…… و لكن

for Jillian’s article on Razan  click here

موقع الثورة  مستمرة: إضغط هنا

you do not grow old till …

…. you stand for something you do not understand.

…. a good sleep is like your first shave, just a distant memory .

…. you avoid to look at the mirror.

…. from time to time you check if your shadow hasn’t left you yet.

…. death and making a cup of coffee becomes a matter of time management.

…. you see yourself unscrewing your head and kicking it away.

…. you feel like a bag full of broken glass,  broken yet breakable.

…. you do not jump off a bridge out of politeness.

I hate the term grow old, we do not “grow” but wither away

or may be it is just me

P.S. this was written in the heat of Libyan civil war late March 2011, now there is more hope than gloom

أدخل علي هذه المدونة و أشعر و كأن أدخل إلي بيت قد خرج أهله و سيعودون  قريبا و لا أدري كيف سأبرر لهم وجودي هنا

مدونة من هذه ؟

I tried to translate this poem but I could not, how would anyone translate such pain.

The story behind poem goes like this, The lady “Haja Hamaalah” has lost two sons “Salem” and “Breik” in the notorious abou Sleem’s massacre.

She was waiting for their return for years while they were dead, she was told by the Ghaddafi’s Regim that they were well and safe. More than 12oo political prisoners were executed in one day in the Abou Sleem Jail. The regime did not inform the families for years and untill today no one knows where the victims are buried.

the poem it self:

she pegs her eyes not to bring the images of her sons to her, she closes her eyes when she says that verse as if she is still hunted by their images, she goes on to say that she does not want to remember their presence nor the hour they were taken in. Her longing to them is beyond the capacity of her mind.

She describes the hour in which her family heard the news of the her sons death as if she is a witness not a victim her self (in a beautifully selfless way) then she prays to god to give the rest of her family the strength to forget.

She then remembers how foolish she was believing the government officials (Dogs) when they said her sons were alive.

She explains how she carries the pain through the day and the night and that she is living only because her time has come yet.

Notes:

• This is not a translation, not even near. I do not think you can translate it if you have a shred of a soul in you.
• The poem does not have any anger in it, just the pain of a wounded mother
• Haja Hamaalah died few weeks ago not knowing where her kids were buried !

 مغير إصبري ياعين لاتطريهم

بريك وسالم لي لا تجيبهم
لا تجبدي سيرتهم ولا تجبدي الساعه شالتهم

ناء طامعهم قبل في جيتهم

واليوم مايساوي العقل شوقه فيهم

مشوا في سوقه بريك وسالم يابعاد الشوقه

ما حسبت خباره تجينا سوده

على الإثنين إللي نراجو فيهم

جتنا بوقه.. إساعه حداش على سماح التوقه

تمت معانا نارهم موقوده يوم الخبر ياما صار ياما فيهم

 تمت عشيه..  صالح يغرد والدمعه سخيه

علي بريك وسالم ماشيين ضحيه

ونحنا غافلين ماعلمنا بيهم

ننشدوا في كلاب على قصاد النيه

يقولوا طيبيين وما سو يجيهم !؟

ما حسبت نبقى بلاهم حيه

غير الأيام لابد ما نوفيهم

كاتبه مولانا غيباهم هلي لهم حدود منان

ا خلوا خوتهم سامرين حزانا

لا الدمع كف ولا النوم يجيهم

نا طالبه من ربنا سبحانه نريده يصبرهم وينسيهم

تجبدي غيابي بريك وسالم من خيار شبابي

نا اليوم خلوني مغير نكابي

ناخذ الليل ونا نهاتي بيهم

ما تجبدي منامي بريك وسالم كانهم قدامي

ننقانهم قهروني في عقاب زماني

إمفيت يصبرني الله عليهم

ما تجبدي الرفاقه

بريك وسالم إللي لهم مشتاقه

ننقانهم عقوني اليوم شينك عاقه

لا مغير علينا لا مغير عليهم

إصبري ياعين لاتطريهم

بريك وسالم لي لا تجيبهم

شعر المرحومة الحاجة حمالة

… hence I am from there, I am a Libyan

I have not written here for so long that I wonder if it is worth keeping a blog. there are far too many topics to write about but lately I feel like a dry well, no matter how much it rains it stays waterless.

every now and then I have a “to write list” but I never keep my promises. Today I would like to share with you my latest “to write list”. may be one day I will go through it and do something about it.

To Write List:

1- the Internet States (short story)

A short story based on an imaginary world in which virtual (on line) states became part of the pop culture. the story is a reflection on the dynamic definition of “Identity” and the evolution of the language in parallel to that. I wish it to be a dark comedy. I did not work much on it, I only have the basic idea of the story and that you can upgrade your identity using the iDentity application

2-  War and Peace

A series of satire articles about the current political affairs in the Arab World and the region.

3-YAWAHAN (a long short story)

After I have reading Camus’s “outsider” and Sartre’s “nausea”, I always thought that a third story is needed. I do not dare claiming that I would write something that can be compared to Camus’s or Sartre’s writing. Yawahan is ,simply, a suggestion of what I wish someone else have written.

4- the League of the Pathetics  (a series of short stories)

A series of short stories written by a clinically depressed  author, his (or her,  gender is not decided yet) aim of writing these stories is to feel better about herself\himself by toying with the characters in a cruel way but sometimes the stories get developed in manner that distress or pleases the author in unexpected ways. I have few thoughts to kick of the series but have not written a word yet.

5- rewrite “the undertaker of Baghdad” (a Play)

to those who do not know, this was a script I have written for a couse I a screen writing couse I took sometime ago, I wish to rewrite it as a play but never got the chance to do so.

6- “an ungodly hour” (a series of short stories)

the stories are in a near future world in which the scientific advances lead to ability of capturing the consciousness of dead people, that lead to a human made judgment day and a human made hell and heaven.

so this is my list and who knows, I might do something about someday