Category Archives: Writers

Traitor by Rawa

By Posted in Poetry, Rawa, Traitor Leave a comment

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.

Traitor by Toby Al-R

By Posted in Poetry, Toby Al-R, Traitor Leave a comment

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.”

Traitor by Bader A. Shehab

By Posted in Bader Shehab, Prose, Traitor 1 Comment

Remember back in Rabat?
When the wind blew against our cheeks,
with it sticks to your derm the sea salt, on the edges of your nostrills: the fresh bakery, the durum wheat stew, and the remedies of their hands.

Do you remember before I left the city? The promises we made,
from the cradle to the grave,
you know how we would not desert one another and whatnot,
it was all that repetitive cliché and hopeless romances,
which we episodically performed on every Tuesday night while the retired blues band played their sorrowing sway away into the haze. We danced and I held your hips, from ballroom to ballroom, wasn’t that fun back then?

Do you recall and find it in your heart the first night I got on stage for you? The Parisian one-man theater, I mastered and learned, just for you. All I wanted was to see your smile under the moonlit starry nights, amongst the many faces in the candlelights. Then I got in the fighting ring for you and lost touch with my senses when I bled and sweat for you, you chanted my name in the echoes of the stadium, amongst the crowd you were all I could see and hear.

Do you remember when I carried you across the Andalusia park to the car when it rained heavily so that you don’t ruin your Tom Fords? Do you remember when I held your long and slender body along the flat board as you swallowed salt water on tiny baby waves trying to learn how to surf? That was fun, wasn’t it?

Do you remember when I watched you walk across the ocean lines, the winds playing on your summer dress, the sea weed sticking on your ankle lace, and the sand under the edges of your nail polish. Do you remember? That Spanish song that goes “Baila, Baila Mi” and we promised we’ll keep it as our song and we’ll play it for our children one day, how does one move on and simply forget all about that? The sounds that I hear as I ask myself such questions are nothing but fainted heartbeats and cringing doors closing. Good bye to my yesteryears, please do write me back, pick the pen up sometime.

Lipstick by Areej

By Posted in Areej, Lipstick, Prose Leave a comment

“You go on ahead. I’ll just throw this out,” he nodded, his mouth twisting into a half-smile of pursed lips and sunken eyes. As she left, he watched the bell above the door ring once, twice, three times, announcing her departure. She won’t be calling him back. Their corner table had been slightly uncomfortable, but it served its purpose. Five coffees were made behind the counter; the timer going off at one-minute intervals. Continue reading →

Lipstick by Rawa

By Posted in Lipstick, Poetry, Rawa Leave a comment

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.

Lipstick by Manasi

By Posted in Lipstick, Manasi, Poetry Leave a comment

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.

Melancholy by Hind

By Posted in Hind, Melancholy, Poetry Leave a comment

Her daughter is ill. She spent the last four weeks packing clothes for her because the treatment made her too weak to walk.

“They say the operation is risky,” she tells me.

I try to study her face, but the window behind her lets in too much sunlight. She is a talking silhouette. Continue reading →

Melancholy by Toby Al-R

By Posted in Depression, Melancholy, Prose, Toby Al-R Leave a comment

I took a pause and thought about the idea of depression, but I swiftly came to the conclusion that I and the idea are mutually divorced. I found inner peace long ago and I can’t seem to even remotely relate.

So I sat on my wooden mahogany desk, while resting my chin on my interlocked fingers; staring at a small statue of a stony Socrates face. It gazed back at me with its devious eyes and emitted to my mind gloomy visions of futuristic epochs.

Continue reading →

Melancholy by Manasi

By Posted in Depression, Manasi, Melancholy, Poetry Leave a comment

Seas and oceans. Does it matter? It’s all the same anyway – the monochrome blue, the earl grey with a stain of sorrow, and the frothy slush that clashed against itself to cease into mist.

The cascading rocks, jagged to the core pierce more than the thin screen of her skin. Continue reading →

Melancholy by Merriam AlFuhaid

By Posted in Melancholy, Merriam AlFuhaid, Prose Leave a comment

The teardrop diamond earrings hung from her ears and glistened in the electric light, a hundred reflections dancing on the wall. I have seen perfection, and it was not in the mirror.

Harsh words have been thrown against me like pebbles against a windshield. It is difficult to break all the way, to be in such divided pieces that others would try to repair them. But it’s so easy to crack. Continue reading →

Melancholy by Nouf

By Posted in Melancholy, Nouf 1 Comment

The sun has risen with some tears falling down from the sky to touch my window. I started to confuse them with the ones falling from my eyes.
I immediately knew that today would be the day I search for the black items in my closet. As the darkness in front of my eyes, I can’t see anything but blackness overtaking my light, blackness overtaking my existence and sight.
Out of the window, I saw my spirit drifting through the grey clouds. Maybe it couldn’t take the despair which was living as a huge pond inside?
It was speaking from above: Oh world, don’t you shame me for my sadness, don’t you start denying it in you, or me. In a world where it’s  preferable to see the faces of the broken hearts with smiles, I’ll love my grief. I’ll love it until it loves me back and may leave. And you dear world, all you did was put expectations upon us and feed us greed. Your greed, which let us hate ourselves, believing if we did so, our success will exceed.
In a world which loves happiness, yet provides us with all kinds of despair to grow as seeds, I’ll keep my grief. And no, I’m not a joke because I let myself feel. Stop trying to interfere with my mind with your fear of fear. When you remember me lowering my wings to let others step on, for I thought with Utopia, they too had wild dreams.
And you keep convincing yourself of my hypocrisy, every time you hear the word God from me. But now I’m giving up to be understood, I’ll leave you with what you deem. And put the shame you’re imposing aside, for all you are doing is just projecting your fraud.
But know that you can always break my wings, and in my soul you can leave a breach.  Apathy is a state I can never let myself reach.
Now I’m coming back to my place to wear black clothes, and with my broken dreams, I’ll just have a day of grief.

Seeds by Hawra’a Khalfan

By Posted in Hawra'a Khalfan, Poetry, Seeds Leave a comment

The institute of education is now corrupt,
it has been refashioned
from something that was so pure-
from purely wanting to spread knowledge, and
to influence,
to nurture those who will be brilliant.
The institute of education has now become:
Do the minimum you can, to get a grade, which will tell you how smart you are.
Memorize words without understanding the depth behind them. Continue reading →

Seeds by Hind

By Posted in Hind, Prose, Seeds Leave a comment

She’s seated in front of me, holding her baby. The clinic is quiet and the child is wide awake.
“He likes you.” She smiles and touches his nose. His eyes don’t blink. He is transfixed by my face, or my white-coat. You can never tell what they’re looking at at this age. Continue reading →

Seeds by Fatma AlSumaiti

By Posted in Fatma AlSumaiti, Prose, Seeds Leave a comment

There’s a certain type of numbness that possesses you often. You feel exhilarated. Your insides are twisting in a raging war that you have signed up for voluntarily. Yet, your surroundings.. they feel blurred. Continue reading →