Category Archives: Collaborations

Operation Smearoff by Osman Naeem and Ahmed AlRasheed

By Posted in Ahmed AlRasheed, Collaborations, Osman Naeem, Prose Leave a comment
Base. 1300 hours:

The world around General Heisenberg was clashing, as he knew war was immanent. The General gathers his troops around the table for his briefing. “Soldiers!” As he looked at his fat Sergeant, Roethlisberger and his 1st Lieutenant, Fritz. “We are under attack and we need to act now!” Looking closely at them he decides to send them off first. “We shall send in a squad, you two should be in it. I have already sent in Sergeant Colace down for recon, but he has been missing for sometime now!” A huge rumble came as the enemies fired a warning shot.

The troops gather up to be deployed, waiting for General Heisenberg to give the final order.

Behind Enemy Lines. 2 hours ago:

“Sergeant Colace, I need you to go down there and be my eyes and ears.” General Heisenberg stated, “The enemy are rattling the cages and we need to put a termination to it, only setback is we need help reckoning where they are.” “Forget about the pawns, I say we go straight for the king,” said sergeant Colace, who the army nicknamed The Exorcist. “We enter the caves of Kabaz that leads us directly to our destination, and then make our way through the Valley of Manhood which joins with the ocean from there the navy takes over” The General nods to the Black Operation and affirmed, “If you get wedged, you know we will be there to get you out, good luck Sergeant!”

Sergeant Colace salutes his General as he marched out to get ready for his mission. Sgt. Colace got into his scuba gear and dives into the waterfall, as he knows he should be careful, as he has entered enemy lines.

Operation Smearoff. 1400 hours:

The troops are ready to be deployed as the world around them clashed, war has began. Sgt. Berger and Lt. Fritz were to lead the troops to a fight they may not come back from, but it was for the better cause. The cause to free the world of agonizing pain and hunger and return it to what it was before, peaceful and calm.

“Operation Smearoff begins, this fight may be your last, or your first. In the past, you may have been wimps, cowards, thieves or dishonest men, but today you prove everybody wrong! Prove to yourself you are worthy of such task and that you shall free this world from the devil within! The enemies shall not have mercy, so DON’T show them any! Unless, you’re taking them out, TO DINE IN HELL!” The troops yell and cheer as they praise their General’s speech. Before, these men were from happy families that had meals together everyday and simply enjoyed the humble life of amity and prosperity. Now, these men will commence the most brutal attack on their enemies. Stepping off home soil to protect the world from the Axis of Evil. They knew they were taking all of humanity’s demons to hell with them; these men were called The Reapers.

Hope. 1700 hours:

Twenty planes in a sonic boom transformed to a few hundred paratroopers, the enemy grew tenfold, as the abandoned island of now seemed to run out of ground to stand on. The Reapers were weakened and they were tired, but they never gave up. They fought for independence, they had a cause. “tsht, this is Hotel calling all troops do you copy? over tsht” General Heisenberg reported on the walkie talkie. “tsht, THIS IS ROMEO, tsht, WE ARE SURROUNDED AND WE NEED BACK UP! OVER tsht” screamed Sgt. Berger as him and his troops were in a standoff between hundreds of enemies.

The numbers were in no ones favor as nature lost grip of its temper and rapid thunder sounded the coming of a hurricane, with strong winds and cold wrath, as the rain now joined forces with mother earth and muddied and bloodied humanity’s boots. This merciless force had consumed all but a few. The Reapers took cover in the woods that opened into the valley of Manhood. They ran towards the warmth of the dense forest that was slowly dying from the horrors of mustard gas.

1900 hours:

“tsht, This is Hotel do you copy? Over tsht” General Heisenberg has not heard from his troops for sometime. Communications was lost when the tsunami hit. “tsht, This is Hotel does anyone read me? Over tsht.”

What was left behind these enemy lines were corpses scattered everywhere, organs and limbs had become a part of the debris that is smeared everywhere. The place now looked like the aftermath of a torture chamber. Nature washed away its sins with a tsunami like no other, and there was no evidence of the loss suffered by the alliance and the axis. In the end, a white flag was raised, signifying the restoration of peace, and the exile of evil that plagued humanity.

General Heisenberg knew he won the battle, with the cost of losing his Reapers, which saddened him. He stood up, turned around and reached for the flush. He flushed down the enemies as he walked out of the McDonald’s bathroom with victory by his side.

