How is it then to live without brain inside your head!! how would it feel if you force yourself to get up of your bed and again the same thing happens when you want to sleep, you just can’t sleep, you simply can’t, because it is the way it should be, because your life has been already put into sleep, and the reason behind all your suffering is out there stretching lips and showing teeth just like lions you can’t trust yet you believe it when it smiles.

A few months ago, Rasha from Saudi Arabia posted a poem she wrote here called “In the Moment.” She posted it simply to share it with other readers, not realizing some of the impact it would eventually have. About a month later, Rasha got this message:

My name is Malte, I am the editor of the international children’s radio station Radijojo based in Berlin. We would like to voice your beautiful poem “In the moment” in some youth radio workshops.

Of course, the idea excited us. This sounded like a great opportunity for a useful cultural exchange, which Rasha recently wrote about here.

Malte informed us that the poem was read by several 14 year old youngsters. They had a Radijojo radio Workshop about the relationship between Germany and Arab countries, where they mainly spoke about the content of Rasha’s poem. You can listen to the audio here.

Some photos of the workshop and students reading Rasha’s poem:

I think this is proof that new media can really have an impact on how people view and communicate with each other between areas where it doesn’t typically happen. Previously, teachers or instructors only had text to rely on in order to teach young students about global affairs, religion, or foreign cultures. This is one of many examples that showed how this is no longer the case, and that we have great tools to break barriers and stereotypes often enforced by mainstream media outlets. Now students can directly get in touch with other students in different parts of the world in order to hear from our own perspectives, what is happening and what we feel about it, what our culture is like, how we practice our faith, and what we feel about the current state of our societies.

Another example is the teleconferences we occassionally have with high school students in the USA. These were documented by the Skype blog as well which said:

“It’s satisfying to see young people use the Web, and Skype, to strive toward understanding across barriers not of their own making. This particular initiative won’t bring about change on its own, but even a marathon consists of lots of little steps.”

When Rasha published that poem, she had no idea how inspirational it would be to people elsewhere, and what others will be doing with it. This outreach has been inspiational for us here too, knowing that the simple act of sharing our thoughts can end up making a big difference in terms of making people truly aware of who we are and what we represent.

We want to thank Malte for reaching out, the young students in Berlin who did a great job reciting the poem, and everyone who has ever been interested in our opinions and our lives. Participating in this site to me personally has been an educational experience and we hope that others feel the same. I have learned so much about others by speaking with them, and the amazing video/audio technologies we have today make this exchange much more effective. Thanks indeed to everyone involved.

The Chief Editor of Radijojo World Children’s Radio Network in Berlin; an international NGO dedicated to use media with and for children as a tool for intercultural dialogue, participation, children’s rights and global learning decided to work with Mideast Youth on an intercultural project. They were having a Radijojo radio Workshop about the relationship between Germany and the Arab countries. The Chief Editor; Malte Heidemann contacted Mideast Youth Director Esra’a and myself after reading a poem I posted on this site earlier this year called “In the Moment” to include it in this intercultural project. Fourteen year old students from Flatow Secondary School in Berlin recited and worked on translating the poem written by a Saudi female (myself) from English language to German so that other German children can relate and understand the poem. I was excited and delighted to see the photographs of these youngsters as they were reciting my little poem and listening to their podcast was really touching. Radijojo and the children involved sent the recitation of the poem to Mideast Youth as a gift.

This lovely gift and the whole idea behind this workshop is to build bridges between diverse cultures, religions, between East and West at a very simple yet important level. Youths I think are the future, and if we start building such positive relationships between them putting aside all our differences and rather focusing on the essence and qualities our cultures have, then imagine the richness these youngsters obtain. Such actions pave way for solid grounds for further interfaith and intercultural activities between the youth. I think such interactions and achievements ought to be recognized and very well supported. I also would like to thank both Malte Heidemann and Esra’a for creating such platform for youths and for all the children’s efforts.

Here is the link to the podcast and photos of the workshop on Radijojo World Children’s Radio Network.

It is only in the late hours of the night
That I learn more about my sentience
I am aware of my true existence
Those lonely hours with no friend in sight
My only companions are myself and I
I am many yet all in one

I am a soul, mind and body
I lose who I am at times with the chaos of life
It is only in the late hours of the night
Where there is no sound but the beating of my heart
And the swelling of my lungs as air is taken in and out
It is only then three thirds of me transpire

The spiritual

The spiritual lays within me; he connects me to a higher being; God
He takes third of my being; he can take over at times of grace
Through him I realize my berth in this massive universe
A sand grain amongst endless dunes of Sahara desserts
An atom amongst infinite stars and galaxies
A thread of silk in the midst of endless silk cocoons
Through him I learned humility and love
He bonds me to an infinite greater truth
A truth that cannot be seen but is felt
Years of dormant senses are awakened to believe
To a higher level of consciousness I achieve
As the other two in me lay down in sweet sleep

The mind

He is my second third
The mind is a marvelous part of me
He is a maze I go astray in many times
He keeps me on my toes with his wonderful crazy thoughts
Through him I can knit a quilt of endless sleepless dreams
In contemplation I can touch my dreams
If he is given more than third of me
He would not hesitate to conquer me
He is a pillar in mankind’s survival
He is the tool through him we learned and developed
He has taken us to the moon and beyond
To the atom and the cell
Through him we heal, fly and light up the darkness of our skies
Through him we were able to plot, kill and destroy
Yes the mind was able to conquer all
Only when he was given permission to take over all of our beings
Never forget he is only third, never to conquer all

