مِن بِلَاد الفرنجة

unleash a monster or die slowly

على دراجتي 2

،أمس خريف
،اليوم خريف
.وغدًا خريف
أثلجت السماء نهارنا
.رغم أنه حقًا خريفًا

،على دراجتي أسرع متأخرًا كعادتي
يداي تجمدتا من شدة البرد؛
،نسيت أن أقرأ النشرة
،ونسيت القفازات
.كعادتي

،على دراجتي لا تحضرني متلازمتي
،لا أفكر إلا في شيء واحد
،ولا أتذكر غيرك
.كل ذرة في الكون تفعل كذلك

،على دراجتي
،عزيزتي
،أفتقدك
.وأحبك ولا أرى سواك

،على دراجتي
،تُكتب تلك الكلمات في خارطة ذهني
.وأرجو الله ألا تُنسيها لهفتي وشوقي أو البرد القارس

،على دراجتي
،أشعر بك في القارة الأخرى
،فأصلي وأدعو ألا ترحلين
.أحن إليك

،على دراجتي
،لم يمض أسبوع بالكاد
تمر الدقائق عقود ولكن عمري قصير؛
.أنتظر

.بعيد جدًا

The L Word

Dear friend,
Is everything alright? Did you miss my writing as I miss you? Were you waiting for my letter? I wish I could check up on you every day and night without seeming too attached and without making the conversation between us get to the point where it’s formal and boring. I can’t stop asking myself how are you doing right now, I can’t stop provoking your serenity either. I know you’d understand what I’m trying to say.
This week was merely a disaster especially for my circadian clock; I could give my weekly assignments on time -Thank God- but it took me days to finish them, that’s how my week usually looks like though. We’re having Monday as an extra weekend because it’s a national holiday of the state where I live. I hope I could use it well to get myself straight in school, I know I won’t.
Two days ago we had an annular party I didn’t go to last year because I preferred to sleep instead,I love my bed. We ought to climb on an empty barrel-because the party is called “Fassfete” which means barrel-party- in front of the whole college students undergrad and postgrad then introduce ourselves, say anything special about ourselves and sing from the “Phibel” which is the bible but for physics students, it has special funny songs and poems about physics. I was quite nervous because I didn’t know most of the attendants owing to the fact that my colleagues and friends from other years were few compared to postgrad students and professors who were filling the seats everywhere. I did introduce myself, ran something funny about living in front of the pyramids and loving classical music then I asked them I would sing from Beethoven’s ninth symphony instead of the Phibel songs from which I don’t know their rhymes whilst I can never forget “An die Freude” as I went to the Cairo opera three years ago where I  got to watch and listen to the beauty of it,live. They sang along, I think I was good despite my sincere belief that I sounded a little goofy because I never sang it for anyone except myself in the shower. They applauded then I got question about living in Greifswald and if I’m willing to drink bier that night because the party was almost nothing but a pub; I said although I never had , I would but only the not-alcoholic bier and laughed then left the stage to get my first light-bier which my friend told me it doesn’t taste well and that’s why he doesn’t drink bier while him being against alcohol as well. I didn’t like it as expected and asked why they keep refilling their glasses-from the alcoholic barrel when it’s not so good or sweet as I expected; they answered:”when you get to finish your bottle you’d understand”. I did, then went for my second and third bottle and realized they were right it’s like light tasteless coke. I used to like Fairouz-not the singer, I like her too- which is light bier with fruit tastes and I think it’s the same with not being able to hand the bottle down. The party was really good I like enjoying the German folklore without breaking what I believe in. I assured myself for the third time that my presentation skills are way better in German than in English or even in Arabic.
It’s fine to have company, for a night. You know, I thought about what I said last week when it turned out I completely misinterpreted and prejudged my feelings. I was wrong. It’s not slipping away, au contraire, it has never been going so deeply, never. Maybe it’s finally reached what Osho said about the L word, maybe I’m just fantasizing and hoping that my affection is growing even more with more time and distance between us. But what if it does? does it mean when we eventually get together someday we’d not have anything to talk about? Would we lose the spark-at least the one I’m feeling- which is why I’m still writing? Would we?
A moment of confrontation. I’m 21 years old. I don’t fear anything, and I mean anything, even God; whereas my love for him is so strong that I can’t picture him as a source of horror and I’m still working on that matter. I mentioned my non existing fears because people often tend to fear the absence of things; most of humans are scared of darkness when we all know it’s just a place where no source of light, they get terrified imagining ghosts when we also know there’re no such thing.I can’t fear the absence of God, he’s always there. I discovered I was totally insecure last month, maybe I only have that one fear or at least I was anxious about it, that someday you, my friend, are going to say” I’m sorry, I should leave” that’s why I kept asking and wondering if there’ll be such an incident so that I could prevent it somehow, at least that’s what I deduced from my disturbing letters and misunderstanding yours, at least that’s what I could conceive from the last week. I’m not embarrassed or ashamed to say that I hope that you never leave and unless you won’t this is not it, I hope my fear doesn’t come true one day either.
Love always,
M.M.