“War is peace; Freedom is slavery; Ignorance is strength” by Hawra’a Khalfan and Quamar Al-Mumin

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War is peace.

 

“Abu Osman, trust me on this- people implode when you control them. It is only human nature,” her mother pleaded as she watched her husband explode with rage. I can’t believe this, I can’t believe this. I CAN’T FUCKING BELIEVE THIS. Is he actually putting up a fight? Seriously? There is no logic behind anything he is saying. What does he mean women shouldn’t drive? ALL women shouldn’t drive? Yeah. Sure. Like he would be where he is without the women in his life. He is a fucking tyrant. All I want to do is depend on myself. All I want to do is be able to take my life into my own hands. He of all people should realize that. Aggravating little shitty tyrant.

“Baba, this isn’t fair” I looked at him as my eyes filled with tears. “Osman turned eighteen last week and he already has his drivers license? What reasons are there that I as a twenty-one year old can’t drive, but Osman can?”

 

Her father looked at her tearful eyes, the wrinkles on his face got deeper and deeper as his snarky smile erupted. “Because your father said so. Osman is now a man and doesn’t need me to show him right from wrong. But you? You will always need my guidance.”

 

Her mother stepped in, she was starting to get angry but knows better than to raise her voice to Abu Osman. “Honey, just listen to her reasons for wanting to drive. I am advising you to let her do this because people do not take kindly to being restrained. Trust me on this. Trust me, please. Trust me for her sake.”

 

“I have told you a million times, Um Osman! I will not change my mind. This human nature you speak of doesn’t apply to Shurooq. We have raised her well, she has never disobeyed me, what makes you think that she will start at the age of twenty one?”

 

Um Osman closed her eyes, she knew exactly what he would say but she hoped that for an instant he would take in her words and truly listen to them.

 

This isn’t over. “Baba. Can you please just give me a reason as to why I shouldn’t drive? Just convince me? And ‘because I said so’ just isn’t a good enough reason for me, please Baba.” I pulled down my bottom lip as far as it would go and widened my eyes to look up at him.

 

“Well, for starters- how will I know where you are at every moment?” He gave a disapproving look. “You think I will let my daughter out in the streets ALONE?!”

 

“You know Baba, I can always send you a whatsapp location of wherever I am? There is no other way to send the location other than from the spot you’re in!” I lied. Finally, dad’s technologically challenged self is good for something!

 

“Men will still harass you in the streets, what will you do then?”

 

“Erm, well- I can call you or Osman to come bail me out of these situations because there is absolutely no way I can fend for myself.”

 

“Okay but you are a girl, you’ll definitely have many car accidents, what then?”

 

“Yeah I know I know, we’re terrible, but! How about you get the car fully insured and you won’t have to pay a fils to fix it???” Having to be a misogynist just to be able to get a little freedom around here, the irony.

 

“Shurooq I want you to have all these nice things your friends have, but the only time a girl can start calling herself a woman is when she is married with children. I think it would be better if you didn’t drive yet because who will marry a girl who has this much freedom?” He looked at me with a face full of worry. “Girls with freedom never become women because they are never chosen to be wives. What will happen to you then?”

 

Holy shit that escalated quickly! “Baba, I know that’s way too much freedom, and I am so thankful for it. I assure you, times have changed and a female driver isn’t a bad thing. It shows strength, and stuff.”

 

“And stuff? What stuff?”

 

“Well, you know, I’ll be capable of driving my six children to school and back. You know! Stuff!”

 

He smiled. “You never fail to make me smile, Monkey!” Monkey? That’s new. “I will think more about this problem you have, and will tell you my decision when I have one.”

 

Problem I have? That’s rich. Don’t get my license and it’ll be a problem YOU have. “Thank you, Baba! That’s all I wanted from you!”

 

Freedom is Slavery.

 

The silver gleamed brightly against the light of my room as he held the keys in front of my eager eyes. “You want them?” He asked, knowing the answer. I nodded my head, but kept my mouth shut in fear of saying something that might change his mind. I was scared that even an uneven breath would trigger something that would make him pull away the keys. “You have never disobeyed me before, this should not encourage you to start disobeying me now.” Nod. “This car is a privilege and not a right.” Nod. “You may drive, but under a few circumstances.” Pause. Nod.

 

“The circumstances are as follows, the sun goes down, your car must be already in the garage.”

 

Fair enough, better than not driving at all. There were plenty of fun places to go in the morning and afternoon anyways.

