Bittersweet

Some days
You’ll have a bitter taste in your mouth
From something someone said
Something someone didn’t say
A memory coming out of nowhere
The thought of a missed chance
The guilt of living too less
The guilt of living too much
The guilt, guilt, guilt, guilt
For anything and everything
And something and nothing
And more.

Some days, you’ll feel every atom in your soul
Weighing you down
From the guilt of existing.

And you’ll know how it really tastes
To be alive.

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Campfire

You
are like
sitting by a campfire
in the darkest of nights
and the softest of breezes.
As warm as I could get
yet not warm enough.
And as I slowly drown in this cosiness
i know i can never get too close
without burning myself.

Horses and Dreams

There are so many things I have to tell you.
Like how I rode a horse this morning
How it almost jumped off the bridge we were crossing
How good it felt to hold on to its smooth mane
And to recover from the anticipation of falling.
How disappointed I was when I woke up
How shaken I was at the realness of the dream
How I can still feel it’s smooth neck
Brushing against my tensed skin.

There are so many dreams I have to tell you about
Dreams that no one cares about
Dreams only you would hear about
Dreams that help me go on
Even on sunless mornings.

Like that one time I was looking for a key
Hidden under layers of reality
On some cold night covered with vivid constellations.
And under the stars I felt like I saw you.
And although I couldn’t remember how you looked
You’d never looked more perfect or true.

Someday I will tell you all about these
All about every thing I ever dreamed
While your eyes get​ heavy with sleep
Your voice gets blurry and weak
And we’ll dream together
Of all the horses
We never rode.

Arabic poetry #2

العالم هو غريب
و كل الناس عجيب
ولكن انت
كنت وراء الجميع

The world is strange
And all people are marvelous
But you,
You are beyond all.

Dark Matter

You’re a pixelated reality
A handful of insanity
A trigger to some vanity
The unuttered profanity
That threatens inhumanity
An uncalled for calamity
That drills through my sanity
Falls before no immunity
And pulls stronger than gravity
Drenched in its naïvity
And merciless audacity
A rebel ‘gainst felicity
A display of monstrosity.
A people-less community.
The darkest part of this dark city.

Like dark matter
You shatter
My gravity.

The Shift

And one day,
Something changed.
Something in the universe shifted.
As if a long forgotten veil had been lifted.
The winds seemed to shiver in awe
Of the new life she had been gifted.
No one else noticed.
No one had to know.
Perhaps it was the soft, ultrasonic laughter of the angels
At the mighty way their Lord answered a shabbily constructed dua
Of a slave drowning in sins.

The Perfect Piece Of Memory

My eleven year old hand frantically swishes the mouse around
As the pixelated face of Harry Potter bobs around the computer screen
Both of us trying to remember the next spell
Both of us stuck in the surrealness of our perfect worlds.
10 points for Gryffindor, announces my stereo soundboxes.
I pause the game to tell my sister that I’ve made it through the “tough level”
And save the moment in my head as a perfect memory.

A dark skinny boy dressed in a superman costume
Stands at the edge of my bed
As his red cape defies gravity
I explain to him what to say whenever anyone enters the room.
This is going to be the best party in my life, I think to myself
Not knowing that would get accepted as a prayer.
All these years down, superman never visits anymore.
I hear he’s doing quite well
Coping with studies and incurable disorders that make him weak to the bones.
I wish I had kept his cape when he left
But all I have is a perfect memory.

I stand in front of my front row bench
Waiting for the next teacher to come.
At the other side of the classroom a guy sharpens a pencil
And just when it is sharp enough
He decides that it never was a pencil
But a rocket that deserves to tour the length of the classroom
And before I know
I have a pencil sized rocket Slashing my right cheek
Just missing the eye.
Just a little cut, the teacher says.
And now every time I look into the mirror and notice the tiny scar that not even my mother knows about
I smile at the irony
Of how perfect the memory is.

I stand on the concrete floor of the school field
My large eyed and perfectly ponytailed friend calls me over
A ritual is about to take place.
On the count of three, five fists bump against each other
And the field echoes back our unflinching oath
“Best friends forever.”
Forever.
And now every time I tell someone that forever is the most delusional word
I crunch my forehead skin
In a failed attempt at blocking the perfect memory.

My first jab at Arabic poetry

(This is probably full of grammatical mistakes but…I got four sentences to rhyme, in a language I hardly know, lol)

هذه الغابة ليست على النار
ليس عل النجوم خمار
لم ترك الريح اثار
ولكن القلب يريد الفرار

Translation:
This forest isn’t on fire
There’s no veil over the stars
The wind hasn’t left traces
Yet the heart wants to flee.

Stardust

But you,
You are the storm on a calm sunny day
The scarcely traversed bend in the way
All the constellations at the end of a starless day
The wave that touches every sand grain as it crashes at the bay
The bright ring of light around a full moon that pushes the rest of the sky away
The smell of hay
And burning clay
A wordless day
A rainless May
A black-less gray
The word ‘okay’
A bottled up ray
A wild display
Of every thing I fear and every thing I crave.

And you,
Are the brightest speck of stardust in the entire Milky Way.

Can I Buy You Some Happiness?

I want to buy some happiness
Wrap it in paper and tape
Put it at your doorstep
And then ring your door bell.

And then I want to run away
With clumsy footsteps on the stairs
Some muddy boot marks here and there
So you can follow along and yell.

