By Yas Bin Shaibah
Our legs intertwined in the beautifully
tangled mess of flesh that was us;
laying on wrinkled, white sheets.
As you kept me warm, and your eyes
closed, I traced the outline of kisses
on your side.
Not mine, but ones Sun was reaching
through the glass to give.
A sigh lead to a smile, and I thought
to myself “What more could I want?”
Than you.
Than to be here.
Your eyes came to life into mine, and
I had my answer.
To be here for the next thousand
years.
By Yas Bin-Shaibah
Strangers on a train.
He with his newspaper, wrinkled face with salt and pepper hair to match, and glasses sitting at the edge of that beer nose. Reading tragedies of yesterday. Perhaps another murder, or that car pile up blocking the A1. I think I see a ‘lost dog’ ad, poor fella, I wonder if it’s the dog digging through the trash last night.
Why’s he getting up? Oh, another stop. (Sigh)
I wonder where he’s going. To work? Or is he coming home from a night shift? Maybe he’s visiting his sickly wife in hospital. Might be the secret behind his unusually tired, worried eyes.
Young people! Finally, I was beginning to feel like the fetus on the train.
Dreadlock Blondie kinda reminds me of myself, hasn’t stopped organizing her stuff since the train left the station. Am I this annoying when my OCD kicks in, too? Hmm.
Her girlfriend is the Indian, female version of Justin Bieber. Or is it just the hair?
Ah, new couples. Shyly holding hands, smiling and blushing so hard when their eyes meet.
I wonder how they met, they seem like a highly unlikely couple.
Yet another stop.
No one went down, and only one cute little young woman came up.
Look at her with her little suit all dressed up, so polite asking me if she can have the window seat with a great, big smile.
I read the words “product relaunch” on her folder. Ah, one of us marketers!
It was a handout of a PowerPoint she’d be presenting when she got off the train. I figured that out when she hurried trough her Starbucks breakfast and started flipping through, silently practicing, but could see her lips move at the corner of my eye.
I looked at the paper and learned what product it was for. Woah, I though that was doing really well! My sister sure makes it seem so. Hmm, it is a different market in the UK though.
Yawn.
I wonder if she’s new, she looks really nervous, and around my age. I wish her well. Unless she’s the bitch around the office! In that case I wish her a broken coffee machine. And for the curse to stay with every coffee machine she gets. But, na, I don’t think the office bitch would be polite to a stranger on a train.
I wonder if someone here is thinking of me now as I am thinking of them.
Another world, a planet orbiting on its very own cycle.
Wondering where I come from.
Wondering where I’m heading.
Wondering why.
Wondering what kind of person I am.
Wondering if my outside fairly represents… ‘me’.
Wondering, “What are her secrets?”
By Yas Bin-Shaibah
She had
the warmth
not a thousand
suns,
nor hundreds of
soft,
knitted stitches
making up
thick,
wool socks
could
ever give.
Childbirth is beautiful, they said.
I clicked the little play button and sat back.
There she was, squatting, legs wide apart seemingly straddling her nine month old baby bump. Her pussy was bloated, bright pink all over, color clearly visible behind her light pubes. My jaw dropped and I froze.
The soon to be mother screamed in pain as her husband and two midwives chanted ‘push, push, push!’ So she did, in the middle of their living room. Her once tight, beautiful pussy was slowly but surely ripping open. Mine grew numb at the sight of it. A moment passed and the baby’s head was somewhat visible. Gradually, uh, ‘peaking’ further as she kept pushing.
All of her was hot pink at this point from all that pressure. Frankly, I was very surprised she didn’t shit! Suddenly, as long as the past minutes were, the baby shot out like a bullet from a chamber into one of the midwives’ hands. The ripped up, mutilated pussy was forgotten as the mother held her baby and slipped into a laugh-cry fit, but it was all I could see. A broken pussy.
The video was over.
Myself, traumatized. I’m guessing so will the mother be after realizing her loose as fuck vag is never gonna be the same again. Never knew a pussy could function the way that one did. Definitely not thinking of pussies the same again for a little while.
Childbirth is beautiful, they said.
It’s the ultimate pussy destroyer, I say!
By Yas Bin-Shaibah
Ash, cigarette butts, and stained coffee mugs. Tears are my ink. With you on my mind the ink is abundant.
Surreal, this all feels.
What I type,
this mess of assorted stains,
I want to shout it,
scream it to you,
make you listen.
But instead I clench my fists at my side at the mere sight of you, and lock my jaw.
I’m crippled by pride.
Kuwait Writing Club 