Category Archives: Waves

Waves by Dee

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When I was younger and more inclined to believe

Everyone told me their favorite lie

Like once when I was hurt, they told me pain came in waves

That it was a divine mercy so no one was given more than they could bear

And I liked the idea that someone was looking out for me

Because I didn’t know any better

But now that I think about it

Pain comes in waves because it is in its nature to be cruel

Pain comes in waves because it likes to grow in strength

Then, just when you think you can’t, when you’re done

It crests, and hits you with its grand finale as it breaks

And as it ebbs you start to doubt your memory

Because for a moment, relief siphons away the intensity of suffering

So pain steals back into the space left free by forgetfulness

And it is nearly as unexpected when it comes back around

Because pain comes in waves

And people are given more than they can bear all the time

They’re just not given the choice not to bear it

Waves by Eva Al-Meshal

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It seems that these words want to spill out of me, in no logical order…
Just the way ink spills onto paper recklessly and without a destination,
these words are waiting to erupt out of my dormant soul, spilling and spreading like lava – forming new islands of land inside of me.
I want to travel to visit them,
and sail gracefully through the ocean waves of myself…

Onto the next, and the next…

I want to absorb the fullness and the life of each syllable, each of the particles that merge together to form these islands of bittersweet tales and unexplored desires.
These words have been imprisoned for lifetimes…
And now, they would rather die for their freedom
than live in the dark, dusty corners of my mind.
I suppose I do not blame them.
I hear it is a lonely place there.

Waves by Osman Naeem

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Here I was, at the barstool, I mean, what better way to kick start the weekend than by spending your pay on cheap vodka shots and deep philosophical thoughts with your cubicle friends, who are all alpha males with beta reasoning skills and gamma temperaments.
Ten minutes past midnight and we were already spewing wisdom like snake monks, unfortunately, thanks to Basheer, and his amazing tendency to stir random substances that altered brain waves into our drinks. These substances were either made in secret laboratories or secreted by various life forms, our dear friend Ranjish Patel Kumar Turbanfulk jr was now Scottish and took his pants off because he wanted to feel the air flow through his legs and feel the comfort of a kilt. It doesn’t end there, he proposed a toast to God and said “My friends, hunks, hunkarettes, the lady with the armpit stains, we are all vagabonds roaming through nothingness in a search for bliss, and along that path, we have our own bandwagon that we think belong to. What we do defines us, what we define does us, like that lady I’m taking home tonight, and the closer we get to bliss, the further it seems to be. Now that is very funny, because bliss is within, trapped, in your minds, hearts and scrotums. Hey let go of me I am a citizen of this country what are you doing yaar…..” swear words and curses echoed through the back room as the bouncers carried his voice away.

While that happened, I had somehow teleported to this couch at least two dance floors away from the barstool that I warmed. I was beside the cornerstone of sexy and the centerpiece of “so damn fine”, my heartbeat was cosmic waves on a Richter scale, which is probably why I was talking gibberish, we were as close as distant relatives after exchanging private information because it is totally safe to share the dimensions of your birthmarks and your secret teddy bear with a person you met exactly twelve minutes ago, and you don’t even know their name. But I didn’t care, I was finally going to break through the crest of my purity as we winked at each other like we were epileptic. It was as if I had successfully aimed at a peanut through a sniper rifle fitted with a kaleidoscope, from a kilometer away, I had finally scored!

I insisted we leave and then decided to walk through the urban ghetto that this city had become, it was romantic, mostly, actually completely, because it gave us a chance to walk together through a cold night and I finally had the chance to cross out a line on my bucket list that included giving my coat to someone special to make them feel comfortable and cozy. We decided to dine in at Hummus Palace a block away from my apartment and ate the special “RegretMeNot” hummus, as we walked out while holding hands, a voice entered my left ear and told me I was going to have my first kiss in a really long time for dessert. Our lips crossed like shoelaces and then we brushed our cheeks together but I felt like I was rubbing my face against a porcupine. I now, had another reason to commit suicide by jumping into Tsunami waves, I had made out with the infamous queen of herpes.
I had made out with Ranjish. Patel. Kumar. Turbanfulk. jr.

Waves by Toby Al-R

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I hope you are ready for some random rage!

Because I am agitated, irritated for being facilitated to get levitated only to be dictated in a premeditated, disorientated system in desperate need to be rehabilitated.

The world is collapsing down, my mind is going haywire and the waves of anger are coming at ya!