 

“I will have your car shaded to the maximum legal shade so that you will not attract the attention.”

 

I wanted to drive to places and back, I never thought of driving as a way to seek attention. But now that I think about it, it’s the perfect opportunity to check out what all the fuss ‘gizzing’ is about!

 

“No, and I mean absolutely no, music while driving. It will distract you and will summon the devil. There are enough devils already out there driving around, you do not need one in the car!”

 

Now that’s just pathetic. But, whatever.

 

“You are only allowed to look ahead of you, if you really need to look at your side view mirrors, you have exactly half a second to do so, there might be a boy next to you who will assume you are staring at him.”

 

And I swear to God he actually shivered towards the end of that sentence.

 

“Does that sound fair to you?”

 

Nod.

 

Obviously I wasn’t going to complain, I’ve been waiting for this moment for three years. I was not going to ruin it for myself now.

 

“Ah yes, and one last thing. I hired a new nanny who will be your driving companion. You are not allowed to go anywhere without her. If you are in your classes she will wait outside for you. I will be calling her every hour to make sure you are near her and safe.”

 

My eyes widened for about a nanosecond, but I quickly inhaled and forced a smile on my face. “Of course Baba, anything you say Baba.” I could probably pay this ‘driving companion’ to go off somewhere and leave me be. How embarrassing would it be walking around at my age in university with a nanny at my foot.

 

“Good girl, now take these keys and be very careful.” He carefully lowered the keys into my now sweaty palms, smiled at me confidently, and walked out of my room. I finally exhaled and sat on my bed, my eyes glued to the beautiful key to freedom at last. Of at least the closest to freedom I’ll ever have.

 

Ignorance is Strength.

 

It’s been a few months since Shurooq started driving, she followed all the rules religiously and everything was going according to plan. She managed to gain her father’s trust and confidence, while proving to him that driving did not change her life as drastically as he had expected. If anything, it has made his life easier by not having to waste his time driving me back and forth. Tonight, everything was going to change. She mentally prepared for the worst, but expected the best. I’m going to take this risk.  Instead of having to explain to explain to her father that it is her friend Sarah’s birthday party, she is just going to throw a few white lies his way. A mixed birthday party. All she had to do was convince her dad that she had to go to a tutoring session at university and that would buy her about two hours of freedom past sunset. More than enough to dance with a handsome stranger. She saved up quite a bit of cash to pay off her driving companion, dropping Marie off at the souq on the way to the party. Flawless plan! Nothing can go wrong.

 

Abu Osman was watching the season finale of Arabs Got Talent as he rocked back and forth in disbelief that his favorite person on the show just got voted out. Arab’s Got Talent was his one and only guilty pleasure and he invested a lot of time and energy rooting for the contestants.

 

“Babaaaaaaaa,” Shurooq innocently smiled at her dad with her eyes wide open. “I’m going to be a little late at university today, don’t forget!” He brushed her off as he motioned for her to be quiet. She took this as a good sign and tip toed out of the house, Marie, her nanny was already waiting for her in the car with the engine running.

 

“Marie, don’t forget! Keep watching your phone in case anything happens. If Baba calls- don’t answer the phone and call me as soon as he hangs up and I will pick you up. I will only be gone for two hours so be at the door waiting for me at exactly 8pm. OK??”

 

Everything went smoothly for Shurooq that night, she met a handsome stranger named Qutaiba who turned out to be a terrible dancer, but she couldn’t care less because at that moment in her life she knew that she could do whatever she wanted, and her family’s ignorance would be her bliss.

 

He Loves Me by Berlin and Taiba AlOtaibi

By Posted in Berlin, Collaborations, Poetry, Taiba AlOtaibi Leave a comment

He Loves Me

 

He loves me.

I know he loves me.

He told me.

Whispered it to me.

I felt it on my lips, down to my hips, reaching to the tips of my toes.

The way his hand slips against my waist whenever he walks by.

The way his lips curve upwards when he thinks I’m not looking.

A kiss goodbye, a kiss hello, and peppered with every gift he has given me.

 

I feel his eyes on me every morning before he gets ready for work,

Watching me.

Looking through me.

 

He loves me.

 

But…

 

He loves me                                                                          

 

He sees the hesitation in my eyes and wipes it away with excuses and promises and lies.                                

He pulls me close until all I could do is lay my head on his chest and surrender to his heartbeat.                         

