Love Love, Love Life (Stream of Thought 10)

While trying opening my notebook to study, which is something I only do when the exams are approaching and I do it because I have to, I found this written somewhere at the end of my notebook: ““I want you more than I should.” This is actually way ridiculous, very ridiculous indeed. I mean, have you actually wanted someone that much!!! The idea is just disgusting and pathetic. Love is pathetic; it’s all pathetic, very pathetic.”

This makes me wonder, how come I have written something like that. Is it possible that someone would write something and give it a piece of his mind and his soul and thus his life and existence then forget about it and totally abhor that the idea even occurred to him! I can’t believe that for a split of a second I ever thought of love as pathetic; it can’t be. Love steers life, it directs it. Now it’s crazy because I sound like my alleged President but seriously, it is the fuel of life! With no love there would be no life, no creativity, no existence, even no God!

Let’s just think about it. If God doesn’t love us, why did he create us?! Ok, another one; if God loves us, why did he create us to suffer?! Ok, now another thing, do you wish if God has never created you?! I can answer that last one; at a point of my life, yes I wished if God has never created me, yes, but turning back to see when that was…OH, yes I remember, I was six. I thought my parents loved my sister more than they loved me and I thought my sister was prettier than me because she had nice hair will mine was up in the air!!! Going back to the first question, if God doesn’t love us, why did he create us?! God loves us, otherwise he wouldn’t have bothered sending us prophets who enlighten our way through this stubborn, barren life of ours. I say stubborn because we are determined, as human beings, on being asses. We simply don’t care about anything. I say barren because that is our lives if it has no love in it. Love here doesn’t mean the love of the body, the love that leads to sex, no. I mean love of anything; love of food is considered one of the powers of love that steers life. We have drives in us that only get life through love, if you don’t love your parents you wouldn’t have cared for them and be afraid when they are upset of you. If you don’t love your existence, you wouldn’t have tried staying alive and fighting death around the corners.

Just in order to make a long story short, love exists and it’s not pathetic. It just can’t be pathetic because it would be pathetic if love is pathetic. Yes, not acknowledging that love exists is a pathetic act indeed. It shows how weak you are, how helpless you are, how broken and how suffocated you are. It shows how barren you are and how stoned you are. It shows your inability of acknowledging that you love to live. There is love in the world. Not necessarily the bodily love, but the spiritual one is there, it is always there. Your love for your body is one kind of love. Your love for your existence, your life is one kind of love. Your love for your parents, your home, your house, your money, your car, your sexuality, your cellular, your phone number, your smile, your hair, your eyes, even loving a certain kind of food is one kind of love. Love exists in all ways, forms and means. Your love for the sky and the stars is love. Loving nature is one kind of feeling love. All these forms of love come from one place; your heart. As long as the heart is beating this means that you love something. It doesn’t matter what it is that you love, what matters is that you feel love and you share it in your own way.

Love is existence, love is life, love makes you unforgettable. So love love, love life :D

Dreamer (A Short Story)

"لسة الناس متعلمتش تتقبلنا بسهولة...كلنا بنحاول نرتفع عن البيئة المتخلفة اللي احنا جاين منها...يعني ايه زوزو؟! مين زوزو؟!...كل شوية تيجي موجة تشلني فوق للسما و تقوللي برافو عليكي يا زوزو. و بعد لحظة تنازلني القرار و تقوللي خليكي هنا، انتي زوزو!!!" سعاد حسني_خلي بالك من زوزو

The diminishing of a dream comes in seconds. You feel so ecstatic, so happy that your happiness is so much for the world to bear to the extent that it gets determined on diminishing it. That glow in your eyes, that love that they scream, that heart that dances loud and sing, they all say it with a beat: “I am happy, I have a dream”.

I dreamt of a man of fine morals and heart. I dreamt of a man who embraced me in his arms. I dreamt of a man who dreamt of me the night I dreamt of him. I dreamt of a man who I met on the next day of my dream and we fell in love. I am happy world! Take me in, embrace me! Make me the center and revolve around me! Take me in world, take me in! Accept my happiness world for it’s the only thing I ask for.

