Monday, May 25, 2015

Stay

We stayed friends throughout; despite our knowledge that we will not forever survive. You held me when my knees couldn’t carry my pain and I held you when your pain couldn’t carry your bones. There has always been a variation on how we saw the world; but the gap gets narrower and my mind wonders off between the shadows of “what if”. Although we excelled each on their own; we have always maintained an invisible channel of flowing memories and songs. I have sealed my receiving end at time, but I have always resorted to the channel when needed and it has always been there for me. We are friends, but not in a conventional sense.

I remain a firm believer of Maktoub, a rigid concept against time and space. This is all past time. We have lived, chosen, and died. This is all a replay of what once had been.


Stay with me forever more. Stay as close and as far, as sincere and as make-belief, as distant and as an undeniably great fuck. Stay with me, even after all this mess sorts itself out, until I stand corrected against the mistakes I have made in a failed attempt to disconnect from my Maktoub.

Wednesday, February 18, 2015

February



We were, too afraid to fuck those liquids off.
The air was never too cold, neither too hot.
All it took was me seeing, and you breathing.
I am wet when knowing how much you desired me, unapologetically.
This affair was unparalleled. It remains an affair...

The ways to love are as many as the people who love,
An affair remains love,  for the skin and the breaths going in and out of it.
It remains love in the way you seek no other scents to quench that burn down your oesophagus.
It remains love in the way it has to end painfully, only to congeal as eternal in another dimension.

I know nothing of a love more assuring than this, I know nothing of a love more unreliable.
Our souls were heaved in separation, making room for oblivion.

I still look for a feeling so intense, so fleeting.
Now I live to build up longing and wait patiently to release my charge upon a loveless victim.
When all it takes is a glimpse of the fine twists on you hand or neck,
to sweep me back to what once was.


Monday, May 26, 2014

الفرن بايظ يا منة

بيتنا إللي في شارع الطيران هو البيت إللي أهلي اتجوزوا فيه و عشت فيه أنا و أختي الصغيرة لحد لما اتخرجت من الجامعة. نظراً لموقع البيت الاسترتيجي و سياسة أمي - او عيلتنا بشكل عام - إن بيوتنا مفتوحة لكل صحابنا و أهلنا اتصف البيت بدفء و حميمية لم أعهدها في معظم البيوت إللي دخلتها.

زمان قبل ما تتقاذفنا الظروف و الأقدار، أمي- شأنها شأن كل الأمهات- كانت بتطبخ
ده طبعاّ قبل ما تعرف أم أمنية و طبيخها إللي زي الخرا طريقهم إلي مطبخنا
ملحوظة: أكل أم أمنية هو الأكل الوحيد إللي حطيته في بُقي و تفيه في حياتي كلها

أنا و اختي كنا ديماً نطلب من مامي تعمل كيك و أمي كان دايماً ردها جاهز و واضح "الفرن بتاعنا بايظ" الفرن فضل بايظ من ساعة لما أمي اتجوزت لحد لما عزلنا و اشترينا بيت جديد و فرن جديد و الفرن لسة بايظ
الفرن بايظ ليه؟ مافيش رد
طب ما نصلحه؟ مافيش رد
طب جيبتي بوتجاز بستة ألاف جنيه جديد و برضك الفرن بايظ؟ مافيش رد
أمال جيبتي بوتجاز بستة ألاف جنيه ليه؟ علشان أم أمنية تدلدق عليه السمنة أم 70 جنيه إللي بتجيها و الأكل برضه يطلع زي الخرا و يترمي؟ مافيش رد

عيلتنا بشكل عام عيلة ستاتها من أقوي ما يمكن فا لما بنتجمع الموضوع بيكون أقرب للسيرك منه إلي تجمع عائلي، ياما جنازات و عزاءات و أفراح و جوازات باظت بسبب الموضوع ده
شأت الأقدار نتجمع يوم السبت عند بنت خالتي على الغدا أنا و أمي و أختي و خالتي و بنت خالتي و نهى صاحبتي و نصرة إللي طبيخها يحط على أبو السيد و البرنس و العك ده. المهم، طبعاً تطرقنا إلي موضوع الانتخابات وسط الصوت العالي و الآراء المتضاربة و الإيمانات و الاعتقدات المختلفة جذرياً الموضوع كان سيرك قلب لعنبر في مستشفى الأمراض العصبية
سألت أمي بمنتهى الهدوء، و أنتِ يا مامي، هاتعملي إيه في الانتخابات
قامت في وسط الصالة "انا حرة أعمل إللي أعمله، أنا سألتك هاتعملي إيه؟ مش عايزة أسألك و لا عايزة أعرف. مش ممكن الطريقة ديه" وسط ذهول الجميع الحاضرين إللي أصلاً صوتهم عالي و الهيستيريا نفسها تتخض منهم
ماحدش قادر يستوعب الست زعقت إزاي، كأن سألتها عن عملية تجميل مثلا مخبياها عن الناس أو جوازعرفي البباراتزي بتتداول صوره أو شغالة بتضربها بالكرابيج و تطفي فيها السجاير، شئ مذهل بمعنى الكلمة
"خلاص يا مامي" هدي اعصابك، الناس كلها بتتكلم في الانتخابات في إيه يا مامي
سكتت....
كلنا بسبوسة....
مشيت......
رجعت إمبارح البيت بليل بعد يوم شاق هاموت من الجوع
لقيت علب كدة متعبية كيك، قلت ده أكيد كيك كارفور الوحش برضك إللي مامي مصممة إنه حلو و هي و أم أمنية بياكلوه
اختي دخلت ورايا المطبخ "مش عايزة تاكلي كيك؟ ده مامي إللي عاملاه" وقع علي الخبر وقوع جملة "انا عارفة أبوكي مين بتاعة الأفلام الأمريكاني إللي بيقعدوا فيها يدوروا على أبوهم و كدة