But I’ll be gone before you see
The smirk across my sunburnt face
The cape flying behind my dress
The explosion inside my heart.

But it won’t matter anymore
‘Cause you’ll be holding happiness
Wrapped inside my shiny mess
And never again be torn apart.

Obsessive Compulsive Snores

1:33 AM, says the black bar on top of my phone screen.
The blue rays from the CPU keep blinking like crazy
My eyes all hazy
From lack of sleep.
The occasional beep
Of midnight trucks
Pierce my insomniac ears.

My brother’s sobs have turned to snores,
His unstraightened bedsheet waits of course.
What could be worse
Than having to sleep on a bed without fixing the sheet?
What could be worse
Than keeping a book at a different angle from the one beneath it?
What could be worse
Than washing one hand but keeping the other dry?
What could be worse
Than closing your door but not tapping it a second time?
What could be worse
Than getting hurt on just one side of your symmetrical body?
What could be worse
Than putting an unwanted pen mark on your math homework copy?
What could be worse
Than the papers you’d spent ages aligning perfectly being scattered?
What could be worse
Than hearing your sisters say “Stop acting so crazy, it doesn’t matter!”

It’s okay, he’s asleep.
He’ll forget about the bedsheet in the morning.
He’ll have the toothpaste on his brush to worry about
And his sandals to carry about
With just the equal amount of pressure on each feet every time he steps.
And when the food on his plate looks so annoying that he has to ask for another plate
He’ll relinquish the last traces of his memories of tonight’s unfixed bed.
Maybe he’ll scratch his right cheek with his right hand
And then scratch his left cheek with his right hand
And then rub the nails of his left hand across the table
To give them a share of the pleasure
But maybe they’ll get too much
And maybe he’ll have to scratch another facial muscle.
And go on repeating until his muscles are numb from the pangs of equality 
And his nails can spell out tranquility.
It’s okay. It’s fine.
It doesn’t matter.
He’s just crazy.
And one day he’ll realize that.
It will all be fine from then.

1:56 AM, says the black bar on top of my phone screen.
The blue rays from the CPU still blinking like crazy
My brother snores as peacefully as someone without OCD,
Waiting for the next day’s imperfections to align just perfectly.
It’s okay. It’s fine.
One day he’ll stop acting crazy.

Grown Ups

Don’t tell me to wait till I grow up.
I have seen grown ups.
They are all lost.

They are all wishing they hadn’t waited.
They are all too bald to want new things.
They are all too fond of yesterdays
And all too weary of tomorrows.

I have seen grown ups who smile
At memories of sneaking into cinemas
And writing letters that didn’t change the world.
Because those are the only memories they have
That are worth moving facial muscles for.

I have seen grown ups who used to pray
To the Master who’d give them good jobs
And money to pay for their good children.
But that’s all they prayed for.
And that’s all they got.

I have seen grown ups who stare at walls
Not lost in some worthful thought
But because someone spilled ink on their
Years of hard work to pay off loans
To build those walls.

I have seen grown ups who
Make me not want to grow up.
And maybe I won’t.

So don’t you dare tell me to wait
Till I grow up.
I can never grow up
If all I do is wait.

Taped Tennis Balls

A glimpse back. A minute.
Now that seemed infinite.
Two 8-year-olds
Across the playground courts.
They knew nothing better and nothing worse.
No unuttered grudges, no cold remorse,
No holding back thoughts, no repelling force.
“Will you play with me?”
“Of course.”

Never ending conversations
Illogical fascinations
Unrelated correlations
Misunderstood connotations
Games full of incarnations
Overhearing informations
Idiotic laughter sessions
Dead serious operations
Till they’re knocked right off all…sensations.

10 years across the timeline.

Now there’s a fine line
Between their playground courts,
Cut off by countries and ports.
They have their very own forts,
No TNT cords
Not even social networks
Can bear the weight of the distance, anymore.

A barely inhabited chatbox.
“Any exams going on?”
“Yes.”
“Good luck.”
“Thanks.”

They go to sleep hoping to dream of all the taped tennis balls they’d lost.
Among other lost things.

Too Little To Settle For

Too little doors, too many windows

Towers upon towers, rows upon rows,

In a city that yearns to sleep.

Rusty walls around rustier floors,

Broken speed limits and unshared chores,

In this forest that runs too deep.

 

Euphoric freedom, or so does it seem.

Chained by the neck to every other whim,

In a violent disarray of vows.

Hunting treasures in an ocean of rust,

Gnawing at gold and chewing on dust,

Selling out souls for chaos.

 

It’s a mirage inside a dreary dream

With eager sentinels staring agleam

With pens darker than tar.

You wake up and then you realize,

All that freedom piled up to the skies

Was too little to settle for.

Deeper than brown

She had a puddle of peace beneath her feet

Her eyes spelt turmoil and hate and heat.

 

She had scars on her heart from the things she never said

And scars on her tongue from the ones she did.

Her hair was damaged from the shackles on her head

Split ends and dandruff and a conscience too dead.

Her muddy brown eyes never left the ground

Collecting darkness wherever she found.

Green was poison, blue was too loud,

Brown made her feel good, brown was allowed.

She stored empty bottles to catch her fears.

She avoided windows, windows were too clear.

Smiles didn’t taste good, neither did tears

Silence was redemption, she held it too dear.

She had a puddle of peace beneath her feet

Her eyes still blurred with hate and heat.

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