One day I got so happy that my heart couldn’t beat and my lungs couldn’t exhale. One day I felt so happy that the world was too small for me and I was too big for it. One day I dreamt a dream and I decided to pursue it and I did and I thought I succeeded. One day I had my smile on my face with a heavenly glow that I couldn’t stop from flowing just because I thought I pursued my dream. But the world, for being too small for me, decided that no one should be bigger than it is. The world decided that my dream was too big to be achieved. The world decided that the only way to oversize me, as it always did, is to demolish the dream, along with the dreamer. And that is what I am exactly; a dreamer. A dreamer in a big dream that couldn’t be achieved in a barren society with mind as big as a jelly bean. That is what I am, a dreamer!

Eyes (A Short Story)

She was standing at the end of the room. Beside her was a vase of flowers that looked so nice. They were so big in petals but I didn’t know their name. I have always found those flowers in her room. It was like they were never changed; they had never withered. There were only those big red, white, and orange flowers, but only the red stood out. I couldn’t help but notice that the flowers matched her eyes. I don’t know how they go with her eyes, they just do. As if her eyes were the buds, as if she was once part of these flowers that their name I didn’t know. It felt like the two belonged to each other and she was separated from their physical embodiment to lead another life in another physical embodiment that can speak silently and loudly just through the eyes. It was her eyes that said and talked, her eyes that danced and sang, her eyes that looked so magical even when red and infuriated. It was all in her eyes.

Every time I went into her room, I saw something new. It had to be in red, orange, as the sun is, or brown. It was not that something new was brought into the room, but only the way the furniture, the ornaments and how they were set looked. The lighting always changed by the way she set her candles; the way her candles were set in different corners every time; she fixed them in angles. There was something supernatural about her that she reflected in everything she did, even in the way she set the candles. There was something that would always keep you wondering whether that solidarity she enclosed herself in was because she was too pure to interact with the world outside or because she was too demonic that she would never stop thinking about her next victim. The way the light affected her eyes was like keeping the steel in fire for a day or two. Her eye color changed with the florescent. I couldn’t remember their color without red or orange shades. They always looked graceful along being creepy. It was not like everyone gets their eye color changed with the florescent. Everyone lit candles but her candles were not like any other, they were as unique and mystical as she was.

This time there was something different. There was something added to the room, something was brought in. She had a shawl that I have never seen before. She had a red shawl, a red, chiffon shawl with red roses weaved on it. She was standing in front of the candles, three candles. She held the shawl to her back as if she was to cover her shoulders with it. The candles’ light gave the effect that her shawl was on fire, she looked like she was set on fire. It looked like a sun was rising from behind that shawl, burning whoever needed not to live. The roses, as perfectly as they were woven with profession and love, were so paradoxically burning gracefully. It took me sometime to understand that it was the lights of the candles, three candles set in a perfect posture. Two were at the same level while the last one was higher than the others. Two candles marking her body, as if they were marking where she was standing. The third one was precisely aligned with the corner of the shawl. Their light with the red fabric of her shawl rose in me contradicting feelings. It was all about those colors, those colors melting in each other and as bright and as lively and as vivid as they were, they were the only thing that was alive. There was no source of life in this brown room.

Not only was the red on her shawl burning, but also her face had this glow on it. It wasn’t glowing itself, it was only the candles; those brightly burning, big, short candles. The candles gave her face this light that looked like the light of an angel descending with grace from the sky as much as it was like hell’s doors opened all together. She was undefinable, everything about her was incomprehensible.  Her body gesture too, the way she stood looking at me standing at the door. She was perfect in all means, in all that incomprehensibility, she was contradictively perfect. The way she looked at me was as if she was telling me to come in, she was inviting me in with a smile that one couldn’t tell if it is of good or bad intentions. You couldn’t tell if her eyes were saying “come in because I never turn anyone who comes to me down”, “come in because I want to hear what you have to say”, or “come in to let me suck the goodness in you”, “come in so that I can manipulate your mind as I pray for the one I serve”. She had that look in her eyes that showed innocence along with monstrosity and demonism. I couldn’t resist her eyes; looking in her eyes was like being bewitched. I was compelled into going inside, going to her not knowing if I was ever to get out. I didn’t know if I would have a good or a bad ending, I had to go in with my will set aside. I went into the room for the first time; I have never been in it before. I had always sneaked to see what was in it and what she was doing. I had always passed by the room and she was always there with the door opened. She was always on her knees but only this time that she was standing, she was standing and looking at me by the door. She was standing by the candles that she fixed with angles. I could hear her voice calling me in my head by the words her eyes whispered. I went in, not thinking about what the consequences would be. I just knew that I was walking myself towards my eternal happiness or my soon to be painfully regretted doom. I was in and the door was locked. I locked the door while we were both alone together. For the first time, in the so many years I have passed by her unlocked door room, I was in and the door was locked.