مامي عاملة كيك؟
الفرن اتصلح؟
مامي عاملة كيك إزاي يعني؟

سبحان الله الفرن اتصلح إمبارح و أمي عملت كيك لأول مرة في حياتها من ساعة لما أنا عرفتها (أنا أعرف أمي من 26 سنة و هي عندها 55 سنة يعني أنا أعرفها للجزء الأقل في حياتها)

 أنا هاتجنن يعني امبارح بس الفرن اتصلح و كمان طلع كيكة
الباقي من حياتي سوف يُفنى في فك لغز الكيكة و مامي و ليه مش عايزة تقوللي إن صوتها للسيسي

عاش الحراك الشعبي إللي اجبر أمي على خبز كيكة
عاش الفقيد

Wednesday, May 21, 2014

I don't Know How to Do it Anymore

The world suddenly becomes too big and too suffocating.

Yet again, the dot that refuses to live or to perish is out of breath.

Monday, November 18, 2013

The Wind Has a Memory Too

My millionth letter goes unnoticed. I am again bound to cure myself from my expectations. There has not been a day where I have not thought about the distance between our faiths, how tight it is and how the universe paves for its expansion.
Stars remain my secret; how they glow and fade away indicating the sudden warmth sweeping over my chest whenever I remember you. Love is the most hurtful thing in the world, for it is all things combined.
Nothing was artificial, we found no need to run around in circles. We both would out smart our mind games, and so we skipped..

"Once you begin to write about it, it takes away from it being real"

...but what does one do when lovesick?

My beloved city required more obligation on my side. "Let me have them, instead" the city screamed.
" For I will make them bound to you forever more, they shan't love except through you, blinded by my sun and your existence. Let me have them, for I know were they should be kept."

How many winters are we bound to spend together/apart?
The distance forgets whenever I may, it grows from within me, outwards.
The city never does, it keeps my memory guarder within its curves.
Where we kissed, we shall stroll by again...


Wednesday, August 21, 2013

Key #1

What makes me a happy individual is the fact that I do not force or resist any sort of change.
Try it.

Tuesday, August 13, 2013

Love in the Time of Protests

I stopped counting the days somewhere along the way.
There was this flashback where we ran into the square, we flied, and so did our love.
The teargas was different, so were the voices I heard coming out of the people surrounding me in times of sever danger. Our concerns grew apart, it happened before it officially happened.
We have similar approaches to the story. We have distinctive approaches to life, generally, and what we want out of it, essentially.
People demand,
People demand,
People demand... It was in or authority to yield to their wishes and so it is. You were the people, my own revolution. You stripped me naked to my core, believed in me, cried and let me go because it just hurt too much to watch me not turning out to be what you thought I were. It felt like someone yanking my teeth out of my gum. Getting off on my bleeding. The process was inexpressible, my nervous system didn't know how to react to such pain.

Up until this very moment, I haven't figured out the way a perfect love story should end. The dictated options sound either too mainstream or too dramatic, I refused both. Neither of us insisted on a closure... Maybe this is how it is supposed to look like.

I wanted to live. A decision I adopted shortly after, the teargas was different and I kept looking for your gone-voice after each chant. I heard your strings being stroked, but someone else was playing them and so I sang along.
We the workers,
We the peasants,
We the people.
They all wanted me to find me again.
I consumed a lot of poison.I somehow expected that by consuming that, you would die. I threw it all up on new years' eve. What was left, I threw up in your face some twisty dark night on a beach. It is all hazy in my mind, nothing is linear. With you, nothing ever is.

As they shook me satisfied, you stood still.
As you began your own cycle of self-loathing, I was getting over myself.
Declaring that I will not lose this round, I will not give in to you winning, that I fought for love and will still do, just in a direction deviating from your face, path and ego.

I was over the whole cycle of getting under someone just to see how revenging myself can manifest itself through other people. I was done hating myself enough to whore "me" around. I wasn't over the fact that you chose to sleep with people who couldn't pronounce your circumcised name right. Does it get as intense as their rain-tanned skin under your nails?

Moving forward became a lifestyle, one I can easily relate too. Everything that has been was then, now is new. Now is recreational and colourful. Definitions changes and what I deemed necessary became unrealistic.

Love grows within you outwards, revolution cracks you open, ready for inhaling it all again.
It takes courage to let go, let go when you must, for me to live, for you to live and for love to come our way. The soldiers had to leave, for us to see what other options we had.
You had to go, for me to see what life has to offer once again.
I love every part of me.
Did you have to die for me to see?