Sleep tight

Dear friend,
How have you been and how is your life going? I look forward to hearing from you again, telling me about whatever you’re doing nowadays I know I’d be interested. I’m sorry, I haven’t written for a long time. It’s the college mess and being stressed out again, you’d understand. This time my letter would be exactly as you are, short and sweet. I only wanted to check up on you and promise I’ll try to reply as often as I could owing to the fact that I miss writing to you, or to be honest I miss you. This semester is too crowded with complicated stuff from electrodynamics, Atom-physics, linear Algebra, computational physics and finally the theory of relativity which makes the whole week look like an accelerating car I’m trying to catch on foot whilst attempting to avoid the nails that being thrown from behind. I want to tell you details, I’d love to but I know you are tired too so maybe this weekend I’d tell you all about what was stressing me and keeping me insecure which affected the way I wrote to you but not tonight. Tonight is peaceful, let’s just enjoy it. It’s quiet here I hope yours is quiet as well. You know it’s also Gilmour’s night in my head and the brain is loving it because it can only keep the music not the lyrics- its lyrics is great though- so this what I’d like to share with you.Short and sweet. Till next weekend.
Love ALWAYS,
Still not Charlie.

Green

Green
I’m ill
Mean
Words don’t anymore

Why do you care?
If I lived in despair
Sleep
I’m calling the drugstore

A key
You have more than three
Remember?
Don’t play smart there’s no back door

Would you open it?
Please, you still can quit
WOULD YOU?
I’m waiting, it’s the first dark floor

Play
Don’t
It’s boring
The bell is not my heart you look for

I’m coming
Just say it
Again?
You’ve never said it before

There
Are you?
Calling
You do seem to ignore

What do you want?
Don’t say it
Simple
‘I don’t know’ is valid nevermore

That’s not the end
You should see
Syllables?
That’s not poetry, therefore

Choose, I won’t cry
I’m not a child so rejoice
You know what?
I don’t like this game anymore

Kitschig

Autumn is here. People don’t like it as much as they like spending summer on beaches and partying thee whole vacation or as they like winter with its romantic chilling and cozy warming under blankets  escaping the cold breeze of the beautiful rain outside their rooms. Autumn is overlooked. It comes while school is taking off a new semester and everybody is really too busy to focus on how special autumn is; and when they do it’ll be already winter. I’ve always thought it is poetry season, it felt so.
None of my ‘other’ friends or siblings like to read poetry but my closest one but not as frequent as I’d like to do, they think it’s cheesy or as we call it here “kitschig”. When they say so I know they’ve never read poetry, listened to Tom O’Bedlam reading poetry, or at least knew a poet for once in their whole miserable life. I know one personally who is also my favorite writer- if I am to choose one- and it’s overwhelmingly relieving the fact that we live on the same planet breath in the same oxygen molecules and look at the same sky every day and every night. I’ve always been different that my relatives and… actually everyone I knew. Everyone is they just haven’t recognized it yet, and maybe never will. Let’s not mention those friends who sign up for goodreads and add one or a couple of books to their bookshelves then never log in again. I hate that. There are too many people who do this but not as many as those weirdos. It’s even weirder to talk about it but people who were colleagues to whom I’ve never talked keep sending me messages asking me about ways to learn German and how could I so fast be so fluent when in fact I crossed half way to the top by self-learning. I bought a book called “Lingua” which my German high school teacher recommended to me and also is hard to find then spent my first semester break from the first year in my former college learning and reading to myself for a month and after that I took a course when there weren’t so many people there but I’ve already been in the upper intermediate level which cut the time I needed to finish courses and now people here get surprised that my language is as good as my mother language in less than a year, they don’t know what I’ve been through in this 12 month period when I was registered at school at the same time. Speaking of poems I read a book three days ago written by Rumi, I don’t know why I didn’t share my thought of it till now. It was beautiful and comforting that I’m not the only one who experiences the same deep feelings about someone that the poet wrote a whole book just to say to someone how his life was changed by his touch. A lovely poem from the book Where I felt every word he drew-yes, words don’t get expired even by the death of the writer or to whom he wrote- Rumi’s poem. Here’s to poetry and the prettiest and most delightful person who ever lived, you.

Don’t doubt it for a lonely moment. I will always be here.
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A compilation of words.
Well, nothing.
Who cares?
Feel free.
This is not me.
You know I don’t want to be.
It’s okay.
The Atmosphere is not a perfume,oh that’s Whitman’s.
Almost three years.
Years?
Time.
So little time.
Like the past?
Feel free.
I can’t see the future.
I wish.
Words again.
Books.
Schools and libraries are full of books.
Pages.
Papers.
Woods.
The forest is crowded with books.
Exasperated verdant leaves.
I’m drained too.
Bed?
I walk again and think.
Alone.
Trying.
Alone.
Oh, the moon is up.
There’s Venus too, or I hope so.
Friends.
Lovers.
Friends and lovers.
Feel free.
A cup of tea.
Blanket.
Cushion.
Tears.
This is Twain’s ideal life.
How is life treating you?
Feel free.
Like the stars.
Well, the light of the dead.
There’s this one that keeps flashing.
Blinking.
Dying.
Probably.
I’m only her sister’s dust.
What should I do?
Light years.
Convergence.
Ocean of galaxies apart.
I’m not a prince I can’t save myself.
A lot I’m not.
Eloquent, patient, nor Darcy.
Feel free.
This is me.