What I wouldn’t give to be
Jay for a day: speeding by
on his roller skates, balancing
dirty dishes and coffee
as he swivels around and
refills mugs with a smile.
He moonwalks through life
takes every turn, adds another
plate to the wavering tower
and still slides forward.
After-hours when the pace
slows down and the chairs
have been pushed aside he spins
until all he sees are streaks of light.
Stars burst, minds blown
The bizarre disparity of this virtual reality
How did we manage to demolish humanity?
With barbed ideologies and peculiar stupidity
Hatching the egg of illusions
A splendid demonstration of failure
Worthy of a gilded medal
The alienation is successful
The smashing of individuality
Under the feet of culture’s footmen
Institutions and theocratic spears
Piercing deep the seeds of fears
We are all forced into a test
That is deemed to fail
We all think we understand
The unimaginable, the indescribable
As we take down the steps of chaos
A slow down glide into the ditch
The depth of the abyss
And once we cut through the blinding veil
And witness the backfire of darkness
The one history spent decades conjuring
A flashback of images will haunt our eyes
As the wheel of time loses its momentum
In an unreversed direction
Heading straight into a cosmic drama
Hearing the invisible mouth
Speaking pompous and posthumous words
Slicing the drums of our ears
How did we manage to accept this path?
Of a total destruction to our only home
Why are we too polite and obedient?
Why do we line up in this toxic corridor?
And willingly shackle ourselves
With anti-human chains
On a platform so odiously
And clearly intellectually bankrupt
The roots of our home are deteriorating
In the swamp of greed and decay
The one we all happily produced
With the bulkiness of our melted ego
The inevitable is undeniable
Unless we reignite the engine of consciousness
The home will collapse.
You tell me to cover up my skin.
That my laugh should stay coy and my words measured.
You want me to carry myself gracefully for I should be a lady.
My ripped jeans and expressive wardrobe offend your ideals. Continue reading
If you were a book, I would recognize you on a shelf
in a bookstore, among a thousand other books.
I wouldn’t judge you by your cover
or title
or by the horrible art someone else drew on your face. Continue reading
What she loves about being a writer,
is that she’ll always know what will happen in her story.
What scares her about life;
is that there is absolutely no control over what will happen. Continue reading
These words have been laid down so effortlessly,
yet passionately.
Who is the author of this book I’m reading.
A biography of twists and turns,
cuts and burns,
struggles endured. Continue reading
A rhythm of art has never been so
varied;
as wide and lively
as your ecstatic joy riddled with panging grief.
Your wars, your white flags and your weddings will mark
Windows of words – a million of them pouring in to my world
and focusing to make one blinding ray in my mind. Continue reading
I open my eye lids like a fortress gate
For you to step in the orthogonal domain
And discover the labyrinth of my mind
Please don’t be afraid and make yourself at home
The home of madness, the sanctuary of centuries Continue reading
“The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn” by Mark Twain
You have been in my memories,
since my earliest years.
Not that ragged clothing,
nor the star-bangled hair,
or your charismatic charm,
has left my mind… Continue reading
Cold stinging winters;
I no longer feel you,
you no longer bother me,
not in the same way that you used to.
My skin has turned thick,
my heart has hardened by what has become.
I no longer feel pain,
I no longer feel anything towards you. Continue reading
Gather me in your wings,
your feathers of power.
Fly me across the mist,
your curtains of enamour. Continue reading
It started in her chest.
Bloomed like a lily,
opened like a fist uncurling to show palm
fingers outstretched to prod against and bother what was unbeknownst to what still moved inside her for her.
It started in her chest and grew.
And when the x-rays came in it was there undeniably.
There like a presence in the backlight
like your eyes playing tricks in the dark
when you’re trying to get to sleep but some parts of the black seem blacker
except with this
there was no mistaking it.
No shrugging yourself off, falling asleep though fitful
and waking up with what was imagined forgotten.
It was there,
the unwanted guest that forced itself in
but the truth was the guest itself was family.
Baby cell born from parents split in half to give it life
but it betrayed them and it betrayed her.
And the heart beat on. I wonder if it knew.
Pumped blood to keep blood inside skin,
kept going kept going kept going.
Lungs still brought in breath and kept breathing
And the stomach kept digesting
but all that was eaten went to feed the monster in her body.
the traitor. Reproducing relatives that were traitors too.
I suppose we’re called survivors when our bodies turn against us but
it’s not as if we’re given the choice anyway.
And she was trying for one more day.
one more glimpse of her granddaughters’ smile,
one more forehead kiss from her son
one more bite of knafa
one more meal she could cook for her children
and one more time she could hold his hand
like they were kids again
he who had appeared like a dream when they were younger.
I suppose we’re all heroes when we’ve got something to live for.
And when the time came she knew.
Woke up her last day and knew the final chaos would begin.