Although I have so many things to say they always have to be said another day                                             

 

Because he is there and he feels good and he loves me.

 

He has to love me.

He told me.

Screamed it at me.

He always insisted that he loves me.

He works hard for me.

You don’t know him, you may think you do but you don’t.

You get one part of him,

His little rebellion.

His little escape.

His little drug.

 

I wiped his brow when he was sick,

I knelt by his side when he was crushed and raised him higher when he soared.

I was there from moonrise to sun down.

And yet….

He loves me.                                                                    

Why else would he keep coming back?                           

There will always be gaps in his life only I could fill.    

I handle the mess she couldn’t deal with.                       

I welcome the “him” she would never get to meet         

I fix his heartbreaks by filling the cracks with pieces of my own.                                                                                    

 

He was mine first!                                                            

My hands had held him for a longer time…                         

My lips tasted his before she even existed.                     

We had a whole life together.                                         

A whole story.                                                                 

 

And she might have invaded a few chapters but I was there in the beginning and he promised.

He swore I would be there ‘til the end because he loves me.              

 

No, he loves me.

But…you had his happiness.

Please don’t take him away…

He saved me.

No, you don’t understand, you may love him but he saved me!

He is my rock.

He is my escape.

He is my drug.

I would have been swept under the currents.

I would have been a tiger caged but he saved me and I will not let him go!

Please forget him. Please leave him to me. Please. Please. Please! Please stop.

 

You are breaking me.

 

With every moment you share with him you are ripping me apart.

 

I saw those little glances at his phone.

He inhales sharply at every ring.

His fingers flex as he looks at it. Stares at it. Then glances back at me.

That’s when I first knew. And that’s how I have always known.

A tone, a gasp, a look and he was gone.

 

He loves me but I do not have the right to the emotions that loving him comes with.                                             

 

Security? Jealousy? Seriously?                                       

 

While I cry myself to sleep at night, he watches her dream in his arms.                                                           

While I wake up longing for him, they share breakfast in bed.                                                                               

While my days are spent wishing for nights, he is holding her hands watching sunrises and sunsets.                                                                            

 

I can never confront or question or demand.                   

This is what I signed up for.                                             

Why should I even ask when I know the answer will always be “her”?                                                              

 

She has the “I do”.                                                          

She has his name.                                                            

She has his birthdays and Christmases and New Year’s eves and all the days in between.                                     

 

All I have are random nights                                           

All I have is this room and the promise that these four   walls will be broken down eventually. 

                                     

He claims to love me.

With every breath he assures me.

But then…

He hides his phone, he leans over it when he checks it.

He always checks it.

I see your number, only digits, no name, no picture, no illicit sign of recognition.

Why? I wondered.

Until I called you.

Yes.

I called you.

I heard your breathless voice,

I could feel your excitement, your stark energy ripped through me,

Your voice,

Your unmistakable tenor voice.

That’s when I knew he was forever gone,

He would never be mine,

I could never be enough for him though I have tried,

Oh god how I have tried!

Still, he gives me his sweet words that mimics his sweet smile

Before he slips away to you.

 

He called me the other night.                                            

It had been a while since we actually spoke                    

I was overcome by excitement!                                       

How are you my love?                                                     

I miss you!                                                                       

When will I see you again?                                             

 

Silence was his reply before the line was cut.                

 

I wanted to call back to see what was wrong.                 

I almost forgot calling him was a luxury I was never provided with.                                                                  

I just waited for another call that never came.                

 

I don’t know when exactly I have allowed myself to be someone I used to pity and hate at the same time.          

Someone who only comes alive at the sight of a certain name flashing on the phone and dies at the sound of a    dead tone.                                                                        

 

I start to wonder which I do better…                               

Live for him or die for him…                                           

I’ve become such an expert at both that I can’t even tell which hurts less anymore.                                                                                                         

 

He loves me…

I know he does.

I love him too.

I will crawl on my hands and knees, kiss your feet and worship you just to have him.

Would.

I would have crawled.

He loves me; however…

There is always a however. Always a reason, always an excuse.

Long cold nights. Long empty days.

I am stuck

No more.

I am stuck no more.

I love him. I will always love him but his love for me is no longer enough.

I have to get up. Like the rising sun I have to pull forward.

I am my own.