Human beings… those invidious parasites, slowly climbed the ladder of the most brutal predators and managed to fail and f*** up everything around them then ironically and proudly claim the sanctity of life… And by the way; f*** consumerism and f*** advertisement too.

We skin the endangered animals only to make an expensive jacket… hello??? We dump a fish in a bowl only to see it circle around for a split second of our day and cage a bird only to hear it sing for our own disgusting amusement.

We kill nature by burning trees only to build factories to kill it even more. And everyone seem to be feeling just f***ing alright about it, because we are too busy shopping!

You know! It is just that cool to drive a Ferrari while there is a child somewhere that is too thirsty with nothing to drink, it just happens mysteriously that a liter of petrol to fuel your car is cheaper than a liter of water.

We teach girls to be plastic and boys to be bullies, we reward army soldiers, or should I say killers! With honor medals and crown a king for being a royal descendant to play judge, jury and executioner. So much for stratification… We just mysteriously forgot that we are all one specie.

I say “we” because the majority is not bothered, we flipped the table and turned this pristine earth to a board game, the puppet masters are playing their game and the rest are under global hypnosis.

It is Musical Chairs in slow pace, for once the music stops; a person, a company or a country is going bankrupt. Are you not entertained by the circus show? Then plant the seed of differences among those slaves, guilt trip them with religion, let it be their only solace, brainwash them to believe theirs is the right one, so you know… Murder can be negotiable… and finally lay down and watch them worship in a warship.

Say there is a monster underneath every child’s bed yet there is a child inside every monster. Turn freedom into something you have to fight for, enslave the mass under controlled debt, so even wiping your tears will cost money.

Tell the media that war is NOT the most profitable business which costs nothing but lives. Tell them it is homeland security against terrorists and mysterious zombies coming to eat your brains, trust me they will believe it. They already did! And are too afraid for their belongings and their Versace wallets, bomb those zombies, bomb them all! They will shout vain.

Control education and the capability of critical thinking, capture and assign the genius ones to develop weapons of mass destruction and educate the rest just enough to follow the rules, the rules we made of course.

Tell them it is natural to have poor and rich, even mention it in religions and let it be the words of God. Don’t you dare hint that the earth is the heritage of all, don’t you dare include this in the concept of equality. Let the structural violence emerge followed by hatred, envy and greed then tell them it is all… genetic, so we can have an excuse to build jails and get rid of those who fall in the trap we set and no longer fit in our box. It is like putting fuel into fire then get angry at the outcome.

Striking similarity in the story of God creating the devil then getting angry of him and whoever he influenced. I wonder if he created us in his own image or in fact we created him in our own image. I leave the enigma for you to solve, but either way both answers will result in psychosis.

More people died in the name of God than all other reasons combined. May heaven be their reward in afterlife. For everyone believes their God is the true one, it is a circle of stupidity resulting in thousands of dead fools. But let it be… the livings will continue the board game and slowly fabricate the rules to their interest, let the rich get richer and the poor get poorer.

Create viruses and diseases then sell the medicine, never forget the motto; maximize profit at all costs.

Make sure to strip off people’s individuality and maintain the sheep in line, for we have more slaves in this generation than any other time in history.

Legalize weapons but illegalize their use, because we are civilized and we have civil wars! We are special creatures, we invented; sacrifice, torture, suicide and necrophilia! Give us a credit! Let us rule these lands and f*** everything around… Until this planet is completely messed up and we are finally wiped out and vaporized back to the universe by the waves of anger… To embrace the stars.

Waves by Dina Al-Awadhi

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the salty sea air

so cold, so sharp

the waves are calling

the waves are calling

boat beating through the briny foamed waters

wind whipping the sails to and fro

the waves are calling

the waves are calling

hidden amongst the crashing sea green surfs

is a rare gem, shimmering, a marvel

the waves are calling

the waves are calling

and there she is,

beautiful dark creature

smooth silver skin, shining black eyes, waving hair scattered with seashells

she is calling

she is calling

at the edge of the boat watching me

she wants me, she needs me

no            I want her, I need her

her smile is calling

her smile is calling

I take her steady hand,

we plunge into the waves

but too late does she remember

that man cannot breathe underwater

Waves by Noragotcharisma

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A four-letter word could never have been so underestimated. Wave. In fact, right now my voice is nothing but a mere wave. My aura, my energy.

