Lavender .... لافندر

همس فى أذنها كلام حب....ضحكت و أسترسلت فى حكايتها
He approached further and said more love words
Its Ticklish...she tells him
He ignore and blow hot air behind her ears
تغمض عينيها فى دلال متوقعة قبلة على شفتيها
He pulls her off her knees, walk thru the hallway
Enter a room, place her gently on the floor and start smelling
ينزلق بأنفه يتشمم عنقها, صدرها كأنه يحصد حقول الافندر
She surrenders to the attack and release her aromatic soul defenselessly...

White Noise...

In the midst of a burning flame
My ideas are greatly shrinking
Cannot consume voices & verbs
It dehydrates me further
and leave me with one choice
But to stay silent....

Dry Lemons...

For it starts with a glance
seeing Bright Colds dance pretty
Out of tune & totally immune to us
Smile! Smile as it cracks Logic!
For colored worlds miss serenity.

A failing exoskeleton of old beings
Lost in their raison d'etre
Nothing falls prey to itself
Feast! Feast as it stumbles down !
A bright reminder of loss & naught.

So Haze & soundproof rooms disperse
As still points mark the mental loop
And our void become full once again
Flee! Flee as Reality shines again!
So encrusted are we in its confines.


As breaths & pulses pass by slowly
We refer to joy as a consolation
For muted thoughts & subjugated wills
Fall! Fall as colors appear again!
As you rot in dried wells of sanity

Courtesy to Omar Saleh.... whose demonic mind creates beautiful proses.
To get intouch with Omar: bhaal_son@hotmail.com

أنا عندى كرش ..... أنطباعات جسدية

قضيت اليوم بأكمله مستلقية على الفراش متأملة ببطىء و أستغراب هذا الكائن المتمدد فوقى.

من أنت يا صغيرى ؟ و كيف تسلقتنى دون أن أشعر بك ؟ و أين والدك ؟ نظر لى شزرا وقال: "أنتِ. فقلت له, أنا مين؟ , أنتِ والدتى. أنا مين؟ , أنتِ والدتى. كيف؟ و متى؟ و أين؟ , فقال: " يومياً, أمام الثلاجة" .

صمتُ قليلاً ثم تذكرت. صحيح, أنت فعلاً أبنى, كيف أتجرأ و أنساك. ثم مددت يدى حول كرشى الصغير الذى حاولت جاهدة نسيانه و قررت عدم المحاولة نهائياً أن أتزاكى عليه مرة أخرى

iTsunami...

Episode 1:

i hear a voice, that tells me to drink water, then i become water. When the earth is over, we shall be the last survivors.

i dive my feet into cold sand, and then i hold ma self with my own hands. i smell you. Weren't we the last to breathe over the surface?
thru my skin, i see you.

A shooting star chase me, remind me of how it used to be.

How when i climbed the mountain, i was giving you a hand to survive the dream.

Shall we be the last survivors?

The Mountain tears turns into crystal

A shimmer pass over our face, reflecting the world that once was a refuge from our inner fear.

We open our arms to play the music and spread it down hills as the human memory will only keep the picture of its last heroes who saved the world and liberated the soul as we became the last 2 survivors....

French Manicure... Part3

(Random thoughts over my sexuality)

Being Kalbouza (A.K.A Fat in a nicer arabic language) has been my official tag since I was 5.
Why was it so annoying to all my fat family members that am soooo kalbouza? When I was 5, I thought they could be jealous coz I was so free to eat all I want with zero guilt. When I was 10, it occurred to me that they might want me to look better so they dont suffer whenever we go shopping for outfits that rarely fits. When I turned 15, I realized how they are projecting their inner sickness on me. When I turned 21, I lost 40 pounds and gained them back 2 years later to prove that I am free to do what I want with this body. Today, am 31 and I weigh 80 Kilos and satisfied with my full curves and proper cleavage.

....To be continued....

French Manicure... Part2

(Random thoughts over my sexuality)

Why no one find elbows, knees nor finger knuckles as attractive as any other part in a woman's body? I wonder while flossing.
I blow dry my pumpkin head. I pluck my non identical eyebrows. I pull up my skirt and watch my unsexy knees and wonder again; good that knees r not a tool to weigh woman sexiness.

....To be continued...