The body

Oh the body the vehicle of all..
She is the third of all three but never the least
Through her all thoughts and feelings from mind and spirit are conveyed
She deciphers all signals to a language one can apprehend
A smile from her can brighten one’s day
A touch from her can stop the throbbing pain
She transports love from a look of an eye to an embrace
Through her she senses beauty all around
And aches with throbbing tearing pain
For she is powerful and ever so beautiful
Endless portrayals of her marvel have been seen
Throughout history, countless artists and poets have described
For the body they became intoxicated and bewildered
For her beauty many have lost their lives
For her strengths many were greedy for more
She has conquered all and will go on doing so many times
Time is always her worst enemy when she conquers all
For time will teach her what true worth is
She is my tool to express love, beauty and pain
But she is never all

All of my thirds never cease to grow
The spiritual can never be close enough
For he seeks humility and love throughout his being

The awakened mind is always hungry for more
He befriends wisdom as he matures and grows

The body, my daily tool
She starts off as weakness and grows into strength
She ends in weakness as a reminder of what she truly is

These are my thirds that lay within
These are the mains of what my life’s aims
Each one stays in his and her designated space
One might take charge in times of need
But the rest are prepared for their times indeed
The spiritual, mind and body
I find myself in three..

As I walk in the journey of life

I come across God’s wondrous beings

At times I would rest for a while

Only to enjoy the beauty of beings

I would contemplate the blessings I have

And whisper grace to God for all his givings..

I learned many things from only seeing..

I learned that to tear a flower from her intimate haven

Only allows me to enjoy her momentarily..

For her place is among the endless fields

Where I can observe her true beauty as the wind touches her body

She dances a harmonized coordinated dance with all other blossoms

I can only observe in silenced awe at the creator’s reverence

I carry on in the journey ahead and bid farewell to the dancing blossoms

For I know I shall brush against God’s allure again in his wondrous livings

Paths cross in the journey of life

And that is the essence of being

But never forget we always must part

And that is the anguish of being human

We draw in the core of beings who joined us in our path

Their true essence never cease.. for we capture them in our spirits

Never forget these are the foundations of living

For you are the only pilgrim walking in your path

Enjoy the entwining of paths while it lasts

For if you don’t enjoy the moment

You will wish you had when there is no turning back

With no regrets look ahead and be aware of paths that cross

For there is always beauty in God’s beings

I’m a human.

Afore being a Muslim, I’m a human.
Afore being an Iranian, I’m a human.
Afore being a woman or a man, I’m a human.
Afore being a black/white/red/yellow skin color, I’m a human.
Afore being left or Right, I’m a human.
Afore being the Prince or the Pauper I’m a human.
Afore being in the unfair competition in the capitalist world, I’m a human.

I’m a human.
Afore judging people with what they own I appraise their humanity.

I’m a human.
I’m the yield of the community where I was born and lived in. The rulers have made the society, an unfair society is the result of “human looking” rulers.
As a human; I’ll change the rulers with the help and contribution of other humans.

I’m a human.
Humans are different so I respect the differences.

I’m a human,
Subjection and discrimination anywhere in the world is a sign of discrimination and subjection for all humans.

I’m a human; I’ll tremble alongside the shivers of Ukrainian homeless.
I’m a human; I will fast alongside the hunger of Rwandese children.
I’m a human; I’ll cry alongside the sobs of innocent Iraqi’s mother.
I’m a human; I’ll polish the shoes alongside the Indian kids’ small hands.
I’m a human; I’ll harvest alongside the exhausted Senegalese farmer.
I’m a human; I’ll draw freedom signs on prison’s wall alongside Lori.
I’m a human; I’ll burn in freedom fever inside the prison cell alongside Ganji.
I’m a human; I’ll suffer alongside the raped Cape Town women.

I’m a human; I want my rights to Live,
I don’t ask for these rights from my family,
not from my rulers,
not from my God,
I ask this right from other humans.

I’m a human; afore pointing a Gun against another human’s heart I’m a human.

I’m a human; I’m the heir of thousands of years of human’s fight against discrimination, oppression and darkness.

I’m a human; I was born to build so I’ve abandoned destruction to beasts and villains.

I’m a human; so I’ll make a better world for all the humans.

Poem originally in Persian by Sina
Translation to English: Ali

Sssshhh

I can hear it now

The faint sound growing profound

Waves crashing as the crescendo mounts

No, please, this can’t be happening

Heart

Beats

Intense

Heat

In a soul which has been incensed

By beautiful insanities before which were

Wrought with anguish and grief

No, not again

Whizzing butterflies
Echoing joyous cries
Flying from trapeze to trapeze
Chaotic emotions intensify
Interlacing with gastric fluids
Melting my insides

Stop!

Please,

Cease the bittersweet ocean of commotion
That breathes life into lifeless seeds

Please,

Pay heed to the excruciating screams that were
Once diamonds of jeweled dreams

Please,

Resist the mistress of deception, seductress of innocence
Before she makes me bleed
Before her intractable wrath is unleashed

Confound you Love

Stay away from me

I am cognizant of your symptoms and delusional melodies

Confound you Love

Don’t come near me

I am smarter than to fall for your sonnets of ecstasy

Let me be,

Your words of harmony are masks of misery

Of tyranny, of hopeless strings bound to eternity

Don’t sulk at me,

My pride shall not soften to your sweet tone of concealed melancholy

Baby, Love, wipe your tears,

My door has already been locked against the deluge of your emotional calamities

I love you Love but your game is a losing one. So forgive me.

.
The Mind

Contemplating thoughts in mind, trying to seek refuge in my own sense of reality.. As days undressed what this year held in store, between the gore and the mortalities.. I find myself lost, somewhere in between..