Those powerful flushes of water that could almost tip you off your feet when you’re buried ankle high in warm Banana boat coconut-scented sand in Julai’a.

That voice inside your head reading this while you’re silent is a wave too. But I bet the average Joes and Janes aren’t really interested in physics, or nature, or my energy.

The waves that actually “matter” to your basic Neanderthal are perhaps the waves and curls of the hair, or the waves of a female physique—you know like Kim’s.

Alas, don’t be disappointed, because that doesn’t matter either. You wanna know what a real wave looks like? A real wave is an infinite ripple effect of cause and effect. Of emotion and how the universe so readily regains balance.

You smile at that chick who sat behind you in Intro to Psych, took your number to WhatsApp you only when she needed to be signed in the attendance sheet. But why are you smiling? You’re happy and she’s just hiding behind her Versace shades. Congratulations, she just took your happy waves.

She’ll go on her day feeling a bit better that someone was nice enough to smile at her, knowing she looked perfect with wavy hair. So maybe she’ll go a bit easier on her nanny today. And maybe her “beloved” Mary will then rest that night because she managed to dodge the wrath of the Vogue-esque princess who knows nothing about life.

And then maybe Rameesh will wake to see his love so happy and well-rested, seeing her glowing makes him glow too. As she gives him breakfast, he can’t help but be in awe at how happy his sweetheart looks. Rameesh’ll then go on to drive in a state of pure positivity, being nice and letting people pass in front of him, not giving a damn about anything.

And then maybe Rameesh will be right next to you at a traffic light, you waiting for it to turn green so you can get out of the scorching heat and rush home to devour a mountain of flavored rice, with a chicken by its side.

And then maybe in the midst of your torture and boredom, among all these cars, you’ll catch a glimpse of Rameesh—and his everglowing smile makes you happy for him, because why shouldn’t a chauffer be happy?

And then maybe you’ll have hope, although you’re sweaty, tired, and hungry, you’ll make it home sooner or later, and all things will be fine.

And then maybe that’s what a wave really is.

Waves by Fatma AlSumaiti

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I have this urge to cry endless tears. It starts at my center. I feel it churn within this gap of infinite emptiness that is my heart. You broke my heart even though you tip toed around it. For years you just put your life jacket on and floated in the vicinity of my consciousness. I let you float at first because indifference was my state of mind. I let you float until I gulped in your waters and started drowning in feelings.  Feelings that made me notice your eyes. They were always brown, weren’t they? Were they always this deep? This talkative?  And your skin, it is the kind of white that does not amuse my eyes. Yet somehow, the way red creeps into your face whenever you laugh too hard or struggle to articulate a thought simply cripples my lungs.

I don’t know what’s happened to me. To my heart. To my mind that was always in command.

There is a fracture within me. I think it’s called love. You know when they say love completes you? I think that is a notion created by people who mistook love for a cure rather than a fist that takes and breaks your core into endless scattering pieces.  A propelling force that pushes you to its farthest limits and pulls you back as it pleases.

There are days when distractions steal your silhouette away from my thoughts.  I forget you. Your voice. Your eyes.  Then I hear it.  The sound of a crawling beast ready to lunge at me.   But it doesn’t lunge.  It races the wind and drowns me with a shattering force.

Tonight, I sit down on the ground and feel as if I am sinking into the massive hole of nothingness within my chest. I feel the urge to reach in with my hand and try to close that endless gap. Maybe diminish it and try to fill it with any emotion that is not nothingness. It seems as if this world of nothingness is stretching further and further within the borders of myself. Taking over colonies of my being and trying to wither them away.  I’ll wake up tomorrow and bury myself with distractions.  But tonight, now, I’ll submerge myself in pain.  In nothingness.  Because for the life of me I cant seem to remember how it was before your soul took residence within mine.

 

Waves by Batool Hasan

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“See you on Thursday,” I had promised him.

I hastily open the pink bag, which was hidden at the back of my closet, to reveal the pearly white bra and matching knickers I had carefully picked out. After undressing and putting on the lingerie, I open another bag. Mesmerized by the velvety material, I spend a few minutes losing myself in the void of black fabric. I slowly pull the dress on, careful not to ruin the black roses and delicate lace that line the short sleeves.

He said, “I want you as you are.”

The corners of my lips twitch in a smile as I sprint to the dresser, picking up the makeup I’ve chosen. I take my time to make sure it’s perfect.