 

He loves me                                                                        

He will fight for us.                                                         

He will leave her.                                                             

We’ll be happy.                                                                

That is our dream.                                                           

We spend a lot of time dreaming…  it’s one of the things we do great in bed.                                                

And although the fantasy of it all is beautiful and romantic and perfect…                                                   

I spend more of my time awake.                                      

And the reality I wake up to is not as pretty.                  

In reality, they are one…they even have papers to prove it.                                                                           

I’m just the outsider who wants in.                                  

In reality, I am just the bastard who is tearing a family apart.                                                                                

Throwing away a future for a past that should have been buried the moment they exchanged vows.             

In reality, I’m alone in fighting a battle I could never win.                                                                                        

 

I am done settling for so much less than I deserve!         

This dream will never come true!                                       

I am awake.                                                                      

I am hurt                                                                          

But I am awake.                                                                     

 

HE LOVES ME

But never more than half as he could,

Because the other half will always belong to someone else.

Yes, he loves me

But I am gone.

 

 

-Berlin & Taiba

Collaboration by Salman AlKhaledi and Noragotcharisma

By Posted in Collaborations, Noragotcharisma, Prose, Salman AlKhaledi Leave a comment

SALMAN

Our Father,
Who art in heaven,
hallowed be Thy name;
Thy kingdom come;
Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread;
and forgive us our trespasses
as we forgive those who trespass against us;
and lead us not into temptation,
but deliver us from evil. 
Amen.

She comes to confess, golden hair and sundress, alabaster skin, a scent of sin, Rosy cheeks, glorious peaks…

She comes to me.
Confess my dear child, for I am eager for him to wash your sins away, confess dear child for the rapture is now, today.

“Forgive me father for I have sinned,  have mercy upon my weary soul. 
Forgive me father for I have sinned, the church bells are ringing.. I hear them call..”

What magic is this? And who’s this fairy? That glimmer is not to be dismissed, but it’s sure as hell going to make me worry.

Come dear child, help me with my habit, let me start a new religion, lets start a new habit.

From that carafe you hide, I drink my wine, into that mouth I will preach prayer, and on those lines I have to feast, maybe concur maybe defeat, but oh i have to dine.

On this alter we shall lay, eternity is a day, my rosary will be your nous, your touch gets my skin loose, oh I felt so bereft, for the soul to be stolen, grieve form of theft, breath life into my heart, for this communion, a sin is a start, so let me be within your hair, a mother should never feel despair, sister needs your heavenly bliss, sister needs you to undress.

Forgive me father for I have sinned… I prayed to you all the time.

NORA

Forgive me father for I have sinned… I prayed to you all the time.

And it’s all I’ve ever known. Praying. Whether its through formal holy practice or just by speaking out to You. This journey we have been taking has not been an easy one. And surely, will not end with me. Because it hasn’t begun with me. I know I’m not the only one.

We, the children of Adam and Eve just fall into the same trap our parents have. The effervescent temptations of Satan have long been fizzing away in my head. And ultimately it has led me to do this.

Forgive me father for I have sinned.

I know you know my intentions were not to fall into the bottomless pools of desire, but I am weak. I am weak and I never learn. I never learn that chasing after desires makes you greedy. I never learn that momentary satisfaction is all I receive. And I never learn to not make myself drown in regret afterwards.

But what is regret? Is it not the aftermath of misguidance? The giving into the allure and the submissive possessing it does to my mind. How it so nonchalantly dissolves my soul like smoke off a cigarette, dancing devilishly in the atmosphere. I need guidance.

Living being torn into two, the pure under lure, is not easy.

You’re God, You understand.

Collaboration by Kamanha and Merriam AlFuhaid

By Posted in Collaborations, Kamanha, Merriam AlFuhaid, Poetry 3 Comments

Vicious Circle

Kamanha

Merriam

 

When I first got a glimpse

Of his dark, intense, eyes

His long, bohemian hair

Framing those dramatic lines falling from his lips

I thought to myself:

Wow.

What a weirdo.

 

I said, “Hello.

Nice to meet you.

Where are you from?”

Just to be polite

But to my surprise the freak replied:

 

Haven’t you ever wondered where things went when they say, “Things went south?” That’s where I come from

The landfill filled with mannequins, inadequate hard shells synonymous with the living dead and hazardous unchastened ones

And must I add that myriad suns shine on us there but we –the aghast souls- do dare bask in the darkest masquerade of mesonoxian cries

There we are fueled with adversity encompassed by and married to misery and curse he who tries to defy the sleepless eye of the covenant of lies

You may call where I come from “The Dispenser of Distaste” or “The Disposal of Repose”

“The Broken Memory of a Place That Once Was” or whatever unacceptable name you’d so substantially oppose

I had so many fingers pointed at me in vindication of fought wars and revocation of so-called concord

So what if I got one more of those gnaws and what if I am thought of as every story’s villain? Or perhaps this conversation’s moron?