It wasn’t a matter of giving up or giving in.
The growth decided that it was happening
and though all that was within had tried
the heart that had been beating stopped going.
And something in her loves clicked off as well.
Organs turned hard and hearts turned cold.
And tears wouldn’t come though they sat in
their chests like a stone.
They wondered if this pain was what she had felt too.
They wished for one more day.
But the days passed without her.
I suppose we’re called fighters when we’ve got something to be sad for
but it’s not as if we’re given the choice anyway.
In the hallway of time, that leads to the forbidden chamber of memories
I stand immobilized with my feet glued onto the polished tiles
The light recedes for the nightmares to invade the place like a group of mercenaries
The walls turn black, I stand like a shadow inside the darkness.
I merge with the nothingness
My feet crumble underneath me, I fall…
Into a field of dead snow; covering a grey grass with fractured leaves
Where trees are growing upside down
Their roots are performing an acrobatic dance in the dimmed sky
They curl and swirl above my eyes, they cuddle and struggle then drop a broken twig
Or is it?
It is moving… could it be a slug?
Leaving behind it a trail of slime
Of all the unworthiness it contained, it pulls its body, drags its burden and attempts to leave the field of dead snow
Seeking new horizons, perhaps a stairway to the lands beyond reality
But it is cold… cold enough to crack the ground open and swallow you into a tunnel leading to a lower level
Of layer beyond layer of charcoaled burnt ashes of forgotten words, names, faces and moments
The dusty smell ignites your senses, like a resurrection of the dead. Your dead heart-
And just before the complete surrender, to the dull emptiness… the slug grew wings
Not any wings… but colorful ones
It shifted itself into a butterfly
Leading behind it a silky wave of joy
It slowly wrapped me up like a mummy in a beautiful coffin
I opened my eyes again to the sound of the whispering slug
“You promised to never look back into the wasted past, you promised me to never betray your vow!”
I look at the vastness of the place I have been taken to, at the magnificent landscape hungrily waiting for me…
I then gently lean down and reply; “never again will I be a traitor.”
I have five thousand lipsticks in my closet.
Different colors.
Different shapes.
Brands from lands I didn’t know existed. Continue reading
There has been an emptiness in my heart,
where one resides like a hotel suite.
It is so strange that now you are gone.*
I stand taller
with plum lipstick
on my lips.
I wear my feminine as armor.
Stand in front of the armoire
and paint my face like a soldier
off to war.
I draw wings sharp enough to stab and maim.
Highlighter to blind them all.
Brush blush to make roses blush and
bronzer for watching empires fall.
I stand taller
with plum lipstick
on my lips.
I don’t dress to impress,
I dress to conquer.
Wear clothes to let you know
I’m the one in power.
I don a shade of burgundy
deeper than the blood of my enemies.
Seriously. I could kill a man in these.
I stand taller
with plum lipstick
on my lips.
In a world where anything associated with women is seen as frivolous,
where acting or looking like a girl is deemed as weak.
In a world where having a female body is dangerous,
where I’m beat down before I get the chance to speak.
I partake in the ritual
of prepare
for the outside
that will yell in my face if I dare look up.
I stand taller
with plum lipstick
on my lips.
And some say lips painted dark
are a shame.
That I’m too bright
and too loud
too unafraid.
But I’ve bark
and I’ve got bite.
Too proud
to obey.
I’ll wear my lipstick
dark purple.
I’ll wear the red
that is powerful.
I’ll wear the heels that sound less like clicks
and more like the beat of a war drum.
I’ve reclaimed control of my own body,
got my fists tight around the brush that gives me peace.
With makeup, I
am both the artist
and the masterpiece.
What is it in that bold rouge, that delicate rose, that electric blue
that makes people wear it on their lips –
their connection to the world, the deliverance of their words,
their vocal identity?
Let me start again.
What is it in that bold rouge, that delicate rose, that electric blue
that makes you think this is me,
this is my real identity?
You said
‘the deep red lipstick on my collar reminds me of you’,
but hell no, I’m not going to accept
this misrepresentation of my virtues.
If you judge me on my lipstick,
I could judge you on your cufflinks, your watch, your shoes,
But I’ll be labelled a gold digger,
Because materialistic are the women that you want
to follow you.
In this age and warped society,
the word ‘judgmental’ has been overused.
Societal norms based around business – school
‘face – value’ of the ‘products’ us humans have become.
The misguided magazines advertise the ‘confident’ pink,
May I add as a footnote,
to hide the lips that have been anxiously bitten for years?
I wonder why the world just can’t compare
a chameleon’s spectrum of colors to human nature.
In my balcony
Overlooking the haunted boulevard
I picnic my eyes
Into your curtain-less window
To watch you try on different wigs Continue reading
There it was all perfectly aligned
A single flower grew
Bright whiteness Continue reading
Kuwait Writing Club 