Today is Thursday, 10th of January 2013.

Today is the day I’m finally going to do it.

I open the small, blue boxes of jewelry and put on pearl earrings and a single line of diamonds for a bracelet.

I run my fingers through my hair, smoothing out the small knots. I meticulously arrange it in a bun on top of my head, and slip a few jeweled hairpins around it.

He had told me,“ Suicide takes you to hell.”

Funny how that sounded more of an invitation than a warning.

I pick up his gift and pass the dull threads of his necklace between my fingers.

I leave the carefully written note on my bedside table.

Why, hello mother and father!

So, you found me, huh?

Was my body still warm?

No? Didn’t think so either.

You should be glad I didn’t leave a bloody mess on your overly expensive Persian carpet.

Let’s cut the crap and get straight to the point, shall we?

I think you’ve told enough lies to earn you a lifetime of scrubbing those filthy tongues. Don’t disrespect me by telling people that I was loved and happy.

No, father, I am now happy.

Mother, don’t bother prettifying my grave with flowers; adorning death with more death is just too fucking depressing.

Sorry, but the “You’re young and dumb” lectures didn’t balance the chemicals in my brain.

What a shame.

To my benevolent friends,

Well, thank you for the 15 minutes of pretend love you so graciously offered me.

Just a suggestion though, maybe you should use your immense wealth to buy yourself a good set of manners and morals.

 

I am not a sob story.

Sincerely,

I hate you all.

 

I step on his stage and wrap the tightly knotted noose around my neck.

I will die on my terms. By my hands.

I am the crime scene.

I am the evidence.

I am just another battlefield, soon to be buried under generations of dirt.

Right

Where

I

Belong.

And I will soon be a pile of decomposed youth,

Having no value,

Purpose,

Or use.

I kick the chair and dive into his icy embrace, feeling his frosty welcome spread through me like tidal waves.

Oh, how I longed to feel you.

Waves by Hawra’a Khalfan

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Chocolate! Everywhere! For miles all he could see was chocolate, and his eyes bulged out as if they were going to escape their sockets; Kit Kat, Aero, Flake, Galaxy, Milky Way, Bueno, M&M’s, and oh! so many Maltesers. He picked up one of the Maltesers packets, pried it open with his teeth, and raised it up to empty the whole bag into his mouth. Before he could even take a bite, he heard a faint voice calling his name, “Abdulrahman.”

 

“Abdulrahman!”

 

“Abdulrahman!” It kept getting louder and louder and all he wanted to do was to just chew on the chocolaty goodness that already filled up his mouth.

 

“ABDULRAHMAN!” He felt an invisible palm slap his face so hard that it caused all the small chocolates to come shooting out of his mouth like bullets.

 

He opened my eyes, and here he was, back again, to this reality- this dreadful reality. “Ugh,” he forced his eyes shut and could still see all the chocolate that was waiting for him. He forced them shut with even more energy, focusing all his power on going back to sleep. I can do this, I can go back to it! He focused. Why can’t I go back! Nope, I got nothing. Fine, I’m up but I am so angry at Mama. Why would she wake me up like that! At least I could have taken one bite of the chocolate if she didn’t hit me.

 

“I know you’re awake. Get up right now! Uncle Lothan is picking you up in 5 minutes to take you to work.”

 

“But Mama, I really don’t feel good today,” I knew this is a battle I was going to lose, but it was worth a try, anyway.

 

“Abdulrahman. If you do not get out of bed this instant you will make me slap you again, and I will not be gentle this time! Up. Now!”

 

He sighed, and said nothing else to her. I know we need this money, but I just really want one day off. I just really want to go back to sleep. Knowing that there was nothing else to be said or done, he jumped out of his bed and rushed to the bathroom. His mother always stressed the fact that him and his little brothers must use as little toothpaste as possible- to preserve it. He knew that if he was caught using more toothpaste than he needed, it’ll lead to a beating- but today his mother melted his chocolate world, so he couldn’t care less what the consequences might be. He went on to create a small mountain of toothpaste on his toothbrush as payback, it has so much flavor, it burns but it feels good, he brushed his teeth with a smile on his face.

 

He aligned his palm in front of his mouth and blew out a slow puff of air and inhaled it quickly to be able to smell his fresh breath. He now must be careful with his breath. If his mother got a whiff of how nice it smells, he is definitely get a beating later on tonight. Making sure to keep his mouth closed, he went to his bedroom to pick up the banana his mother always leaves on his bedside table for breakfast, and headed outside the house.