 

And that’s when I realized

Speaking and making sense

Have nothing in common.

I’m an understanding, open-minded kind of girl

But this…

Well, my motto is love thy neighbor

And because I believe in consistency

If you bought the house next door to me

I’d move.

That’s what I thought to myself

But what I said was:

“I’ve never heard of it,

But it sounds like a lovely place to grow up.”

 

Lovely? Did you even hear me? In case you are serious then maybe I should take an easier approach than the one I took.

Look…I came from a land where I used to gallivant in demand of someone who would understand where I stand before it all 

Started by the slaps of my mother’s hand after which I realized the amount of innocence drained from me

In the reflection of my pathological mirror, I saw and still can see what I lost to sophistry and what I have yet to lose

Impoverished of sentiment and abused by the vicissitudes of this bruise

A scar-to-be–at that time–and it indeed came to be inevitably, I’m the one awful friend your parents told you not to see

A permanent imprint of a hand on my face has sycophantically sealed my fate for me

I was given a hand to be a failed prototype of what I was going to but never got to be

If all this constitutes “lovely” maybe you shouldn’t start a family

You’re not going to be so motherly, as I can clearly see.

 

I’m not going to be so motherly?

How dare you judge me

Like you know me

Like you know one thing about me

You’re the one who fled and failed

To walk along adulthood’s trail

Rejecting any discipline

Doled out from your parents’ hands

Instead you cling to weak excuses

Tell tall tales of past abuses

Act like you were doomed to lose

Since you were spanked once in your youth.

This pain—

What pain?

The pain I’m trying to contain while my spirit remains bloodied massacred and in chains

Don’t complain about chains when you’ve cast them all away

But scars still stay the same

Would it still be a scar if it had a different name?

So, I’m melodramatic YOU viciously claim?

The question is, why aren’t you ashamed?

Am I to be blamed? Would you put on my shoes and go to the place from which I came?

You don’t know what I’m talking about so don’t act like you know anything about my impalpable bane.

Don’t act like I cannot relate

When I wouldn’t be myself today

If I had not been raised the exact same way.

Then you might remember when you were looking up to the same figure’s hand that connected with your face

Undressed of your utopia of a vouchsafing parent, on sabbatical waste of shame and pieces of broken trust misplaced

Figments of your pride aligned on your surface and formed a mask of askance as in how to smile politely instead of talking back

Fades to black every hope you had in having a right to sulk and ask why you were attacked and why would you deserve such an impact

 

Me and you…we are two pieces of nice and neat laces on tiny filthy shoes

Once attained this uloid bruise, we are tied too tight on adulthood’s feet all confused

Your parents slowly lose grip of you and they have no clue that you have been awakened from your childhood snooze

And now you’re cut loose and dragged across those trails you speak of but you refuse to admit that it all made a misused fabric out of you

 

You’re no better than me, and if you had a son or daughter don’t make this the future he or she will have to meet

This vicious circle is way too wide but who’s to say that you can’t sever it from right here?

I want to be the place my children can call home not someone they stay on the streets to avoid seeing

I know you’ve cried many tears and I’m sorry. But, do you really want the same cataract to be paved on your child’s cheek?

 

And then I felt words I couldn’t quite say

That yes, there were days when his rage

Was a little bit louder

And his slaps were a little bit stronger

And I couldn’t help but wonder

If sewing is for women like they always say

Then why is there a patchwork quilt across my face?

 

I cannot pretend I never cried.

 

But I didn’t breathe a word of this to him.

I simply said goodbye.

 

Now I stand by the bathroom door

A powder mesh holding back my flush

Wondering, can I bear to take my makeup off?

Or will my fingertips rip my skin

Will my blood pour out in poison trails

Staining me a hypocrite

If I dare to look within?

 

Will I do it again?

 

Or will this be the one and only time

I went too far?

Can I clip my claws before my hands are trapped as instruments of harm

Stuck strumming chords of pain 

In endless repetition

In blind composition of misery and shame?

 

I look down at my son’s face

At the blackened place where I slapped him earlier today.

