tweeting bird in the orange dawn
Of minds so full of cracking machines
I want to be a candle in a navy night
Not a match of fire or a burning light
Not a bonfire chat, flames and sight
I want to be a fruit,
a shadow of a massive tree
Not a wilting leaf..
Not a rotten root…
Let me be a dove in the horizon
A waving white flag …let me be……………..The sound of hope

About you.

Of all the times i took a bite

Down in swallow..it just felt right

And in all my black and white

photos, it felt a choke so tight

To breath all my pieces out so bright

Every phase feels like a different summit and a different hight

Marvelous sight seeing and an euphoric deep light

I love you newly in each phase like a brand new paper.. clearly plain and white

Make me feel safe

I speak to my core

When did you grow a non threatened throat?? I ask

I hear the words you push together

Ain’t those words your heart my friend

I squeeze my ears down your insides

I hear so many noises but it’s far more quitter than before

All those demons they keep throwing my heart to bounce

I can only melt them away in the presence of those eyes

I can forget the feeling of their claws down my skin

Only when I see your two front teeth alive

“I was born a spiritual mess”

Inspiring to many, soap slipping to some

And pure more to few..

I cannot function when you say you see the real me because nobody ever did

I speak to core, why are you growing teeth for those eyes?

So delegate, warm and tender

I scream “open your eyes wider”

Ain’t my core a piece of heaven?

You say you even see more than I want you to see

And I hear the words you push together

Daffodils, sugar and honey muffins

They taste..

I hear the words I push together

Red swords, blood and screams

Screams.. “make me feel safe”

Squeeze my core between your palms

Where warmth and protections might find me

And may all those demons finally bounce me no more

And all these wounds plant shimmering leaves

And I rest my core on you

And I hide it

“Make me feel safe”

“The clown”

This story will look like it’s about the clown

But…… this is story is about spot lights

Once upon time we were all standing on a stage

The brunette lady stood at front right under the spot light

She looks behind her at a drawn house

“I need a place like that” she says

The clown stood right down the stage looking at the lady

I mean… (at the spotlight)

Steps and steps and steps

Foot after the other, the clown walks

The clown offers his red nose

“What’s that?” The lady asks

“Tell me all about your colors!” He says

The lady looks up and the light strikes her eyes and fills his..

“Am a brunette girl looking for a house”

The clown takes off his jacket

“Let me offer you this” he smiles

The girl’s eyes sparkle

“This jacket looks like my insides” she says

“Is this a house?” She asks

The clown smiles, and looks at the spot light

Were ever the girl moves, the spotlight moves and the clown moves.

(She wears the jacket)

“You’re colorful” he says

the lady looks at his jacket and then opens her chest

She brings out a bunch of galaxies and worlds of mermaids and sugars

“This is who I am” she says

The clown smiles “I can see”

But his eyes were so blinded with the spot light

Sometimes the lady or most of the time she questioned her own-self

“Do you really see my insides?

I got unique galaxies”

The clown smiles

the clown sews a smile; I mean

Were ever the girl moves, the spotlight moves and the clown moves.

Switch and flick the lights went off

Let’s start from the beginning

Once upon time the spotlight was gone off the brunette lady

Once upon time the clown was gone far behind were [there was light].

“Bruno”

Bruno says she had a magic wand

She says her hair is braided with silver strings

Bruno stands in the sun when she sees me

So her hair shines blindly

but today I discover Bruno doesn’t like the heat

She reminds me of a mirage down the meadow

In a day I was so desperately thirsty

Bruno says “I have wings like yours”

But Bruno doesn’t have wings

She gives a well wrapped gift with a red ribbon

My palm dives inside, “is it empty?”

I ask

Bruno says she swims so well but Bruno has no gills

Bruno invites me all over a long bridge

She says (that I am flowers and butterflies)

She cut all the trees and plug all my apples

Bruno’s silver strings starts falling along the bridge

One string after the other..

I watch Bruno dim like a shooting star

On the other-side of the bridge

I could taste my apples more sugary

I could see Bruno’s face

(Mask-less)

I could see my wings elevating me because i was made of another flower

I was made of another butterfly

(Bruno had only eyes for me)

But now I know she does not like the heat.