 

He looked at his banana and focused on the brown parts, pretending they were chocolate as he guzzled it up while walking to look for his uncle’s car. Uncle Lothan is sooooooooo rich! He thought, Mama said that his Corolla cost sooooooooo much money! And that he’s sooooooo lucky that he got to marry a Kuwaiti woman. Mama says we should be Kuwaiti. I know we aren’t Kuwaiti because they don’t pay to see the doctor like we do. I don’t know what we are. We live in Kuwait, doesn’t that make us Kuwaiti? I don’t know. Maybe Baba knew how to be Kuwaiti. Mama said that Baba died from Saddam. Since Saddam killed Baba, Baba couldn’t tell Mama the secret of how to be Kuwaiti and it died with him. Maybe even Saddam wanted to be Kuwaiti and that’s why he killed Baba! To get the secret! I bet Baba was strong. I am sure he killed so many men! Mama is too busy and angry to try and make us Kuwaiti anyway. I hate Mama, she is always sad and angry, and all she cares about is making sure we make money so Nasser doesn’t die. It’s not my fault Nasser has cancer, is it? I wish Baba was alive. Baba would give me chocolate, I’m sure! Maybe one day I will be like Baba and I will know how to become Kuwaiti, then I will make Nasser Kuwaiti and his cancer will go away! Where is Uncle Lothan anyway? He isn’t even here yet, she really didn’t have to wake me up so early and ruin my dream. I really want chocolate. Where is Uncle Lothan? He’s never late. Today is going to be different because he is late.

 

His train of thought came to a halt when he saw his uncle’s shiny new silver Corolla park next to him. “Hi Uncle Lo!” He said, giving him a toothful smile. “Where are we going today?”

 

“We’re going to Salmiya.”

 

“Ugh,” Abdulrahman hated working in Salmiya. The people were so rude and the cars went by so fast. “Can we at least go to the one near the supermarket? The bathroom will be close by.”

 

“Sure, son. Now look in the back, you need to sell thirty lights today. Can you do that?”

 

“It’s really hard to sell that many in Salmiya,” he looked at his uncle with a frown on his face. “They never want to buy them!”

 

“Just try.”

 

“Ok.” The rest of the car ride was spent in complete and utter silence. Salmiya. People pass red lights all the time in Salmiya. I don’t know why they don’t see me. It’s as if I don’t exist. They only see me when I knock on their car windows. And even then, they brush me off because they don’t want lights. Some people are nice though, they give me extra money, and they don’t even take a light! They just give me it, I don’t know why they don’t want the lights. It’s shiny! I wish they saw me. But to them, I’m part of the street. Maybe they got used to seeing kids like me.

 

It was now ten o’clock in the morning and it took them two hours to reach the traffic light. “I will come pick you up by this same traffic light at 11 o’clock at night. Here is half a dinar, go to the supermarket when you get hungry and buy yourself something to eat.”

 

Abdulrahman stopped listening to him as soon as he saw the money, his mind got preoccupied with all the chocolate he could buy. He gave his uncle a hug for being so generous and went to pick up the lights from the back seat. Should I go buy the chocolate now or keep it for later? If I buy all of it now it will melt in my pocket. So maybe I should just buy one chocolate now. Hmmm, which one do I want? He thought back to his dream and knew exactly what he wanted to buy, Maltesers! Waves of excitement hit him so hard, I knew today would be different! I knew it!

 

His uncle would get him in trouble if he knew that he was going to go buy the chocolate now instead of waiting. So he stood in place just long enough for his uncle to be gone while waving good-bye to him. He quickly looked at the traffic light to confirm that it is red and began to cross the wide street. His mouth watered as he thought about how full he was going to be in a matter of minutes, so he started walking a little faster.

 

The next thing he could hear was a car horn blasting loudly, but Abdulrahman had gotten very used to being honked at during the past year. Why is the car horn getting louder? Is the car getting closer? He looked to his right as quickly as he could but all he was faced with were the headlights of an SUV.

 

Abdulrahman Mit’eb, 8 years old, was pronounced dead on the scene.

Waves #LifeIsBetterInBoardShorts by Bader Shehab

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It cried and rhymed with these southerly winds, as Hajar and I, sat on those rocks, overlooking the slow, sporadic, sudden and at once subtle motion of the Atlantic sway. It soothed and cleansed my lungs of every air molecule as I, on every diatonic hole, exhaled the tunes of worrisome melodies of which, as though, seemed to harmonize and remedy with the violent claps of nature’s force against those moss and limestone.