With one hand waving a goodbye, and the other holding me still.. Will i be the same next year? or will i lose my well?..

Stay still, i plea this soul i bare.. For if it fades away, some still may care.. Do i dare? not to let down my guards, keeping a lively stare? Or just gaze, as days stone me cold.. And then just dream, hoping that the stories would be told..

Stories told, words wrapped in clover.. Words as old as time, sorted and never over.. Trying to reason, I’d spend the hours.. dreaming, threading a reality.. Later Devoured..

Slapped once and twice, yet i dream and still have hope for the best.. Despite Deception and deceit, traits of those who lead, and most of the rest.. Stripping morals, and ethics fall like grains of sand.. And then blwon away, with hope for a gathering hand..

“Darkened by days, to lose hope is near..” A verse I fear.. And still, as on my souls it nibbles..

Then comes the day, where i look at words i scribbled.. Seeing a different reality, and an image that i’ll quibble.. cutting down the weeds, planting a new with my dibble.. Ripe fruits, picked in my kibble.. Changing the reality i once seen..

For it’s never too late to gaze.. Never too late to dream..

And for the years that slapped a “no”, to my calls and pleas to address.. I’ll rebel and wait, in my thoughts i’ll formulate, planning thoughts in this game of chess..

Hallowed within, to be filled with the power to aggress.. For my children this world will be, a place where dreams are finally free, and hoping for joy and bless..

We’re there’s no longer a “no”,there’s always that hidden “yes”..

.
The Soul

Hovering thoughts of despair..
Amidst the darkness they grow..
Putting words in our mouths..
Penetrating lights..
Yearning to glow..

Not to crumble, or fall in decline..
Everlasting hopes and dreams..
Wording words to define..

Yet, years have past..
Each planted it’s own fear..
And still, i keep on dreaming..
Reviving my old hope, of a better tomorrow, and better new year..
.
.
.
.
A sincere wish to all..
Have a good one..

.
Yours,

Lou..

Here are some of my mad musings:

Who are you?
No, I’m not referring to the genetical make up that defines you or the roots of a land that intertwine you.

What am I?
Not interested in the skin that has caused divisions or religions claimed to create a clash of civilizations.

What constitutes us?
Spare me your name, his ancestral claim, our history, their ethnicity and the cultural diversity, which may shackle or bless our global communities.

Set me free
From these physical boundaries
These intangible weights
Encumbering human societies

Stop the spinning…………….

Can I, for a moment, invert my eyes inwards to behold the magnificence of the human soul? Can I retrace my steps to that place before my face was engraved in the depths of my mother’s womb? Before my name graced protected pages and life wrapped me in its cocoon?

Could I have been veiled by the drapes of heaven, sunbathing in honeyed lagoons? Or serenading palm trees, sheathed with golden lanterns, to a Ramadan moon?

I wonder…………..

I was in my pure form; a spirit, unblemished; before flesh and sin were born; before selfishness gave way to Satan to adorn my veins and steal my virgin core; before war kissed my cheek and laid me on poverty’s shore;
And he chose to bring me down – claylike- for a purpose and said he was closer than our naval cord.

I am a piece of the earth and a piece of him.
Adam and Eve birthed me, mortal genes formed me
BUT a part of Almighty has been imparted in me.
My soul is my immortal bridge to where I once lived in eternal bliss.
I can’t wait for my carnal dress to shrivel and liberate my true, real self.

Note to mankind:

Rejoice, the divine is in each one of us. Shed your complexions, possessions, nations…look inside then look at each other…we are all the same, only drawn, colored and named differently to be differentiated-to give substance and uniqueness to our identical souls.

A little prayer

Allahuma, I thank you for ‘life’ and for allowing me to feel/see the treasure that you are. However, I am filthy; shoulders burdened with the transgressions of my past and days to come.
At the time of farewell, I beg you to send Angel Izrael (AS) in his best-dressed clothes, with a wide smile, delighted to see me.
I beg you to allow Angel Gibreel (AS) to tightly embrace me with his wings before the Angels of the grave visit me.
I beg you to allow the Angels of Mercy to shelter me from the Angels of Torture, bathe me in musk and dress me in silky attire.
I beg you to alleviate Munkar and Nukair’s wrath and endow me with the confidence to answer the questions that I have memorized by heart.
I beg you to allow me to feast my eyes on you; hug, kiss and bow to you.
Ameen

I dreamed that one day, time will let loose to it’s chaos, and leads the trails back to history so we’d know the next step, showing a present, it’s darkness we’ll reveal..

I dreamed that one day, man will be ignorant, but well enough and strong in command to change for the sake of his crowd..

I dreamed that one day, money will be nothing compared to what we hold inside our brains, and yet we’ll see our brains setting free for what we kept inside, shining light from beyond the blocking clouds..

I dreamed that one day, steel would create cities that are a mile high, serving all rich and poor, living under it’s shade, or so it seemed..

My only problem, my naive childish problem, is that i dreamed..

We’d probably switch on our TV’s and sit to see what’s new with the world today.. Apparently, someone forgot to turn off the video clips we see, because they keep on looping from one time to a million and then back to square one again.. We’d expect to see change, but history marked us to be ignorant of what have been done before, and where things might go to.. Even though, i question history itself, being the words of the victors marked the chapters with Pain and/or Prosperity.. One letter, two words, and a forever spiral into one dark abyss..

Welcome to present day..

I ponder and see through the pages of my daily news paper, and see War is waging War on War, while War led to War in the first place..

My soul shrugs, and exclaims how It’s silly how the funny pages in every news paper filled all the pages, instead of one lousy part of it.. Humorous phrases like..