 

I know my sanity has been eroded by denial

That to others my promises must weigh less

Than the sullied air I exhale

But if excuses are my currency

Then bankruptcy is my new reality

Leaving me with just a sense of urgency

Compelling me

To swear to God and cross my heart

That this bruise will never, ever

Become a scar.

 

Collaboration by Farah Al-Sultan and Shayma’a Ahmed

By Posted in Collaborations, Farah Al-Sultan, Poetry, Shayma'a Ahmed Leave a comment

Liminal.

Living a full life

Unbound

Abiding by the rules of none

I’m my own boss

And I answer to

No one

 

Difference surrounds me,

Avoiding to affect others.

I try to survive with it,

But like always

I search for a way

To live without it.

I drift from your world

To my world

To their world

Like a white cloud

Floating in the sky

On a spring morn

 

When in between

Belongingness,

Fulfillment,

Happiness,

Settlement,

Are thing you live without.

Oh but what wouldn’t I give?

What wouldn’t I do?

To belong with you

With them

With anyone

 

I’ve been on the fringes of worlds

For far too long

It left me feeling empty

A void

Boring through my soul

 

In a state of in-between,

Some gain the lack of objects.

But now I’m ready

Yes, I’m ready

To sate that emptiness

 

Black white,

Landing in grey.

Summer winter,

Landing in spring.

Another problem,

Is to learn and land in one.

Is there a glimmer of hope for me?

Collaboration by Fatma AlSumaiti and Batool Hasan

By Posted in Batool Hasan, Collaborations, Fatma AlSumaiti, Prose Leave a comment

 FANGIRL VS. NORMAL PERSON    

Fangirl: So, umm, I kinda like this boy…I want to lick his eyeballs.

Normal person: Ooookay. That escalated quickly.

Fangirl: Dude, I want to drown in his beautiful blue eyes. I mean, his eyes are the color of shattered crystals swimming in lake water… I just want to keep them in a jar!

Normal person: And lick them? Chew on them? Ahh I get it. Think voodoo.

Fangirl: One day I’ll lose my virginity to him.

Normal person: How about NO.

Fangirl: It’s just so frustrating, I want to run my fingers through his silky hair….and keep some of it in my pocket.

Normal person: And keep pulling some more until you have enough to make a quilt. Or a jacket, right?

Fangirl: Well, his skin is so soft…I want to sleep in it.

Normal person: Uhh….sexy.

Fangirl: Actually, I want to make bed sheets out of his clothes. And I want to tie him up. In a bed.  With black sheets. In a motel.  

Normal person: How about 50 shades of fucked up?

Fangirl: And ERMAAAAAGAWWWWD DUDE, He has a rather lovely voice, but it’ll sound better when I make him scream.

Normal person: Hmmm gurl, now we talking.

Fangirl: And have you seen his hairflip? Like I can’t eveeeeen. It’s like a unicorn strutting in moonlight….freaking majestic!

Normal person: Yeah, yeah, yeah. McDreamy hair…..wait-what?! I bet he hasn’t showered in ages, muddy and greasy!

Fangirl: Well, I volunteer to bathe him, that perf alien.

Normal person: “I VOLUNTEER AS TRIBUTE!” sorry. Seriously though, eww.

Fangirl: And his cheekbones….I want to polish his cheekbones, they’re soo…..hard.

Normal person: Ooooooooooh, that’s what she said.

Fangirl: Listen you ignorant midgardian, if his body was a canvas, then I’d happily be his paintbrush. 

Normal person: That’s actually kinda hot. And dirty. And hawt.

Fangirl: His eyelashes are so delicate like snowflakes, I want to feel them brush against my cheeks. And when he laughs, it’s like the world around us brightens up.

Normal person: BARF.

Fangirl: His fingernails are perfect okay.

Normal person: So are mine.

Fangirl: I want to dirty talk to his seductive eyebrows.

Normal person: Would you like to French-kiss his nose too?

Fangirl: I can tell the difference between his right nostril and his left, okay, you mewling quim.

Normal person: Dude, you’re creeping me out.                           

Fangirl: Oh shut up, I bet you 20 KD that he snores gracefully.

 Normal person: What? Does he fart snowflakes too?

Fangirl: Ha haaa, very funny. But dude, lemme tell you about his ears. I have this urge to tug on them with my teeth.

Normal person: My god, would you just stop! Who the hell are you talking about?