We sat upon for an hour or two, as I eased off the harmonica tunes to listen in carefully over the fierce winds the 20-minute interval of weather radio update. “It ought to blow east any minute now” stated Hajar, as her silken of yarns of hairs blew back and forth in reaction to the winds. She looked out to the farthest horizons and continued. “I can’t wait to get out there!” I nodded in agreement, flipped my board over and placed it square on my thighs. I took a handful of wax and applied it on the smooth, shining deck of the board, as I proceeded with my normal surf routine rituals the weather radio sounded off. “Temperatures at a clear and cool 19 degrees centigrade, Easterly winds approaching at 28 km/h, ground swell at 240 meters offshore, wind swell at 12 feet heading south east off Devil’s rock coast, Agadir, low tides at 4:38 pm. Surf away!” Hajar glared back at me as she stood and zipped her lycra wetsuit up to her neck, at this point my heart pumped up a notch, all I hear and see at that point are roars and blues, to the far west one click out, upon whites of descending and perfectly orderly waves.

We found our ways down these slippery sharp rocks carefully while negotiating the balance of our precious surf boards, and atop the last rock fighting for dear life against the approaching tides, we’d hug our boards chest high and jump with one spring. We are met with cold, ocean salt water, as if toying with us in its majestic mercy as though in god’s hands we trespassed and in him we trusted, time and time again, with nothing but ply board-cut decks and bodies merely covered by the thinnest layer of nylon film or sometimes just board shorts. We paddled and paddled, and as the weather radio predicted correctly, counter winds suddenly appeared and we felt the water level under us, dilating to the atmospheric change and almost tuning visibly to the under swell that is bound to shake this coast to a surf spot. I looked over my shoulder and I saw more shapes and patterns of colors appear upon numerous surf boards above the heads of running surfers eager to paddle out and ride nature’s ferry wheel. As though the ice cream parlor drove by, a sense kicks in to the wanting of getting out there upon these limitless boundaries of Oceanic jungles. “How far out?” Hajar looked back at me with the excited look and glare she gets before she surfs. “About 100 more meters out to this way” I replied as I pointed to the south, a deviation of direction, so we can meet the swell just right on the spot.

We sat up on our boards after long paddles after paddles, shoulders sore and muscles already strained, but it pays off so beautifully, once you lay your eyes on that swell formation, tide change, the tail heading and the perfect tip aligning to the wave’s broad body spreading from coast to coast, increasing in speed and hollow pipeline set up, just perfect enough to surf, she is ripe and ready for a ride! “This one is yours Hajar!” she nodded at me and proceeded to paddle and paddle, catching up to the topmost edge of the wave, dropping in perfect glide to its body and surfing it ever so perfectly with textbook technique. She disappeared as I dove beneath the swell, and dipped my first wave off. Submerged, on the other hand, is another world. A top I eyed the cloud-like movement of the wave as it rolled away, so very quiet I could nearly hear my heart beat slow down, my lung capacity can last me 4 to 5 minutes, but if I’m calm and collected, I think I could stay down here a long while amongst the darks of these ocean floors. The buoyancy of my surfboard compels me to resurface and as I do so, I am met by another large swell, after swell forming graciously together and easing the tide for another larger wave.

I bodied my board as fast as I can and paddled against the tides, with one hand I paddled and the other I placed near my thigh the other one did the same as soon as the board was parallel to the rising tail, I felt the wave begin to pick me up and nearly flip me, but I counter her power with my weight as I stood on the well-waxed surface and took full balance square center, I’d use my back foot to steer, the tip seemed to wash off the board in reaction to my presence, a spray of salt water tackling my eye and taste buds, I’d grab a handful and wash my face. And here I was, in harmony and remedy with the ocean, time and time again. Waves slapped me around here and there, but nonetheless, I got up again and again. Swells of bodies of rushing water, barreled and formed a pipeline of a shape in accelerating, near-shore waters. But I got out the other side, with a scrape or two, but without a doubt I have. Hajar envied my surf exits so much so, that we spent that full day to sunset’s demise instructing and teaching her how to finish a surf perfectly, as she always had the habit of slipping or falling off the board when these deep ocean groundswell waves approach the coast and increase speed, which causes them to form into a circular, long pipe-like shape; which trick even the most experienced of surfers.