“Weapons for Peace..” – with a picture of a smiling human buffoon

“Settled political conflict under nuclear threat from both parties..” – with a picture of a smiling human buffoon

“Stabilize peace, here’s an F 22..” “oh why thank you, here’s our money”
- a group of legalized Buffoons..

a Soon Future headline in every news paper..

“Man kind won over man kind.. The battle is over.. All is gone..“

Reality sings..

Dumb boys with big toys..
Buffoons in the forever circus, history lost in life..
You’ll live forever, your actions will last..
It’s a lie..
Kiss your son goodbye..
Your daughter and your wife..
.
.
.
All is gone.. Or it will be at least..

[[ meanwhile in a coffee shop not far from home ]]

Person : Just think about it..

Person : If we win the war, we’ll rule over..

Person : Who’s winning again?

Person : We are..

Person : Just think about it..
.
.
.
Yours,

Lou..

As the introduction, by a former Tunisian culture minister states, ” is there anything stranger than the case of this ‘Alfiya’ which appears even in it’s name to be a rare example of an attachment to heritage and a desire to revitalise it with the spirit that created it in the past”?

Indeed a modern Arab book with a rhyming title in the medieval fashion is a novelty in itself, but this one is also more specifically placing itself in relation to Ibn Sina’s  Alarjuza Fi Al-6ib ( alarjuza – from rajz, one of the seas of poetry- on medicine; often called the Alfiya because it has 1000 odd lines). In fact Dr. Salim 3amar proclaims his poem an Alfiya Mukarrara, as it has 3500 lines.

Writing a poem, even if not great in the aesthetic sense and regardless of the topic, of such length is an achievement; and as this one conveys detailed information on psychology for a lay audience in an uncomplicated way it is is a doubly impressive one…but I wonder if it is worth the effort?

Ibn Sina and his contemporaries had their reasons for writing in poetry. his Alfiya for example was a summary of his massive Al-Qanun Fi Al-6ib, which “the chief Sheikh”, as Musa ibn Ibrahim calls him, knew could not be grasped in it’s entirety. He therefore created a sort of aide-memoire to the essentials, an arjuza “easy to remember and [whose rhythm] energises the spirit” as Ibn Rushd says, which he required all his students to know off by heart before they could join his study circles.

However there seems to be no reason why a book on psychology printed in 1992 should be a poem, and the limitation of the rhythm must have adversely affected Dr. Salim 3amar’s treatment of his material, and is offset by no positive practical purpose.

The book seems to ‘degenerate’ into a mere curio, even in the fulsome praise of the minister of culture who ends by declaring “this Alfiya is thus given a unique character, and becomes a wondrous treasure [tuhfa 3ajiba]…so the reader should enjoy it’s manner as well as it’s matter, as every person of taste enjoys everything that is rare and precious”.

Printed on glossy paper with patterned borders, the two column layout of traditional arabic poetry reinforces the ‘gimmicky’ effect of the rhymed chapter and subtitles, the cover illustration from a medival manuscript, and the title which echoes the descriptive rhyme of the inumerable Alfiyat across the centuries on everything from grammar to theology.

In short, Dr. Salim 3amar’s Alfiya mukarrara fi al-amrath al-nafsiya almu3tabara ends up being just the sort of book people only buy as gifts, ending up looking good and gathering dust on a shelf.

A different approach is taken Dr. Sami Mahmoud, who supervised a recent edition of Tadhkirat Uli Al-albab wa Al-jame3 li Al-3ajab Al-3ujab (The memorandum for the intelligent, and the compendium of the wondrously strange) by Dawud ibn 3amr Alan6aki, and says he found his original intention to publish a full or even abridged version impractical.

Instead of seeking to slavishly duplicate what was produced to fulfil the needs of a different era, Dr. Mahmoud used the Tadhkira as a basis for a book he calls Tadhkirat Dawud Lil-3ilaj Bil A3shab wa Al-wasa2il Al-6abe3ia (Dawud’s memorandum on on herbal and natural treatments), the title says it all really- no rhyme, and he uses the phraseology natural to him as the writer of an earlier best-selling book on herbal medicine. Unlike Dr. Salim 3amar he sees no need to twist his expertise into an unatural form to revive the past, instead he goes back to it to take what is useful in a contemporary context.

The original Tadhkira is a massive three volume book – the first volume gives the properties of over 3000 medicinal plants and herbs arranged in alphabetical order, the other two deal with the diagnosis and treatment of alphabetically arranged illnesses and diseases; but it also contains detailed sections on topics such as veterinary science, farming and geography. The language is difficult, and at times obscure, and as the publisher says in his introduction, some of the elements required for the compounds are almost impossible to obtain, and others are unkown even to an expert.

This edition edits content and language, and after each entry on a plant or illness from the Tadhkirah adds the explanation in terms of modern science. As an active researcher in the field of herbal medicine, Dr Mahmoud provides additional uses for plants and treatments for diseases from other medieval texts, and from folk remedies.

Such an approach is actually much more in line with that of doctors and 3ulama like Ibn Sina and Dawud ibn 3amr, the latter says in a quote which serves as an epigraph to Dr. Sami Mahmoud’s book

“We have chosen medicines that are easily available and inexpensive, to comply with the needs of the seeker, who if he agrees accepts, and if so his acceptance is an honour, and if not let him cover what faults he sees with the tail of forgiveness, for it is the ever-blessed (God) who is free from all deficiency and mistakes…and let my prize for this [work] be a prayer from him; God is the one who guides us to the right, and to him is the return and in his hands my fate, there is no power but God the high and great, he is the one I depend on, the most perfect sustainer “

Days get dimmer, as smoke fill the horizons.. The dimmer it gets, the harder it is to see and know who’s with us and who’s with them.. Yet i find it hard, even in broad day light.. What are the causes that we fight fore? Everybody’s looking for the next great war, but who are we fighting it for?