رسالة إلى مكان بعيد

رسالة إلى مكان بعيد؛

اكتب إليك مكان موحش

تتخبط الاصوات واحدة تلو الإخرى في أذني

أصواتٍ مفزعة!

و إُسن سيفي و اسمع ازيزه و تتقطع يدي

و أرى الدم يجري مثل الانهار في يوم شديد المطر

و ام احكب عن القماشة السوداء التي أغسلها على يدي في ليلة حتى أرى لونها يبيض من جديد

و عن المسامير التي لم اكن اعرف أنها في ارجاء غرفتي انا!

(في غرفة شديدة الظلام)

و احمل صندوق ثقيل احمل فيه كل هذه المسامير عندما نلتقي.

رسالة إلى مكان شديد البعد..

اكتب إليك من البقعة التي أحارب منها في كل لحظة

جهاد النفس

إن لجهاد النفس للذة..

تهوي بك الأحاسيس من صراخ الروح

إلي معافرة البدن

و النفخ في عضلات العزيمة

و قتل الأصوات التي تأكل القلب

و شرف الوقوع و النهوض أقوى

إن لجهاد النفس لإحساس مختص به..

من هزيمة النفس المؤلمة

و تقلب المزاج الدائم

فكيف أشرح لك أني اقاوم ما أحب في كل لحظة أتنفس فيها

و أني أستخدم الألوان كي أرسم على وجهي ابتسامة الصبر..

و كل صفعة تنزل على رأسي

“لم يبقى الكثير…..”

“ليس الآن….”

إياك ثم إياك الوقووووووف!!!

و الجلسات الطويلة التي أشرب فيها الشاي مع وحوش الهوى و أصرخ في وجوه كلٍّ منهم بداخلي

“سأصل حتمًا ”

و كل ما تلذه نفسك و تشتهي على الطاولة أمامك

“ألا تأخذ منه الآن”

ألا تأخذ منه شيئًا

ليس هذا وقت الوقوف!!!

ليس الآن!!!!!

و أحكي عن جبال أحملها على ظهري و أمضي بها سريعًا

هل هو الحمل أم السرعة أم قدمي التي في بعض الأحيان تحملني وحدي بصعوبة

إن لجهاد النفس لعزة..

تنظر في ملكوت من الصخور و الشجر الصغير كالنمل و أنت في أعلى قمة الجبل

تنظر إلى الدقائق التي كانت سنوات و أعوامـًا

إلى عضلاتك المنهكة

تستريح بهدوء على ظهرك من الشوك الذي كان مقروناً فيه

“أن تمضي إلى الأمام و لا تفتر”

يجف الدماء و يبقى الوصول.

القمر

خرجت يومًا لا أعلم إلى أين

و سرت في الطرقات مثل الذي يعرف وجهته

خرجت أمضي في شوارع ترفني و أعرفها

و ربما تعرفني أكثر من ما أعرفها

تعرف كل تفاصيلي تعرف أشخاصًا قد ماتوا بداخلي

و انظر إلى القمر و لا يسكن قلبي إلا عندما أذكرك

في يوم أراك مثله..

و لا أعلم يقينًا إن كنت سأكون منهم

و أشتاق إلى يومٍ أرتاح فيه من كل التفاصيل المزعجة التي لا يراها غيري

و أشتاق إلى يومٍ لا أسمع فيه هذه الاصوات التى كلما أحاول أن أُسْمِعَها لغيري ينظر لي و كأنه في عالمٍ ثانٍ

أنظر إلى هذه الشوارع التي تعرفني أكثر من نفسي

و أتذكر أيامًا تشبه هذه الايام

(هو هو نفس الحبل حول عنقي و لكن تختلف الأيادي)

و أنظر إلى القمر، و أسأل نفسي ماذا كنت أفعل في هذه الايام الماضية عندما لم أكن أنظر إلى القمر…

كيف كانت تمضي هذه الايام بدونك

أمضي في شوارع تعرفني و تعرف كل تفاصيلي

و ربما هذه الشوارع لو كان لها لسان لكان خيرًا من لساني في التعبير عني

تعرفني في أيامٍ كان لوني فيه مختلفًا، لم أكن اخشى يومًا أن تحكم عليَّ

هذه الشوارع التي تعرفني أكثر من نفسي

كنتُ أمضي و أعيش و أخطئُ و كأن هذه الشوارع ليس لها من العيون

بل في معظم هذه الأيام كنت أجد هذه الشوارع هي الذراع الوحيد الذي يحتويني

و أنظر نظرة أخيرة إلى القمر.. ربما أشتاق كثيرًا إلى هذه الراحة و هذا اليوم الذي لا أعلم يقينًا