But she’s a fast learner, picks up things quickly on the sport and I am but a wave-shy of asking her out. “I really had fun today, thanks for bringing me out here!” she exclaimed and recalled what a day it was, as her hazel eyes glanced back at the setting sun off the Moroccan coast with passion, while the tides eased off in a westerly direction as if waving us goodbye. I inhaled as much I could and muttered with feigned confidence “Was wondering, if you’re free tonight, we could, you know… grab a drink or bite to eat, whatever you want, I mean…there’s this nice sea food place by the…” I slowed down as she fixated her eyes upon mine, and I was instantly lost in hers, she then broke into a small chuckle, the orange skies seemed to compliment her blushing cheeks, she carefully uttered a “yes, sure…” while scanning her feet dipped in the sand.              

Waves by Merriam AlFuhaid

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Liquid pools beneath my skull

Clear to the touch

With a taste of blood

Am I awake?

I’ve been baptized and revived

They tell me I am born again

That my old life had to die.

But I am alive

Just gutted

My voice drowned in the desert sea

My skin wrung out in the sun to dry

Or die

But no more salty tears for me

Can’t you see?

I’m perfect now

Everything you wanted me to be

An empty shell

Prepared to let you forget

What you can’t understand

That every pearl you covet so

Came from a grain of sand.

 

But instead you disturb the surface of the water

To make me a mirror

Of all you think you are

And you succeed

Because I want to break free

But I am nothing

If you’re not smiling into me.

Are you satisfied?

The waves have done their job

And every pore of me is pure

My once sweaty palms are clean

I will never want what I shouldn’t want ever again

I will never dream another improper dream

Never have another disrespectful word to say

Are you happy now?

You’ve washed my soul away.

Waves by Tifa

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Four years riding a wave of love: that’s what it was like, being with you. The highs were high, but the lows pulled me down, down, down: drowning.

Four years: a lifetime, it seems. But now you are out of my life. The waters have calmed and I the sea is peaceful, inviting. Gentle rolling waves beckon. No more highs, no more lows. No more you.

Four years: some might say I gave up. Did I? Not I. I, who would stand by your side, always loyal, always there. I did not see that I was the strong one all along.

When the waves began to frighten me with their power, to pull me under so that I lost my footing, my balance, my sanity: then I saw the truth. It was not that I did not care about you. You did not care: About yourself. About me. I knew then that I would be left to ride the waves alone, and that is not how I want to live my life.

Waves: from a distance, so beautiful, so powerful, so appealing! I wanted to ride them with you. But that same power and beauty turned out to be deceptive. Waves are dangerous. Beguiling. If you cannot trust your partner, you are safer to ride them alone. One false step is one too many: it took me four years to learn this.

Oh, you would say, we are together, we are one. But I began to see that you were on your own path. I could come along, but in the end you would leave me in your wake. I gave. You took. I believed in you, in us. You believed too – in you.

Four years: how does this happen? How does a love built on solid ground become an unstable ride on dark, icy seas? How does love turn to treachery? How did this happen to us? To me? What did I not see?

Four years: in the beginning, you made me whole. You taught me how to shine. You found my best parts and taught me how to use them. Then you used me. But you also taught me to believe in myself, and soon I did. In the end, this saved me from the plunge into uncertain icy waters, into darkness, into the abyss.

Four years: how, after you had made me whole, made me love you and made me believe I loved myself, how did it come to this?

Each wave was a hazardous ride. The exhilaration of riding side by side with you had once strengthened me; somehow, this turned into fear. Instead of joy, there was terror. You were riding the wave alone, after all. I thought you were my safety net. More often than not, I was yours.

Four years: they seem like a lifetime. But my life is not over yet. I can face the seas alone now, knowing that I am strong enough to master them myself. The white foamy sea, the powerful tug of the universe, the ability to ride things out and remain standing and victorious: these are now mine.

When I choose to let someone else into my life, I will be wiser. All because of four years

Four years with you.

Waves by Berlin

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If all the studies I’ve read are true then you must be hearing me now.

I hate you.

We spent the last few weeks talking…

reminiscing…

laughing

and now here I am listening to your parents debate whether to pull the plug or not.

“He had fought enough”, your mom said.

“3 years of that much pain is enough”, she continued.

3 years.

3… years?

This is probably not the best time to make this about me, and I know you despise how I tend to do that… but 3 years?