How much money, and the world’s resources combined, do we spend monthly financing wars? How much brain power, man power, and machine power is being utilized for the purposes of “who kills who first” and “i’ll kill him, he started it”..?

How much time do we spend, plotting an attack ahead, or hiding from an attack heading our way..? Beyond all illusions, beyond the ever lasting mirage, Do we see who’re we going to kill? or who’s he our own grim reaper?

We close our eyes, and open our mouths, and push little plastic buttons.. We make a small action, and it duplicates to a larger reaction.. One drop in a pond can create a ripple, and that ripple won’t stop until it reaches it’s largest possible radius.. Thus, leaving us, the causers, and leaving them, the affected, and vice versa..

What are we to do?

More money? More power? More time?

More hate, grudges, vengeance, blood shed.. More smoke.. More mirrors.. More replays and quick rewinds of the same sad shot over and over and over again..?

What are we to do?

[ The Past - Me ]

If thus, once led, a war of the unspoken..
Time sled, wounds bled, what once was safety now it’s broken..
We stem at wars, lose all large and small..
We witness our ruins.. What broke us down, after once standing tall..
We kill for land, and power, for our lusts to please..
We lose wars, though we’re winning.. We lose ourselves in favor of land with ease..
I cry and call, ask allah please..
Let them wake up, the blood shed soaked my knees..
I dream and dream, for once i hope we stop..
Before all god’s land is conquered, and then our bodies to drop..

We lost focus, and we spent our money’s worth.. We bought the planes, the cars, and the AK’s.. We’re ready for the human being who holds us evil, and we’re the least ready for the human being which lies within..

By the time man kind will stop war, and reach a never captured peace, we’d be dying with our own diseases and self discomfort, to rise the flag of victory, and fall for the broken heart inside..

Instead of buying that new Hummer, or get that AK ammo.. Where is the money spent on curing cancer, and aids, and post-nuclear radiation? Isn’t war the reason for all this? Then why buy it some more? Are we fighting for people, or are we fighting for land? and which lasts in favor of the other, when all is done, and time is up, and bodies rot back to the soil they once fought for?

[ The Future - Me ]

What have we done to the earth.. Look, my son, what have we done.. We fenced the earth, and we barbed it’s fields.. We turned the yellow sand into a bloody red, and we opened pours in the ground, with our bodies we fed.. We once saw light, and then dark once said.. Man will never stop, until his skull lies still on his bed.. Should we look, at the pain and death growing within.. or should we fight for matters as deep as skin.. We say Nay to glory, for we lost what truly matters.. We won the ground, we made the last sound, Our hearts fell down, a bloody bottle within it shatters..

We lost focus, what do we fight on anyway? by the time we finish all our money on war, we’d have nothing left to maintain peace.. And by that time, we’ll die from within.. Something more painful than a piece of led puncturing holes in our body..

[ The Me In Between ]

I rest on my bed, with one needle in my head.. I bleed and twirl, in my agony i swirl.. Until i’m blood dry, and my body curls.. I want peace, someone to look over me, no gun to terrorize my city, my house, my woman, my boy, my girl..

Let my voice be heard, for i have breathed my last breath..

Yours,

Lou..

At the orphanage’s door, next to my friend’s house is where I first set eyes upon him. Hmm, yes, it was the playful expression dancing on his face, his piercing gaze and the twinkle gleaming therein, that had stopped me in my tracks.
“What’s your name,” I ventured. “Basil meaning brave, what’s yours?” he asked. “Hiba meaning gift,” I teased. “If you’re a gift, why do you look sad & tired? Gifts are supposed to be happy to make those who receive them happy.

Caught off guard and impressed by his keen insight, I pressed on: “So, what do you know about sad & tired grown-ups?” I know that they have forgotten how to smile and play. They see the night and forget there is day, he replied. “Don’t you think the sun is too hot during the day for anyone to smile or play?” I laughed. “You let the sun burn you like you let the night scare you.” Dumbfounded to come up with something witty, I mouthed a “you’re truly brave, Basil. Allah yihfazak*,” and hurried off to my friend’s house.

Father shot in the south
Malnourished mother died giving birth
At the age of 5, his uncle gave him up
Hollow-eyed, devoid of remorse

The orphanage was in a pitiful state and the orphans lived in shabby conditions. The caretakers had to make do with the scraps and donations they were given since their relentless efforts to persuade the government to increase their financing met with no fruition. Anyway, everyone noticed that Basil was special & different. He spent most of his time reading stories, sitting dazedly in Alhosh* or accosting & conversing with adult strangers who passed by the orphanage every now & then.

White is for soul
Green is for mind
Red is for heart
These are the parts that make up Basil’s toy

“What is that thing in your hand that has the colors of our flag?” I asked one day with mock-innocence and failing miserably to suppress a chuckle. By now, Basil had gotten used to my inane sense of humor. How ironic that our roles were reversed!! The doll look-alike was actually broken twigs glued, somehow, together. He used chalks to color his disfigured version of a human toy.
“Ya Hadiya* (this is what he liked to call me). This is my best friend. White is clean like Baba Ahmed’s Jalabiya* when he is praying. Green is the grass in our hosh. Red is the roses I saw in the park that Mama Safiya took us to.

