Promise me!

Now I know why this song is my absolute favourite.It's not because of my childhood memories that have been pent up within its melodies....not because of the deep,thirsty voice of David Gilmour,the sound of the bells that move my soul or the mystrious lyrics(for I love mysteries).
Oh....you voice that are so dear!! Sing to me...
"Beyond the horizon of the place we lived when we were young
In a world of magnets and miracles
Our thoughts strayed constantly and without boundary
The ringing of the division bell had begun
Along the Long Road and on down the Causeway
Do they still meet there by the Cut?
There was a ragged band that followed in our footsteps
Running before time took our dreams away
Leaving the myriad small creatures trying to tie us to the ground
To a life consumed by slow decay
The grass was greener
The light was brighter
With friends surrounded
The nights of wonder
Looking beyond the embers of bridges glowing behind us
To a glimpse of how green it was on the other side
Steps taken forwards but sleepwalking back again
Dragged by the force of some inner tide
At a higher altitude with flag unfurled
We reached the dizzy heights of that dreamed of world
Encumbered forever by desire and ambition
There's a hunger still unsatisfied
Our weary eyes still stray to the horizon
Though down this road we've been so many times
The grass was greener
The light was brighter
The taste was sweeter
The nights of wonder
With friends surrounded
The dawn mist glowing
The water flowing
The endless river
Forever and ever"
This is always the way I feel when I have to leave people I love,when my life rapidly changes by the change of faces and places...it's like you have left a little bit of your heart with each and every one you love and then you go home not finding enough strength to go on....!!
But forgive me,Gilmour,for I'll fight the force of the inner tide that sleepwalks me away from my friends and colleagues.Even if this world is consumed by slow decay,I prefer it than a world where I can't see those lovely faces ever more!The faces that made my grass greener and the light brighter in my eyes,in my life....

يا أصحابى وزمايلى و حبايبى,

حاسة إن حياتى حيبقى مالهاش معنى من غير ما أشوفكوا كل يوم زى ما إتعودت بقى لى أربع سنين...يا لو الزمن يرجع تانى و آخدكم بالحضن و أقضى معاكوا كل الوقت اللى عايزاه!أنا قضيت معاكوا أجمل سنين عمرى,بس صداقتنا و حبنا لبعض مش حيضيع بمرور الوقت...وعدتكم فاوعدونى!

No page with this title exists

"و على الأرض كانت الجثث و الأشلاء فى كل مكان,و بالذات حول المخابىء.سأشرح لك شيئا عن هذه المخابىء.كانت حفرا فى الأرض مغطاة و مبطنة بالأسمنت,و كانت تصلح الى حد ما ضد الغارات الجوية,لأنه ما لم تخترق القنبلة السقف مباشرة فان المخبأ يحمى من الشظايا,و لكن مع المدفعية الثقيلة التى كانت تدك البيوت و الأرض تحولت معظم هذه المخابىء الى مقابر لمن لجأوا اليها,و كانوا يتكدسون بالعشرات أطفالا و رجالا و نساء فى هذه المخابىء,رأيت واحدا منها و كان قد تحول الى بحيرة صغيرة تطفو فوقها رءوس و سيقان و أذرع و أستطعت أن أحصى من الجثث الطافية..."

دى شهادة حقيقية رواها بهاء طاهر فى روايته "الحب فى المنفى" عن المجزرة اللى حصلت يوم 16/5 /1983في مخيم عين الحلوة للاجئين الفلسطينيين...طبعا مفيش داعى أقول إن كالعادة الضحايا كانوا إحنا و"كالعادة" المجرمين كانوا إسرائيليين. حسيت بالغضب و القرف و الذل و المهانة لما قريت السطور دى فحسيت إن ابسط حق للابطال دول عليا إنى أعرف الظروف اللى ماتوا فيها...دخلت على ويكيبيديا أحاول ألاقى أى معلومات عن المدبحة...مفيش! طب أكتب "Ein ElHelwa","Ain AlHelwa","Ain Al-Helwa" أى هباب أزرق...مفيش! يا سلامNo page with this title exists"

و الله ما أنا عارفة ايه هى بالظبط اللى مش موجودة...المعلومات...و اللا البنى آدمين اللى عندهم شوية إحساس....الناس يموتوا بالمئات...بالآلاف..يموتوا خايفين..جعانين...عيانين...كلها كام سنة و ينساهم الضمير الميت.كلها كام سنة و يتحولوا لمجرد أرقام فى لستة عريضة...كلها كام سنة و تفتكرهم بالصدفة واحدة زيى و تكتب عليهم كام سطر...الفكرة إن أنا كنت عايزة أكتب عنهم من ساعت ما قريت الرواية بس كنت مشغولة بفستان حفلة التخرج...بالمناسبة,تفتكروا أعمله أحمر وللا دهبى...طب أدخل فيه لونين و اللا أخليه سادة؟طب و حاجيب فلوس الصندل منبن؟ مش عارفة أصلى محتارة أوى...المهم إنى أكتشفت فجأة إن خلاص ذكرى المذبحة بعد تلات أيام...قلت ما بدهاش بقى...أكتب عنها يمكن اللي يقرا الكلام ده يفتكر اللى حصل من 23 سنة و يعيط و اللا حاجة...