هل سأكون منهم؟

و لكن ربما هذه الأيام هي ثمن هذه اللحظة التي أشتاق إليها في كل دقيقة

و ربما هذه الشوارع تحمل لي من الأيام ما هو يحملني إلى هذه اللحظة

و مضيت أمشي في طريق طويل يحمل من التفاصيل المرهقة و أمضي سريعًا مثل الذي يعرف وجهته جيدًا

The golden fish

There is still dirt under my nails from the last time I yearned to dig the path way for this river. I still remember the water falls that used to pour down my head and give me headaches. i still remember how scared I was to slip again on rocks and wound myself again.

The river was bluish, calm and shinny.

It hasn’t been like that for longer than I ever remember

I look at my nails, I wave them her side, but she’s sewing her eyelids, looking at the biggest fish in my depth.

“This fish is too big for you” she mentions

“Remember the last time I couldn’t open this river for anyone? Look at my nails” I said

She takes off her boots, so full of dirt and she starts washing them in my river.

I fill a bucket, I wash it away

“This big fish is taking a huge space” she says

I look at the fish right down the depth my river, (golden); shinning in each edge in the mighty dark.

I put my hands in the river to pat this fish, I smile. The dirt under my nails fades little by little

She gets out a rope and chains my hands together “look over here” she says

(She had eyes for things I had no eyes for)

I try to cut off the chain with rocks but I ended bleeding in the river.

Blood flushing everywhere..

“This fish isn’t golden” she says

I look at the red river, walls between the golden fish and my hands. Huge gigantic walls. I somehow still knew how to reach it with my toes and it’s fins .

(Something connected us no matter how red the river was)

Needle; a very pointy thing that is used to sew things together

That’s what she did with my lips.

I keep moving my head from her to the fish and from the fish to her. Until I got dizzy.

I can’t do this anymore, I think

I look at my nails, still full of dirt from digging for you a path right here to my river. I can still remember how scared I was to slip on rocks and I did.

Once upon time; there were claws

My toes were so clear in the water, I move them slowly and watch the water shine silver gold.

The river was running calm and quietly.

I look at my back I watch my two doves waving their wings back and forth.

(They smile when I look at them)

Even-though the scene was quite the screams were running with naked muddy feet in my head

One of them flies along to the bank next to me, she drinks from the silver gold water and then smiles at me again

(It was calm) but my toes were hungry for quite more

I remember when they both lie next to me and I start talking fireworks, rainbows and sugars

(Their eyes were dimmed ,am talking fireworks, did they go deaf?)

Let me tell you a story; of claws

Once upon time 4 legs of claws happened in my meadow

(Although) ; it happened in my meadow, the tiger still thinks I have built a boat for them to cross my river.

Sometimes I think it was the cause of us both (Equally)

Since the claws have entered my meadow

There were animals, white and shinny animals, they were eaten

Far along I see the stomach of the tiger getting bigger, and my meadow was getting smaller

(It’s a curse you know, giving too much thinking it makes you a good person)

Once you feed them your best; the starvation is never over until they finish your meadow

I used the blood, I started writing on trees

Once upon time, there were screams here but they’re gone

Once upon time; the screams are gone

Can you hear me? I ask my self

I can feel the taste of each animal between the teeth of those claws being eaten

I can feel my meadow getting tighter and tighter

I put of my hands on it’s stomach, it makes me happy to see the tiger full

(It comes for more) it comes with a price

I have more” I say

I use the blood, I write on the grass, the trees

Once upon time; there were screams here

But they’re gone

I hear my animals screaming, I look back

Where are the doves?

Where is the calm?

My biggest epiphany was the river, turning from silver gold to red

Dead animals all over the bank

(My obsession with ink blood is my curse)

There were new screams

Lesson number one: screams don’t heal screams

Lesson number two: calm and blood are parallel

Lesson number three: creatures that enter your meadow should be safe

Lesson number four: doves are enough