7 days later, his stomach began to ache
Doctor diagnosed it as an infection
Medication was taken yet nothing stopped the pain
Until his appendix burst open

What can I possibly write after this! Yes, Basil passed away as a result of a misdiagnosis; another beautiful young soul, who could have done so much for this world, lost as a consequence of negligence and error!!! How can I describe the brutality, agony, horror & unfairness of it all? I stand speechless!
After his burial, which was attended by masses of people, old and young, whose lives he must have touched in one way or the other, I asked Mama Safiya for his precious toy. Back then, when he had expounded on the colors, I hadn’t thought much about it. However, now, I have come to fathom their deep meanings:

White (Soul): Keeping the soul clean & pure; being good; having faith & hope.
Green (Mind): The mind is fertile. It is our duty to nurture & cultivate it. We choose to allow the weeds to grow in it or not. We develop it.
Red (Heart): He likened it to a rose. A rose is exquisite yet fragile and so is the heart. Cherish & protect it for it can be easily broken.

A 10 year old taught me so much about life, humans and purity. His toy stands as a symbol of what we should be. Life is, indeed, temperamental, rocking us back and forth with its unpredictable mood swings. To cope with it, one must always search for goodness and strength within and to seek that inner power which, to me, is Allah. No matter how circumstances pull you down, try not to bow to it.

This piece is dedicated to those children in Sudan who are wise beyond their age due to what they have/had experienced & who are striving to uphold their values in the face of misery and tribulations

3arragi: A type of Sudanese traditional knee-length white robe, which is usually worn with a sirwal(loose slacks).It is for men.
Allah yihfazak: May Allah protect you.
Alhosh: The court yard/yard surrounding the house.
Hadiya: Gift in Arabic.
Jalabiya: White loose flowing robe worn by men.

The beloved replied,
I have died to myself
and I live for you.

I’ve disappeared from myself
and my attributes.
I am present only for you.

I have forgotton all my learnings,
but from knowing you
I have become a scholar.

I have lost all my strength,
but from your power
I am able.

If I love myself
I love you.
If I love you
I love myself.

By Rumi

An entirety spent protected….each day created to the best never realizing that there lies a world full of strained faces,aching emotions and dreams that are never ever secured.

A sea of people with lives so close to reality lies beyond the grilled concrete wall….separating the protected me from the exposed to the core commonalty.

Ever wondered what life is like for the dry-eyed and blanked-faced child that flocks around our pompous four wheelers trying in vain to gain our attention for just a moment…..to quench his burning thirst.

Ever tried looking into those somber eyes that demand nothing more than just a smile…..a hand that can help breath and view the life that prevails above the thick smoke and insect infested air.

Ever touched those cracked and soiled palms…those palms that have never touched a plush toy or leafed through a storybook….never touched clean.

Who cares what lies beyond the grilled concrete wall….let those innocent young girls scream….let those old haggard murmur on and on until their throats bleed.

Who cares let this vicious cycle grow….until one day it shall reach the concrete wall and i would have to succumb to its wrath…its screams piercing my ears,its eyes looking at me,through me….deep into me,its hands around my throat and its voice so very sinister so very sharp with pain,agony torment,distress…..

Crying out to me…salvage me,cure me,befriend me…ever wondered when it all shall stop….how it all shall stop…will it ever stop….could you and i help put an end to the never ending….

Enough said.

Watch the video….

Wholeheartedly-Sudaniya

The young heart beats to life’s delights,
To the sweetness of honey and peaceful sights,
To the eyes of a child, a morning’s bliss,
Is that which starts with an angel’s kiss.
Of angels and heavens, his dreams are made,
Friends of joy, I wish they stayed,
Under the golden sun, and the silver moon,
To chant soft songs with an enchanted tune.

Upon that path, amongst the wrath, the young child walked,
Thinking he was alone, but Lo! He’s stalked,
A benighted figure, tall and mysterious,
“Stop!” he commands. A deep voice. Imperious.

“There’s no more to the path than what you see.
For I know lands. Accompany me!
I’ll show you tricks, of golden glees.
I’ll take you far, across the seas.”

Amid the sparkle of the day, a shadow starts to linger,
Waiting for the right moment, to strike by a powerful slinger,
Seeping through the child’s soul, the old habits start to part,
Wilder, fresher sensations start
Burning desire in a youthful heart

The child is a child no more,
A man he is, 6 foot four,
With Satan’s drink, and the Gold of Fire,
He roams around, with sinful desire!

A company, cruel and vicious,
With twisted thoughts, so malicious,
Leads the man astray,
From his path, into decay.

With years of guilt slipping fast,
As death is near, the sins have massed,
Repenting what he had done,
Of all the devils and hells he won,
Seeking alone in his lonely abyss,
A road he once trod, has gone amiss,
A path he knew, of the golden suns, and the silver moons,
The beautiful songs with the enchanted tunes

When darkness falls upon a lightened path,
An old man walks by in foreseen wrath,
His nightmares revived by burning flares,
When hope is killed in desperate prayers.

This piece is not intended to offend anyone. I am merely shedding light on a grave situation rampant in our country.

NB: The names have been changed to protect the identities of the characters.

A party.
Eyes locked.
Link forged.
Fatima felt her heart skip a beat;
Matthew was startled by the sudden rush of heat.

“She is a Muslim with a veil on her head!!!!”
“Oh God!! He has a Cross in the chain around his neck!!”
“But she is different. I don’t know how but she stands out.”
“Wow!!! Distinctive style; you rarely find such a guy around!!!”
That night, they chatted endlessly and were smitten by each other.
She admired his vivacity and he loved her openness.
Digits exchanged.
Minds preoccupied.
An inexplicable attraction
Unexpectedly materialized.

Incessant calls.
Mutual visitations.
Beautiful friendship.
Intellectual discussions and religious debates.
Written thoughts and reading books is how they would relate.
She saw wisdom and reason through his eyes.
He touched kindness when he was by her side.

