Arabian Poetry

Inanimate
 
You say that I’m a jewel and that I’m meant to be hidden
Don’t you wear jewelry on your neck? Or do you let it become dust-ridden?
You say that I’m beautiful, that I should be veiled
Beautiful I am, but you want my beauty jailed
 
 
You call me a mother, a daughter, a sister
But I haven’t heard you call me a woman, mister
Call me one
Independent, not an addition
I am not one for submission
 
 
You tell me covering is honor
Cloaking is honor
Hiding is honor
But honor, your honor, isn’t between my legs
Honor is in the thoughts in
my head
 
 
You say that I should cover my hair 
You say this as the air
plays with yours
 
 
You say that I’m a jewel
You call me inanimate
I am not inanimate

Absence

An idle continuation of

a happening of choice

absent.

Redundant existence of loitering days

and nights; skulking.

The timely squall visits yet again, once again, lurking.

Embezzled dreams once longed for; now lost,

and today; forgotten.

Ambitions improbable; in any case impossible

Dreams of voyage that torture:

A peaceful slumber, constant, for all time

A goodbye, plausible; quite possible

Eternal void

turned

eternal rest.

Yes, I am

falling.

Between the bars

Drink up, baby. It’ll make you okay. I’ll make you okay. I won’t change anything, but I’ll make you forget. I’ll take you away. And once we’re back, I’ll still be here. I always will be.

I’ll make you forget them all, forget who they are. Your place, where you are. You are with me now. You’re all that matters now. The redundancy of your days, we’ll disregard them. The worthlessness of your hours, we’ll fritter more. Your insignificance, we will cherish. Your misery we will relish.  We are in the now, and now, you are away. Yesterday does not matter with me. Neither does tomorrow.  We live today, and today I will take you with me.

You can be lonely with me. You can feel sad. You can cry. I will let you be. I will try. I will be with you, but I won’t stop you. And I won’t tell anyone. You can escape without leaving them. They matter too much to be left. That’s why I’m here. To take you away when you cannot go.

There’s nothing wrong. There is nothing. All there is, is nothing.

It won’t change anything. It won’t help either. Just let you carry on.

Come with me now. Let me take you now.

I have you now.

Lost

People are surrounding you; you’re not alone. You have your family. You have your friends. You have your lover. But you are lonely.

You relentlessly linger, laze, and loiter. You find it mundane, meek, and mediocre. You render them lower, lesser, and worse.

You’re lethargic. Without energy. Without power; powerless. Without direction; directionless.Your life is hapless, and you, hopeless.

Always looking for something, always. Never have you found it, but never did you stop. Constantly lost, in a yearning search, on a longing pursuit; it’s a never-ending desire. You’re looking for something, wanting something. Who is it? What is it?

You thought you found it. You let it go, you let go. Break up, break off and break away. Time and time again.

But then, things changed. Someone became something. This time you didn’t let go. How could you? He’s everything you have ever wanted. The exact reason you want to. Too good. Too good to be true.

It is not true.

Is it?

Only you choose whether it’s worth it. Whether it’s worth the inevitable hurt. The very hurt you now contain, carry down, and carry on. The strangling, the choking, the heart beats; all that’s buried down.

If you decide it worth it, decide it true, if you let it be true: dig a bigger pit. Let it be ceaseless, only then will it suffice.

A question difficult to answer. Yes, you can not answer. You remain, for now, still lost. Still searching, still pursuing. In a never-ending desire.

You do not want to answer.

No tears anymore

 

I fight to contain my tears. The door is wide open, I can hear them talking outside. But I can’t help it. I can’t keep it in this long. Someone just passed, I look up, smile. The tears still in place. I can’t help it. I think of him and burst into tears. Thoughts race in my head, a thousand memories. A thousand more. Feels like an eternity together, and the end of. A quarter of my life I spent, with him.

We fought dozens upon dozens of times, but not that time.  We always made up, except that time. It was unprompted, to him.  I was contemplating it for months.

Did I do the right thing? It does not matter. Not one bit. No, because it’s too late. All hope, for anything, absolutely anything, is absolutely obliterated. By me, solely. My chest heaves at that thought, my heart clenches. Emotions so indefinite yet so familiar strangle me, taunt me, daunt me, loom around my head, attacking: ‘It’s all your fucking fault.’ I scream, it echoes unheard.

A quarter of my life I frittered, with him.

My mind is drained. My eyes impassive. I am unmoved.

No tears anymore.

 

Careless, but carefree.

It’s amazing how a single song can stir so much emotion, dig up so many memories, lift, and drop your soul.

It deluges you, with feelings long forgotten, striking you. It takes you away, far far away, to wherever.

You feel it, on your skin, underneath it. Your senses hammered.

It takes you away. Al Khawaneej Road, 3 am, spontaneity, youth, innocence. Long ago.

You remember it all. You are there. The AC blowing cold. The sky dark, masked in orange; the street lamps were bright. He looks at you, you stare. ‘Stop biting your nails!’ You laugh, both. So long ago. You remember it all.

The song ends.

Another begins.

You listen. You close your eyes – you are there. ‘Could I have this kiss forever?’ You lean towards each other. Your lips unite. You kiss, smiling. You’re young. Careless, but carefree.

She was depressed.

She sat in her bathroom. Her head in her hands, her eyes closed. She sobbed. The sadness was overwhelming; she actually felt a sense of grief, almost tangible, engulfing her very being. She felt the energy drain from her frail body, her back stooped.

She lifted her head from her hands and opened her eyes. The lights were hurting them. She paused, then looked to her right, opened the bathroom closet, and grabbed some small nail scissors from a familiar clutch. She tossed it around her hand for some time. Then, she pressed its edges against her thighs, and tugged. It was silly, she knew.

She scraped the sharp ends across a little patch on her thigh softly. She repeated, slowly. She watched as her skin reddened, but she did not stop. No, consumed in her unhappiness, she continued. She sensed pain, ache, inside. Her heart hurt. She was sad. . ‘Die’, she whimpered. ‘Die, die, die.’ Her emotions grew, her scratches too, stronger and harder, and she sadder, and angrier. Her heart pounded as her scratching turned to stabbing.

‘Die! Why don’t you fucking die!’ she moaned, her chest heaving with misery.  It was starting to hurt, she could sense the pain in her thigh. ‘Die! Die! You deserve it! You fucking deserve it! DIE!’ she cried.  She abraded her skin until she could no more. ‘Why won’t you just die?!’ she wept. Then, she stopped stabbing, letting go of the scissors from her hands. She was crying. ‘Why won’t you die.’ she sighed with tears masking her face. She sat there, still, for a while.

She stopped crying. She felt weak, in the face. Exhausted. She got up, looked at her miserable miserable face in the mirror. Such beauty, marred. Eyeliner stained her soft cheeks. She wiped it away, she washed her face. Looked again in the mirror, and left the bathroom.

Into the living room she went, and smiled, at her family. ‘Hey!’ she said, sincerely casually. Her thigh burnt.

         It’s ever so sad, isn’t it?