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Deep Down

Deep down, I truly and solemnly want to believe in the goodness of souls.
Deep down, I genuinely want to know that somewhere out there she exists.
That somewhere out there, that one person who understands me, exists.
I want to believe in it so bad, that I am willing to be as delusional as it takes.
I am willing to believe in an illusion.

Deep down, I dream of places and people.
Places of belongingness and people of virtue.
Deep down, I can lie to myself as much as I like,
Because I am allowed to place my own universal rules.
I have given my-own-self the opportunity to be happy,
Because no one else will.
I am grateful for the lies

I am at peace with myself, deep down.


They Said

They said I’m only young, they said I’m only stupid.
They said I can’t decide, for my love was planned by cupid.

I said I’ve been across the world, and sailed a thousand seas.
I said I’ve seen a dozen words, carved in the oldest trees.

They said I have only a little space, to fit my little mind.
They said It’s not a game of hide & seek, for I shall never find.

I said I haven’t breathed the wind that blows across their cheeks.
I said I’ve only felt the clouds at every mountain peak.

They said I’m inexperienced, naïve to believe so.
They said I’m far from realty, and to the lost I go.

I said I know little of life, for it has given me few.
I said I know it all through dreams, for they are always true.

They said dreaming is an act, only left for the fools.
They said I wasn’t sane enough, to follow all the rules.

I said I’ve found a path, of awe-alarming light.
I said I wasn’t blind enough, to run away in fright.

They said I’ve only little time, to discover what is right.
They said I’m not smart so far, and neither am I bright.

I said I’ve only been to the moon, once or maybe twice.
I said I’ve waved to all the stars, and they were awfully nice.

They said the stars are far from earth, for they are only danger.
They said the moon was not a friend, but just another stranger.

I said I’ve heard of happiness, as butterflies hear of spring.
They said it’s just a lie, what life can never bring.

What Do You See?

I wanted to know them, I wanted to get inside their heads, understand why them. Why are they the people I spent years, without doubting happiness, with? I thought I knew them, but maybe the only reason I did was because every time I see them, they’d be accompanied with all the unforgettable memories. The only reason I was right beside them at that moment was because they linger in this unfinished portrait, some call life.
I couldn’t really understand the colours, or the contents of this masterpiece, and it wasn’t as big as I had imagined it to be. There were lots of people; some very clear with permanent outlines and others were sketches awaiting time to rub them off. I was fond of grey scribbles at some point in the portrait, elsewhere I would notice the bliss of rainbows splashed all over, and at distinct corners I would see nothing at all, just black empty areas. There were hazy, not so sharp drawings of things, people, and thoughts that weren’t left, right, nor even centered; they were lost in between all the other unanswered flow of paintbrushes.

Alexandria, Egypt

“What do you see?” I asked them.
“The sea!” they answered in utter surprise.
They stayed silent for a while and continued, “That wasn’t the answer you wanted.”
I rephrased, “Look beyond. What do you see now?”
They looked at each other, the devoid of cynicism and trivial was what they needed, but all they could see was plainly, only and nothing more than the sea.
I told them to forget realism for a minute, (regardless of how long a minute could be once reality is ignored) and to look again. It was my last try, and I wasn’t enjoying my failure of exploring their alone place.
I felt their discomfort; I sensed how they were irritated they couldn’t give me, let alone, themselves an answer to a very simple, yet unanswered question.

“I don’t know…… I’m blank.” One answered.
“The memories I had on the shore, the touch of the sea so tender yet cold.” Answers another one.
“A gorgeous mermaid at the end of this horizon.” Whispers the last one.
“I see a stagnated sea, a tranquil sea, a human being at times who is empty of inner voices, just a free soul. The sea reflects the sun as diamond crystals scattered on a glitter-blue bed, yet beneath the beauty of this bed lays a cushion of darkness, not soft but rough. Underneath the bed, hides the weakness of a person, the weakness of the sea’s underwater creatures. The sea awaits the simplest of winds to crash in anger, much like humans do. The crest of each wave is our dominance against the world, and the sea’s spindrift is each and every proof to how powerful we can become.” My portrait drew silently.

And as I took one last look at the unfinished portrait, I wasn’t sure it possessed a paintbrush for each and every answer. I understood it wasn’t the empty corners, or the frameless borders that was missing, but what truly was missing all along were the questions and their unanswered answers.