Bond strengthened.
Love blossomed.
They both knew they were on dangerous territory.
But Matthew understood and converted to her religion.
Went to her parents and declared his blissful decision.

“Fatima, are you insane? Do you want to tarnish our lineage?”
“Child, he is from Southern Sudan!!! What does he know about our heritage?”
“He is a slave; Southerners are way below our level.”
“We accepted him as your friend but marriage is unthinkable.”

Torn souls.
Cursed lives.
A brutal ending.
Rejection of a Muslim Sudanese due to the wrong ancestry.
Eventually, they both had to go their separate ways.

“A society enslaved by partial conceptions
Superficial perceptions generate mental deception
The masses define it as pride but prejudice is the correct interpretation
Though we rep the same country, we suffer from tribal segregation
Racists of our own race, Cultural feuds with no base
We call ourselves one nation when internally we’re two-faced
Our worth n value “scaled” on a “location gauge”
Hallelujah, the elites celebrate if you are the right skin shade
So, tell me, when will our ethnic diversity be a blessing?
When will our society reform its morbid attitude towards our differences?
When will the majority learn to look at each other as Sudanese brothers and sisters not as Southerner, Northerner, Rubatabi or Akhdar (when used for ridicule or in a demeaning sense)?
How many more people have to suffer from society’s disapproval because of something not in their hands?”

To Matthew and Fatima, two remarkable persons,
Victims of a deeply-rooted poignant phenomenon

Why do people think twice before hiring me?
Why am I being gazed at pitifully?
Why the political drama in the French community?
Why the rejection, discrimination n mockery?

My crime: convicted of concealing my hair
A felony: refusing to expose, disclose & be bare
Labeled cloaked terrorists; Blacklisted fundamentalists
An impediment to society’s modern development

Rhetorically, the world speaks of democracy
In reality, extreme deception n hypocrisy
Why don’t u stay away; let us live; let us be?
We ain’t imposing; encroaching on your territory
We only striving; implementing the Lord’s decree
Trying to be the best Muslims we can possibly be

Why you denying us our God-given rights?
A safe place; free from prejudice and dislike
Why you blaming; judging us by what we wear?
They are only pieces of cloth; won’t bite; won’t flare

Why are we being persecuted, treated as inferiors?
Did you take the time to get to know our interior?
Ruminate; cogitate; let your logic dominate
We equal, historically, created by the same superior

Put yourselves in our shoes; let oppression be infused
I’m telling ya, you won’t survive; Islamic faith uncompromised
Stop tripping on what you don’t know; harassing innocent souls
It’s time you see past our veils; it’s time you let who we are prevail

She sashayes gracefully
with not a quiver in her delicate movement
Her visage emanating incontestable pride
Her heart-choking smile is not an illusion
Fusion of her four senses is her leverage
Her grasping hand of the incomprehensible
Sounds of her environment becoming
her daily addictive beverage………..

Indoctrinated by the thrill she feels
on the tips of her fingers
To her thristy mind,knowledge is her television
She takes her promenade everyday in the labyrinth
existing in her brain
persevering to explore its seductive multi-dimension

She is as sweet as the honey-syrup
oozing from the flower petals
A free-spirited virgin spewing sunshine wherever she goes
Her heart never beat to an evil or gruesome rhythm
Dancing to her own music
Spell-binding others with her magical flow

But I wonder: If she were blessed like the rest of us,
Would she be strong enough to defy the tides of inhumanity?
Would she be able to cope with the heavy weight of atrocities
committed in our world?
Would she still sing to her own tune and weave her own yarns?
Would she feel deceived?Would her utopia cease to exist?

I wonder………

This heavenly creature is cursed yet blessed
God has shielded her from the visions of the devil
But I know she will not rest
Until she has attained the highest level……..
Why?
Because she desires colors
Because she desires faces
Because she desires shapes
Because she desires to see herself
instead of darkness everywhere

Dedicated to all those who have not been blessed by the sense of sight.May Allah be their eyes and may he guide them all to the right path.

Peaceful memories; pieces of integrated families.
A life defined by love through eyes of children in safe-like sanctuaries;
Echoes of sweet laughter; symbolic of symphonic melodies;
Kids’ demonic enemies are the witches in animated comedies.
Attending schools, bending rules;
Innocuous mischief of innocent souls;
Carefree hearts, utopian parts that make our lives undividedly whole.
Then the script is flipped; fractured, twisted n ripped;
Ugliness growing each minute like Dorian Gray’s pic.

It’s the stench of blood; incineration of flesh;
Extermination of humans cuz war is the Angel of Death;
Hannibal on the loose cuz carnage is a cannibal’s quest;
Screams of pain are joyful songs of glory n success.

Enter the twilit (not twilight) zone; zoom into “twice-laid” lives;
Feel broken cries, demise of tender dreams of diluted minds;
Fertile psyche of minors defiled with war-born parasites.
Dementia arises as parental ashes internalize.
Destruction of purity, infliction of fear and insecurity;
Distorted ideologies of 10 year olds with suicidal tendencies.
Sentenced casualties cause unsafe n harmful reality,
Young generations mutate to master the war mentality.

Little girls get raped and little boys are enslaved;
Tanks and bombs become their constant play-mates.
Cemeteries are homes, loved ones are in graves.
Beauty is in death cuz wars scar and mutilate.

“The lives of the children who survive will never be the same again.”

To Sudan, with my sincere apology…..

