You show your face,

They eat your face.

You show your eyes,

They poke your eyes out!

You show yourself,

They try to kill it.

Hell!

Where do I hide myself?!

عوداً حميداً

"عوداً حميداً "!
وددت أن أقولها لأحدهم -الذي لا أعرف تماماً- لكني وجدتني أجاهد نفسي كي لا أبدأ الحديث عن نفسي مجدداً.. نعم أتحدث عن نفسي.. فأنا في كل فكرة سوداوية أراني.
هو كان يكتب عن الألم، عن الفقد، وعن أشياء غير جميلة جداً..
هو كان يخبر عن ثلاث سنوات من الغياب، وفقدان الصوت، وضياع الحس والوجهة..
وأنا كنت متأخرة عن موعد نومي بثلاث ساعات، وعن السعادة بثلاثة أعمار ربما..
كنت أيضاً أقرأه بمرارة، وبدموع تتكتل في الحلق كقطعة فولاذ، وبنية أن أكتب إليه: "عوداً حميداً، مني.. أنا القارئ الذي لم يقرأك تماماً لكنه عول على رجعتك، هل تعيد إليّ الزمن الجميل الذي لم أشهد؟ كنتُ مشتاقة إليك، ولمطر الكلمات، وكنت أساءل أصابعي كلما صفعني السكون، لماذا تأخرت نقراتك عمراً بأكمله، ولماذا توّهتني نقراتي عن هذا المكان؟!"

لكنه عاد وفي جعتبه الكثير الكثير من الحزن و "الكربون".
ربما لم يكن بوسعه سوى العودة هكذا.. فهذا في نهاية المطاف زمن الكربون وعوادم السيارات والإبتسامات البلاستيكية، هو زمن المراهم البترولية والهباب الذي يخنق مستوى التنفس والرؤية، وهو أيضاً زمن مياه الصرف الطافحة، ومداخن المصانع التي لا تبالي بقبحها أو سعال النمل في مدينتنا..
هو زمن الموت بالجملة وزمن الجُمل الميتة!

أقول، "عوداً حميداً" وأود لو أقول له أيضاً:
"أقرأك بمرارة متقدمة.. متأخرة بحوالي ثلاث ساعاتٍ ونصف عن موعد نومي المفترض.. أغص بمرارة خلفها Sweet November في جوفي وبألم يلكز خاصرتي..
هل تشبهني اليوم؟ أنا السوداوية التي يسكنها الحزن وتتطير به! ينقل إلي فيلم عابث فيروساً اسمه (الـ..) لا لن أسميه.. لكن نعم –إن كنتَ تتساءل- هو نفسه ذاك الذي ينسج بيته في زاوية من قلبك ويصبح الملك الذي دخل قريتك فأفسدها.

فقط لا تشبهني رجاءً، فأنا مدعاة للشفقة! حقاً، أنا مزرية والألم الذي يلكز خاصرتي، يلكز خاصرتي منذ نهاية "نوفمبر الجميل" فهل كان ذلك مصادفة أيضاً؟ ألا يوخزني شيء آخر في كل مرةٍ مع نهاية كل فيلم حزين؟!"

وأود لو قلت له "عوداً حميداً" فقط..

لكنني فقط لم أعد أستطيع..

UNETHICAL

flood, hope, flood by ~Hyperstrudel

The unbelievable: Jeddah was flooded. My hometown was flooded almost 13 days back when trong streams of water coming down from the mountains, located to the west of the city, roared and struck right into our homes.

"Was that a bit unethical"?, I wondered!

Not that I rave against God's will (god forbid) but what has happened was by no means a natural disaster; it was rather unnatural at all!

To see our town collapsing under a single morning-to-afternoon downpour was definitely Unethical

To watch "us" on Youtube, our cars, our miseries, our floods, our nakedness, all exposed as we've never fancied,

NOW isn't that UNETHICAL!

I utterly feel that that everything we've lived so far was a big lie. As if we've gone even more than a hundred years back; a time of which all our memories could still grasp (genetically perhaps) is a yellowish image of narrow streets sinking under the heaviness of the past with all its awkwardness; a photo which would at best chances belong in my great grandfather's album.

Tonight, as I'm sitting on my bed and writing this, (something I might not enjoy for long), I could only think that Jeddah is now nothing more than a bubble which has been hoarded inside a few other bubbles, now bursting one after the other. Only a couple is left before a little "POP" is heard and everything fades into eternal darkness.

All that is left is utter and complete darkness where the only thing to be seen is a fragment of a (once was) pavement lit by a dying lonely street lamp around which our souls would flutter desperately to gasp the last specks of light! And all of this, only a few steps away from a (black) sea which was once called "Red"!

God! was this a nightmare or shall I say that these were only some devilish "unethical dreams".

Wild Dreams

Swirl By~ BloodPromiser

I had a dream that skillfully crossed the boundaries of words and languages..

A dream that surpassed all childhood dreams and naiveties.. a dream that was simply colored with the pure whiteness of innocence, and guided by the caring hand of love and the awful blindness of undeserved trust.

My dream eliminated the word “fear” from my heart and mind. At night, I no longer slept hiding from that unknown, waiting for what is rather known! The charming voice which I literally used to put to sleep, put my own heart to rest.

Unknowingly, I was becoming more and more attached to (my dream), the most innocent dream I might ever had before.

Once you combine your most innocent naiveties with confidence and good intentions, your dream is probably doomed. Perhaps I knew this all the time, its just that I really wanted to live that dream to its last drop!

.
I had a dream that I no longer possess anymore.

And I forgot!

What did I forget, is something that I forgot too.

Is it a partial loss of memory then? Is it some sort of selective unconscious? And where do dreams go once they die, once they become some sort of history, saved as data in the memory of your memory?! Once they are right at the threshold of memory -not to enter but to say their farewells and final prayers!

To find yourself all a sudden living for your dream is a strange feeling. Its more like the birth of a real smile.. a smile that lasts for quite a long time which leaves you dazzled at how endless it might seem sometimes, that you’d think you had spent all your life smiling the same way, for the same reason, for that same dream!

And when a dream becomes overwhelmingly present and personified in your life, you –at times- become unaware of its existence, of how precious and how inspiring it is, perhaps for your own good, not to suffer too much when you realize that your dream has just evaporated for no good reason, though you might have done for its sake what had always been so impossible for you to do..

I had a dream which I used to trust more than my own soul, a dream that chose to walk me on the isle of fantasy but let go when I was about to reach what I thought was extreme and ultimate happiness. I’ve always heard and understood that dreams never come true. Why and forever has is it been called ‘a dream’ then? Simply once a dream becomes true, it loses its magical power and charm and the word is definitely to lose its significance and its true meaning. It just declines to the level of the real world’s fading attributes. That was nothing new to me. What was really new was that Dreams can murder their dreamers. They can slaughter them, cut them to pieces, stab them on the back and then lean on a wall, draw a yellowish smile and watch the real nightmare

take place!

and Ouch!

I still dream..

I still Dream!