A Card, A Talk Show

Cry of martyr's mother
Picture taken by Ahmed Ezzat, Shorouk news.

All night insomniac, a mind can be.
Eyes have been taken, she can no longer see,
But tonight, a breeze carries her away
To his first laugh, smile, joy and play.

Broken hearted she senses deadly beats,
In her heart’s core, a love, a gem it keeps,
And a locket always hung around her neck
Where her son hugged; an embrace she once felt.
Behind the locket, the centre of her heart;
A place, and his picture, together apart.

Who will wipe away her aching tears?
When her son’s murderer has no one to fear?

For the leader told her, her son marked this country’s soil,
And the same leader’s footsteps, a country he spoils.

For today, she was once euphoric with his Mother’s day card,
Instead offered a talk show, from the government, a farce.

To cry out how he survived suffocating tear gas,
But when she’d start speaking, they’d ask her to pass.
Or the time he worked to heal those in pain
At protests to over throw the tyrants who reign.
Or even the time a child came running in his arms
For protection from whom claim cause no harm.

And so she accepts her offer on the show
Because to this leader, she wants him to know:

“My son is still alive, healthy as can be.
He lives in every Egyptian, ever so free.
Even though you might have taken him away,
One day, only you alone will have to pay.
Enriched I feel with my heart in one hand
Empowered in the other, I carry my land.
A land, you own nothing, not even a grain of sand,
A land, where only the strong, not the brutal can stand.”

She closes her eyes, to enjoy one awe stare
At the youth of her land, standing united with care.

Mother’s Day
Dedicated to all the beautiful martyr mothers of Egypt.

12 Months Ago

12 months ago, we stomped desert sand, revived an Oasis Spring,
For little did we know, the bitter poison it had to bring.

12 months ago, they saluted our martyrs,
For little did we know, they ridiculed our tears.

12 months ago, Khaled Saeed’s mother soothed her pain,
For they told her Mubarak will no longer reign.

12 months ago, a man kept his hand away,
For he blogged how their hands were here to stray.

12 months ago, we thought they closed grave yard’s door,
For little did we know, they kept it open for more.

12 months ago, we thought the curtains had fallen,
For little did we know, our role was stolen.

12 months ago, ALL scorned the chair.
But in the hearts of some, it took all their care.

12 months ago, fireworks shone the sky
Celebrating a disguise, a joke, a lie.

12 months ago, we should have prepared our gun.
For 12 months ago, the revolution had just begun.

Feb 11th 2012


Carve on Prison Walls

Lost eyes, blood shed.
Cold tiles, bunk-bed.

See freedom, climb mountains.
See reason, Oasis fountains.

War zone, same blood.
Shake hands, same nod.

Note self: Please survive.
Closed chapters, story alive.

Hang on, little left.
Let go, little kept.

Take time, not long.
Take breath, last one.

Both stand, one smiles.
Both fall, one dies.

Two souls, one sees.
Two souls, one breathes.

Raise flags, up high.
Wind blows, flags fly.

Same grave, hundred lives.
Same fight, hundred tries.

Last carve, nails gone.
Last line: WE WON.

His Hoodie, His Scent

And for all she remembers was the kiss on her cheek,
And now what echoes is her definite shriek.

“I tried to stop him I told him to stay.”
“But he had his hoodie on and I had no say”

“I opened the TV hoped I’d see him on air,
But all I could do was tearfully stare.”

“I prayed to God please protect my son,
For no happiness lingers if he will be gone.”

“Out of reach, my heart pounds in fright.”
“They will protect him, but no guard in sight!”

“My son’s massacre is their own personal delight.”
“A planned plot and not just a street fight.”

2 a.m, house cold and remote.
Door knocks and given a bank note.

This is your money to compensate your loss
And we will investigate to punish the fuss.

“For my son, is my heart, my eyes, my soul.”
“Compensation of money is an act so cold.”

But the price of his death is so valuable to he
The country is in chaos and accusations flee.

And they raise the flags, dress in black, mourn 4 days,
And she’s torn to pieces till God takes her where he stays.

“An eye for an eye, a life for a life.”
“Who took my child, WILL FEEL MY KNIFE”

And forever the question mark will remain
because those in power are hidden so vain.

#PortSaid Massacre.