Politically driven, on a mission to execute a solitary vision
Raised in a foreigner’s soil; my terra firma a country by definition
Fed by strangers; a product of the cosmopolitan divison
My African heritage; a distant documentary I see on television

Caught between two systems with different laws and perceptions
An inadvertent mixed breed with no definite identification
Culturally flawed, I, virtually, belong to no nation
“Sudanese” stamped on my passport but I don’t feel the affiliation

Watch my country being stabbed; raped by her beloved children
Suffocating in her tears cuz her “own” committed treason
Man-made apocalypse; political vendetta(s) that lack a logical reason
The Motherland impoverished; stripped naked for the vultures to feed in

My so-called “home” is hurting; crying out for the patriots to rise
But how can I give to my country when I was born and raised outside?
I missed growing up in her arms and so lost a huge part of who I am
How can I solve this Expat’s dilemma when “nationalism” I don’t feel inside?!!!!

“Where do I belong if I am an expatriate in the country I grew up in and a “Mughtariba” in my country of origin?

Is it my fault that I love the country I lived in all my life more than the country I carry its name?

Is it my fault that I am not patriotic enough?”

You know what? While watching Egypt dying, I remembered a poem that I once read. It is an Egyptian colloquial poem written by the creative Egyptian poet Ahmed Fouad Negm. “Get up Egypt!” ["Eshi ya Misr"] was written by Negm almost thirty years ago, when Egypt was in war with external enemies. However, it applies to our current misery caused by the interior enemies.

I translated it into English, hope you like it.

Get up, Egypt
Get up, Egypt
Shake your crescent
Get triumph

To be Egypt, to live Egypt

Stretch your arms
To reach this age

To be Egypt, to live Egypt

Wake up Egyptian brave labor
Understand the role you play
in your shift
Whatever the efforts you exerted
Whatever the works you produced
All the results are for thieves
Your effort, your work
The money due to your kids
Your sweet in which you sink
Is not for you

Change yourself
Maintain your factory
Manufacture Egypt

To be Egypt, to live Egypt

Wake up green Egypt farmer
Be able, be greenable
Be shine, be beauty
Spark your field with seeds
And protect the sparked seeds
Against disease
And misuse
Your land, your home and your honor
Became the playground of the broker
We would rather to thirst
To drink the impure water
This is what doctors prescribed, O’ Egypt

To be Egypt, to live Egypt

Get up soldier
Avenge for martyr;
My uncle and your uncle
Your brother and my sister
To be relived and relaxed
Shoot fire on the traitors
O’ son of people, O’ people’s guard
You’re the hope when time is hard
Get up soldier; with your ankle hit the ground
Free Egypt, clean Egypt

O’ Egypt get up, live and be Egypt
————————————————–
The origional Arabic:

اصحى يا مصر
اصحى يا مصر
هزى هلالك
هاتى النصر
كونى يا مصر وعيشي يا مصر
مدي ايديكى
و طولي العصر
اصحي وكوني وعيشي يا مصر
اصحى يا عامل مصر يا مجدع
وافهم دورك
ف الوردية
مهما بتتعب
مهما بتصنع
تعبك رايح
للحراميه
جهدك عملك
رزق عبالك
عرقك مرقك
ولا يهنا لك
اصحى يا عامل
غير حالك
صون المصنع
واصنع مصر
اصحى و كوني وعيشي يا مصر
اصحى يا زارع مصر الخضرة
قدره وخضره
ونور وجمال
أبدر غيطك
و احمي البدرة
ضد الافه
والاستغلال
أرضك عرضك
باب الدار
صبحوا مداسه
للسمسار
نعطش
و لا نشربش عكار
وصفه قالوها الحكما يا مصر
اصحى و كوني وعيشي يا مصر
واصحى يا جندي
يا تار الشهدا
عمى وخالك
أختي و أخوك
لجل ما تهدا وتارك يهدا
فرغ نارك ف اللى خانوك
يابن الشعب يا حامي الشعب
أنت أملنا في يوم الصعب
اصحى يا جندي ودق الكعب
حرر مصر وطهر مصر

اصحى وكوني وعيشي يا مصر

During my trip to Cairo, and on the bus ride coming back from our visit to an Orthodox church and the Ben Ezra synagogue, my friend Dalia read a powerful poem called “Lam Alef” (the letters for “No” in Arabic) which I had to ask her to share with us. Hopefully Dalia will be sharing more of her writing seeing as she’s interested in being a part of this site.

I asked Dalia to translate this poem for our non-Arabic speaking readers to understand. She works as a translator for the Arabic Network for Human Rights Information, so she’s very much used to translating text, even though translating poetry is a bit tricky.

This is her brief but powerful introduction to the poem she wrote:

I wrote this poem almost one month ago. It was my very first time to notice that our Arabic alphabet includes that letter; i.e. “Lam Alef”. The letter “Lam Alef” just looks like the famous word “La”; meaning “NO” in English. The weirdest part here is that in our primary schools, Arabic teachers (slaves of dictatorship) told us that “Lam Alef” is not among the 28 letters of Arabic alphabet. They were liars! They wanted to produce generations unable to utter the word “La”, unable to refuse the unlawful and awful practices of their government.

I wrote the poem in Egyptian colloquial, to help people to remember the magical “NO”. Unfortunately, or may be that is what was expected from the start, I received some threats. However, I just insisted to publish the poem and I did. You know what? It was so easy to say my “NO” [my Lam Alef], and those who threatened me were not able to do anything. Now, I am much stronger thanks to “Lam Alef”.

Fascinated yet?

Here it comes:

Hearing her recite this out loud left me with goosebumps, it’s that good. Creative and original too, great job!

You may also want to read her contribution to the HAMSA Dream Deferred Essay contest, where she received a well-deserved honorable mention -

Feminine Dream Deferred: The Oppressed Majority