Sunday, April 3, 2011

It is one of those gloomy autumn days
Breeze blowing from the west, scattering the reddish leafs
A bench on the side of the pathway
I’m sitting there gazing at nothing in particular

Across there is a plaza
Abandoned, as the streets and the cars
Only one thing is moving
Gracefully, with rhythm
Though there is silence

I gazed more and more
The café on my side is empty, coffee cups are still on the tables
One cigarette is still puffing smoke; it doesn’t seem to be burning itself to the end
A kiosk is open; newspapers fly like the autumn leafs
Strange scenery
As I wandered my eyes near the plaza
The movement is still there

I stood up, crossed the street into the plaza
There is something dissimilar where the movement is
Reflections of light and shadows
It is odd in this gloomy autumn day

I walked closer
Oh god… there is a person there
I ran, and I ran
The person is getting closer, though I can’t really recognize it

I found myself waking up
Fuzzy images, pain in my head, and blood on my face
I see the person very clear now
Ohhh… there is a girl
I stood up to reach her but she is inside something
Seems very transparent,
I touch it… feels like some sort of clear glass

She is wearing a white dress, short to her knees
She is bare-foot… red nails… small feet
Her hands are small… red nails too
Her hair is wavy, tall, and black
She moves gracefully, her legs follow a soft rhythm
Her hands move very…. Mmmm… Silky 
Ohhh… she is dancing

She doesn’t sense my presence … or hear my noise
I walk around to see her face
Her eyes are closed… her lips are moving
Maybe she is singing

I sat on the ground, watching her

Wednesday, December 15, 2010

How pathetic it is
For someone, sitting bits before midnight
Thinking of days have gone long time
Facing a white paper
Going over and over with words running through his mind
Trying to hide the grief gritting inside
Behind a tough look, and a cold smile
But every time the wind carries her scent
He suddenly catches a breath he is for long longing for

In a circle where everyone seek random wasters
Where vodka orange tastes better than fine aged wine
And mere fun roles our intentions
He finds himself standing alone in the center
Holding a photo in his pocket, looks at from time to time

Not usually, you do find a rock
And not every day, you find a scent that lasts that long
And definitely not everyone can make you the way you are… now
Going over and over with words running through your mind
Trying to hide the grief gritting inside
Behind a tough look, and a cold smile

Sunday, August 22, 2010

On Investment

An opportunity rose ahead… the man seeks it… he isn’t completely certain about it at that time… his mind is scattered around many other places… the passion didn’t build up… he put the business plan, for his dream bar, on the shelf…

Days pass by… after an amount of reflection… the man realizes it is what he wants… he wants to open a bar, he wants to embody his idea of how a bar should be like… he reopens the file… tries to embark what he sees as a life time deal… the market didn’t catch up… more effort is required…  patience is needed, it is not as easy as it thought to be… studied the market carefully… listened to the target clientele… got closer… understood their needs and dreams… the passion is building up… this is “the” deal… emotional, mental, and even psychological efforts have been exerted… but the glasses are still clean…

So the man wonders… maybe this is not the time… maybe the mass is not ready for this… let’s make it less of a “life time thing”…. Maybe as a supporting business…. Something you enjoy doing at the end of the day… no millions coming out of it… let’s try o have piece with this thing… few talks and laughs here and there… maybe a dance on a special day… will see what time brings… still though… never has been dancing…

The man so far, has invested a huge amount of everything… to follow what he thought is the dream… but his investment has gone down the drain…. So he decides to cut his losses…

The man sells the place, burns the documents, the photos; the sketches… deletes the suppliers’ phone numbers… the whole collection…

And started a bakery…  

Monday, August 9, 2010

استراق النظرات... لم افعلها
افتعال أسباب للمرور قربك... لم افعلها أيضا
ولا الهروب من ضحكاتك
ولا البحث عن الهواء بعد رؤيتك، بقميص جميل، أو شعر يداعب كتفيك

ساعات الليل ليست صعبة
ولا رجوعا إلى أيام قد تعني أو لا تعني الكثير
ولا اكتراثا مع من ترقصين و تضحكين

خلف ابتسامة مزيفة
و سلسلة من صفات لا جميلة
و انغاماسات هنا و هناك
أتعايش مع وجودك الحتمي

Thursday, July 29, 2010

Judging any incident; isolated from the very circumstances that accompanied and probably led to it, is mere foolishness. Exactly like explaining why a driver would lose control of his speeding car entering a curve in a rainy day

Changing the factors may or may not change the outcome, each case at a time… the curvature of the street, the friction ratio of the tires, size of tires, the speed, the driving technique, the weight of the car, the presence of advanced systems, etc etc etc… a good driver is trained to tame these variables to his favor… but if he keeps wrecking the car, time after time, he must be doing the math wrong somehow, doesn’t he

Wednesday, May 12, 2010

The show must go on

Empty spaces - what are we living for
Abandoned places - I guess we know the score
on and on, does anybody know what we are looking for...
Another hero, another mindless crime
behind the curtain, in the pantomime
Hold the line, does anybody want to take it anymore

The show must go on
The show must go on
Inside my heart is breaking
My make-up may be flaking
But my smile still stays on

Whatever happens, I'll leave it all to chance
another heartache, another failed romance
on and on, does anybody know what we are living for?
I guess I'm learning, I must be warmer now
I'll soon be turning, round the corner now
outside the dawn is breaking
but inside in the dark I'm aching to be free

The show must go on
The show must go on
Inside my heart is breaking
My make-up may be flaking
But my smile still stays on

My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies
Fairytales of yesterday will grow but never die
I can fly - my friends
The show must go on
The show must go on
I'll face it with a grin
I'm never giving in
On - with the show –

I'll top the bill, I'll overkill
I have to find the will to carry on
On with the -
On with the show -
The show must go on...

Saturday, April 17, 2010

Either a man or a child
Primal expressions
Wrapping with jokes,
Only tools
That becomes distortions of the truth

Paid your share
Tried doing the truthful
Transcended over dignities

Appreciated… unknown
Understood… unknown
Respected… unknown

Priorities are clear
Choices are clear
Gestures misread
And passion gushing in vain

Save what remains
Of self
Memories, if there any
…Of spirit

Don’t lose faith
If you were merely a spot on a card
Don’t lose hope
If time ran into waste

Don’t dispirit
If you were snobbishly named pathetic
Don’t fall
If you were a laughter
Among soft skin vultures

When it is looked at
With reason
Away from the resentments and the wounds
What was as-granted comes out false expectations
The abandoning makes perfect sense
Though the sorrow remains still

This is it
More is yet to come
Life is ahead