Fangirl: Ughhhhh, haven’t you been listening? I’m talking about Loki. The sexiest alien in all 9 realms.

Collaboration by Toby and L

By Posted in Collaborations, L, Prose, Toby Al-R Leave a comment

L
Here it is, the moment of truth. This majestic building always gets to me; I’ve visited and toured every inch of this place so many times. I have memorized every hallway, know every door. My dream school, the crème de la crème of all wizardry schools. Today’s visit, though, is different. I’m about to face my fate, and every time I think about it, I get sick to my stomach. The entrance exam is infamous, a challenge of one’s magic and a test of one’s character. I have been working so hard to get here and I will not let all my hard work go to waste. I will take any task they give me and impress them to the highest degree, and I will stomp on anyone who will try to get in my way.

Toby
Here I am shrouded in my mystic vestment and consumed by the charm of this transcendent place, nervous and excited. It feels like the eye balls on the hanged portrayed pictures follow me as I walk the corridors then through the divine library to the recruiting chamber of this magnificent wizard academy. The scent of ancient books whiff my face and a wave of enchantment goes through my chest as I enter. My heart-throbs ring louder than fighting swords as my eyes shelter the circle of strangers and highly advanced wizards along with the headmaster. Myself! My dream! And books… My holy trinity. “Who are they to judge me?” I thought to myself as I examined every line in their faces. In humility I swallowed my pride knowing this place will flourish my magic.

L
The headmaster’s office is at the end of the East Hall. The large doors creak open on their own and I lay my eyes on a beautiful room. Morning light sparkles off of magical trinkets lining the walls. I see crystal balls, ornate swords, delicate boxes made of rubies and emeralds. And there he is, the headmaster. I am in front of a legend, and am completely star struck. So much that I cannot even look at him in the eyes until he starts to greet us. “Hello everyone, it’s always exciting to meet new potential students!” wait, what? New students? Does this mean we are not accepted yet? Everyone has the same shocked expression. He looks down, smirks and looks right at us. His gaze looks like he’s looking at all of us individually, oh the presence he has. “You are not all students yet, you have one final task. Or should I say spell. All of you have to construct a beautiful poetic spell. The more beautiful the lines you speak and portray in a magic spell, the better chance you have to get in.” He pauses takes a step forward and continues, “This is not a test of only your magic ability, but we are also testing your imagination and creativity.” 

Toby
Creativity and imagination, I got this in the bag, I thought to myself. Then started to quickly and instinctively revise, shuffle and scramble the spells I know in my head:
“Ashes to ashes serenity to dust, fire to spire severity to lust!” But the baby phoenix is a disappointment to see, I yet need to learn how to summon the real legendary one.
“Gloomy golem of the solstice solace, unfix and hex this person!” Maybe I should cast it on this faceless manipulator, which would be the headmaster, to temporary turn him to a toad.
What else? Umm, “Children of the lost soul, hear my call!” Perhaps I need use this casting mojo right now to give me clear vision in times of trouble.
The children have whispered; your true rival is yourself followed by the last person to enter this room. She was a girl… I looked at her and wondered; how strong is her magic and what spells can she cast?

L
He’s giving more quantity than quality, I know what the headmaster wants, and I don’t think throwing all these random spells with no literary creativity is going to be in his favor. He asked us to have something lyrical and poetic, and I will give him something he will never forget. (Spell and what it does) I impress everyone with haiku, simple and sweet. Less is always more, especially with magic. The rest of the potential students all give their best and I’m left scared, not knowing who is staying and who is leaving. The headmaster stops us and finally says, “I am very impressed, and have come up with a decision.” Then, he gives us the surprise of our lives. “Everyone here was accepted all along. The reason for this is to show you all that in order to be in this school, you learn from other. You are a family…” 

Toby
With absolute joy everyone fixated their eyes on the headmaster, I in the other hand flipped my wand between my fingers and thought to myself: Family we are, yes! But competitiveness is cascading the air. Some may not appreciate our spells but in unity the true magic of every wizard in here lies deep inside our eyes, the gate to our souls. Because once you ogle inside the obsidian eyes…the fall goes deeper than the rabbit hole. You will find inside a wonderland with glittering sand. You will walk through snowy deadwood and find antiquated maps leading to tombs of sadness buried underneath the underworld and tunnels leading to happiness bigger than life itself. And at the deepest core of it you will read our wizardry magic in a written piece presented to THIS wizard academy.