The Self-Torturer

"Irritable bowel syndrome,right?" She asked with a stupid smile on her face.
"Yes." He answered with a more ridiculous smile.
A gush of hot blood rushes to her face as she pics up her bag and the bitter residue of a once healthy and strong little girl.She tries to hold herself together and face the eyes that meet her but it gradually becomes too hard with the tightening in her throat and the tears that have sprung in her eyes despite of her.Tears that have jumped to her eyes,slided over her lower eyelid and drew a couple of glistening lines on her face,brushing out her despair.Tears,tears: do I fight them...do I hold them back?
And so I took my way home,dying for some rest,someone to care,and I try to hush her,I try to stop her but she would just seize my eyes and maim my heart and ruin me all over.
Syndrome-hospital-pills,pills,pills,tons of poisonous pills,forever-forever! in hospital all your life-no-think you are weak-weak-weak-check into hospital every weekend-weak-bowel-nervous-those nauseous yet fulfilling pitiful eyes-colon-irritable-irritated-be strong-forver weak weak weak
She is not ashamed anymore of others seeing her cry.She crosses under a shaking fly-over.
I pass by my favourite collection of flowers,their amazing colours still glowing in the dark-fuscia,
royal purple,charming wisteria,with their sweet smell actuallytaking over me and filling up my hungry soul inch by inch...
She finally reaches her house....heads slowly to her room and shuts the door.
Silence reigns
.......................
You have done this to yourself.You have brought it all on your sick head.You have burdened yourself with the miseries you have invented and now they have appeared from thin ice to haunt you all over.You are disgusting.Look what you have done to yourself.And all of this for what?For that pigsty of a world?Becoming angry,then mad,then fuming,pretending to be too kind to hurt others so you dry yourself up instead.Look at you sucking your own blood you fool.
Drip....drip...drip.
She pours tons of blood into her hungry mouth and it does not make her sick,does not quench her thirst.She watches her skin as it slowly sinks between her bones...and the blue helpless veins trying to find a place to survive,but they are squeezed gradually between her blue skin and white bones...that they get too thin,too leafy themselves to stand thier own grounds.
I am going to be patient,not a patient.I won't let an illness beat me.I know it is much easier to express negative emotions...but I am just grateful for everything You have chosen for me.If everyday provides its own gifts,my illness is a gift I will make the best use of.I will not break down or step back.You must ride over misfortunes,not lower down your throat to be slit open...
"Open the door!"
But they cannot hear her in their ivory worlds...she closes her ivory door upon her forever waiting,waiting for it to lie down with all his weight on her frail chest and grab her soul right out of her nose with his strong grip.
waiting....
"Open the door!"
ha-ha-eh-ah-ah-eh-ah-ah-he-ah she gapes as she brings out her last breaths...but they cannot see her through her ivory door,tearing out her own dry skin with her protruding teeth..they cannot see her munching her flesh...enjoying the bitter taste,tearing out her colon,"Now,you will never get the better of me!"
"Open the door!"
How I love the touch of warm water as I splash it on my face,how it freshens me up and brings me to life...how it makes me see everything clearly,eases my pain as it gently strokes my cheeks..I will live with it.I will stand my ground.
And finally the huge,ivory door is pulled down...and now all the miseries,all the depression,all the grief 'one life contains' are brought out to the open.
Too late!
But nothing has changed.They turn away from the stale,stinking air she has left...They don't realise it is her at first-again.All they see is a pile of bones...with swarms of flies buzzing all around them...and the fat white worms eating slowly into her brain.
"Shut the door!"
I turn away from her as I wonder if she had any chance of escape..and I draw out a sigh of relief,reaching the conclusion that has for so long pervaded my mind...

By Midnight

I saw Sarah today...
Yeah she is real.
She came around and smiled faintly as I jumped off my seat and wrung my arms around her tiny waist...for she is my strength and she is my weakness...she is my illness and she is my misery...she is all that I am.
As she stood before me,her defiant eyes focussed sharply on mine...she did not tremble,she did not cry,she did not fall apart,but I did.
"How are you doing my dear?" I murmered.
What a fake question! What an utterly fake world we're living in! Where has your piercing imagination gone now,Noha? Where has the pen gone? The pen that would-
God,take my soul by midnight!
Here she was,standing before me,full of life,full of hope,whereas my eyes were wandering everywhere ...my mouth was half uttering half broken sentences..."I hope you are better now"
"he'll get the punishment he deserves" "the most important thing is that you're ok now"
"I'm sure you have become stronger"...........
Utter cliches!
Where is your powerful pen and passionate short story now? Where is your skill at making words? Where have your mighty words gone when your protagonist stands all flesh and blood in your reach?
Why are you now shocked,broken,trembling?
Have you made a protagonist that is more of a heroine,more of an artist than you are?
Sarah vanishes...and all I am left with is a fancy of her red shirt still leaning on the wall.
And now all the tears and all the screams are suffocating in my throat waiting to be released..forever.