Hell Path

Here is the sound of darkness calling

Here is the sound of my darkness replying

Here are the tempters bewitching

The slight of innocence left in me

I can see them at the end of this path

Where there is red, black, yellow and orange

From where I stand it looks enchanting

But as I get closer I feel I’m doomed

Here are my eyes focused 

At what lies beneath those sounds

Here is my heart pounding and shaking

Knowing that the end won’t be well

Here is the sound of the darkness calling

And my darkness to it replies

Here are the tempters for me waiting

And they look like they are set on fire

Here is someone who looks like me

Standing where these sounds are alive

And with a stretched arm she looks at me

Glowing in her face her yellow eyes

It’s all a doomed end

A path paved by blood, a path ends with fire

Yet I’m walking towards this end

Lured by the background of bright colours

Unfucked

Sometimes, I get those light bulbs lighting up in my head as a reaction to another work of art. Things that I listen to and I identify with, or just a couple of seconds that I watch on TV in a movie or something. Sometimes it is just a painting. At others, it's only a song clip with a marvellously innovative explosion in emotions that makes me completely head over heals. 

This piece is one of the light bulbs of the latter kind, the one that I love the most. It's a reaction to Diane Birch's Unfucked, a very uncredited song with no lyrics that I can find whatsoever on Google. It has the best video clip I've seen in a very long time.

Here is the link to the clip on YouTube: Unfucked_Diane Birch

Here is the piece I wrote as reaction to the clip. Please note that I have embedded some of the lyrics of the song into my piece. Thank you and I hope you'd enjoy it 

********************************************

Wrapped in a tough coat of wax, harsh and dull

Pinned with nails from everywhere, depriving it of motion

The poor thing can’t breathe, can’t beat

There is an absence of emotions

As a result of the pain

You enclosed it in a heart shaped box

And then buried it in concrete 

And justified it as the best way to survive;

Being the dead who never died

Being breathless while still alive

But who is to sing your song,

Who is to compose your music,

If you don’t.

Who’s gonna hear your prayers if you don’t,

If you won’t…

You forgot you’re the writer,

You’re the leader

You’re the hero whose story is to be told

So don’t stop walking, please just stop talking

When you hear the guns fire don’t listen

When you see the skies turn black keep walking

There is a hole in your chest where your heart used to be

But tomorrow will come and it might be a little more

Unfucked

Let your fear dissolve, and your hatred melt down

There is rage inside your heart

Utilize it, kill your frown

Transform that rage into colours on paper

Give your heart a sound

You’re the writer of your song

You’re the master of your world

You’re the leader, you’re the hero

Whose story will be told

So push those nails out

Live life, reach up to the clouds

Life has colours so choose the one that makes you glad

Even if you choose black, just live life

Your heart needs to beat, needs to breathe,

Needs to distinguish its fires 

So free it off this wax wrapping coat 

And out of the box let it 

There is a hole in your chest where your heart used to be

But tomorrow will come and it might be a little more

Unfucked! 

Tango

Disclaimer: 
The poem might be inappropriate to some audience. It's advisable not to read it if below 18. Thanks and enjoy the poem. 
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Touch me;

embrace me, like you do, in your hands

Spin me,

make me see the world and in your arms let me land

That heat, that warmth

Only when you hold me close

Let me feel your heart beats

When we're dancing fast and slow

Let me feel your breathes, your infatuation

Let me feel your lungs rising and falling

Let me see your eyes as they glisten

When we're taking over the dark dancing floor

And that passion in you burns

As it's burning in me too

Let us create our own world

By the intensity of our moves

Let us reach up to the sky,

Forgetting about the eyes

As they flow us as we sway

It only needs two people to dance...

So, let us...

TANGOOOO