How could you have kept this from me?

How could you have wasted so many days listening to me blabber about people you haven’t even met?

How could you have let me bore you with stories about work?

How could you have let me go on and on about my non-existent love life?…

When we should have talked about this.

About YOU.

How could you have not said anything, knowing that every goodbye might have been the last?

I wouldn’t have known what to do,

I wouldn’t have had the solutions

But I would have been there for you.

Really there for you.

I would have held your hand.

I would have carried you if you needed me to.

I would have traded smiles for your tears.

I would have been…

A friend.

Why didn’t you give me that chance?

We shared the best, the worst and the ugliest; how could you have thought this wasn’t worth sharing?

You were struggling.

You were in pain.

You were fighting for your life.

You were dying goddammit!

“He didn’t want you to worry” your mom comforted me.

“When the time came, he asked me to apologize to his friends for…”

“Dying?” I asked without thinking.

She smiled wryly.

“Dying” she nodded and watched you with her tired bloodshot eyes.

I had to blink back the tears.

If your friendship is any indication,

then I can only imagine how hurt she must be to be losing her son.

Come back, please?

I swear I will not bother you with my usual nonsense.

I will not even complain about your singing, no matter how excruciating I think your voice is.

I will listen to it all day if I have to.

Come back.

Sing.

Tease me about my weight, about my inexplicable fondness of skinny jeans.

Irritate me with your unsolicited opinions on my dating habits.

Berate me with silly questions that you so love asking.

Force me to laugh at your old corny jokes.

Just… come back.

Be… you again.

“He was so scared to be seen like this you know? It’s not the way he wanted to be remembered.” Your dad explained, wiping an invisible tear from your cheek.

I just nodded.

My eyes were fixed on your pale face.

On your cheekbones that used to be a lot plumper.

On your dry chapped lips.

Staring at you, all I could think of was your laughter.

It’s distinct sound.

The way it makes your eyes crinkle on the sides.

The way it makes your mouth occupy half of your face.

The way you turn into a 10-year old each time you found something funny.

You see?

You were wrong…

I’m staring at you now and I am telling you, you have nothing to fear because no one will remember you as this sick little person.

You will never be reduced to being just your disease.

You LIVED!

You were someone’s wonderful son.

You were someone’s great love.

You were someone’s best friend…

You…

You were my brother.

You are.

I love you.

I just wish I showed you more often, or when it really mattered.

I should have been there for you.

I’m sorry for assuming we had forever.

“It’s time”, your mom told me.

We stared at each other for a moment and collapsed into each other’s arms.

Your dad pulled us aside to make way for the medical team.

“Remember him” your dad pleaded, putting his hand on my shoulder.

“I will never learn how not to” I assured him.

They say brain waves surge moments before death.

If that is true, then there’s no better time to tell you this…

I.

WE.

Will never forget.

Waves by Lucy Moore

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Waves or An open letter to Nutella or 9 reasons I hate you, I love you, hate, love, hate, love you…

To my smooth, chocolaty friend

1 – The very sight of your jar can bring a smile to the most bitter of men but I know under that glossy exterior is a dark and sinister side to you

2 – No matter how hard I try I can’t stay away from you, you’re my hearts friend yet the sworn enemy of my tummy

and 3 – I thought you were not good enough for me, however, you’re made of nuts which are brain food, milk to give me calcium and chocolate… derived from cocoa, which grows on a tree which kind of makes you like salad

4 -It has been 48 and a half minutes since we parted ways. And when they say absence makes the heart grow fonder they are not lying. Because I’m already craving to have you back in my sight. but I’ve seen you reduce grown men to a whimpering mess, when after finishing off a jar of you they’re left craving more

5 – You’re one part friend who listens to my problems, one part study buddy because for each page I allow myself a spoon and two parts evil diet foe

6 – I smother you on to freshly baked, buttery bread and you ooze into the cracks, dribble down my fingers and I shudder as waves of guilt, oh no wait that’s pleasure run through down my torso

7 – You are wickedly addictive, even the most unfaithful follow your heavenly cult and like a demigod we give you pride of place in our kitchen shrine

8 – You go with anything, pancakes, waffles, in pudding, on pudding, fruit, cookies, brookies, brownies. I can find you everywhere, I cannot escape you as your whore yourself around every desert menu in the country

9 – I could spread you anywhere which is proving difficult to explain when I’m out in public…