La Llorona

Friday, November 20, 2009






An Aztec goddess appeared in Tenochtitlan, an Aztec city, as a beautiful lady dressed in white. She cried all the night in misery: “oh my children… Your destruction has arrived. Where can I take you?”


In 1505, 2 years after the event we just mentioned, a girl named La Malinche was born in an Aztec province for a noble Aztec family. She has lived peacefully until 10 years later, in 1515 her father died, her mother remarried. Consequently, she was given to a Mayan slavery merchant. She learned to speak Mayan beside her mother Aztec tongue/language.


In 1519, La Malinche was given to invading Spanish as a gift along with 20 other girl. According to the story, she was too pretty and attractive to a European style that Cortés decided to keep her for himself. Few weeks later, she started to translate between Mayan and Aztec languages. The Spanish priest Gerónimo de Aguilar understood the Mayan language, because he had spent several years in captivity among the Maya peoples in Yucatán following a shipwreck. Cortés used Malinche and Aguilar to interpret until La Malinche learned Spanish and could be used as the sole interpreter.


La Malinche was linked to Cortés as a couple. Also, she was faithful to him. According to surviving records, Malinche learned of several plans by natives to destroy the small Spanish army, and she alerted Cortés of the danger and even played along with the natives in order to lead them into traps.



Cortés continued his conquest. He rejected the king requests for Cortés to return. That made the Spanish king and queen grew concerned more, since Cortés may claim the new lands to himself, and betray them. During that period, in 1521, La Malinche gave a birth to 2 boy twins by Cortés.



In 1522, the Spanish king convinced Cortés to return to spain. He simply sent him a beautiful seductive Spanish woman. Cortés told La Malinche about his decision to return to Spain with the twins and leave her behind. She started to be aware of her role helping Cortés killing and slaughtering her people. So, she prayed to her gods seeking help, one of them appeared to her and told her: “If you let him take your children, one of them will return and destroy your people.”

The night before Cortés departure, La Malinche escaped with the babies. Soon, the soldiers noticed her absence and started chasing her. At the lake that Mexico City rests on now, the soldiers approached La Malinche and surround her. Before capturing her, she pulls out a dagger and stabbed her 2 children in the heart, and dropped their dead bodies into the lake. She shouted in pain and sorrow from her heart: “oh, my children”


Until La Malinche death in 1531, she was seen and heard near the lake crying and weeping for her children. She is given the name “La Llorona,” the crying woman.



In 1547, Hernán Cortés dies of dysentery disease. In a letter preserved in the Spanish archives, Cortés writes “After God, we owe the conquest of New Spain to Doña Marina (La Malinche)”. While in Spain Cortés praises her name, in Mexico “Malinche” becomes a word stand for betrayal.



However, La Malinche death didn’t finish the story. Honestly, I believe the story has only begun. First appearance of La Llorona after La Malinche death was in 1550, in Mexico City. La Llorona most often appears in full moon eves, walking in the streets, wearing a white dress, with a light veil over her face. Her heartbreaking cries terrify everyone hears or sees her. In her last stop, she lets out her most desperate, horrific cry, after which she vanishes into the lake.



The ghost started to be real. In 1995, Susan Smith is found guilty of murder in the drowning deaths of her two sons by strapping them in their car seats and rolling the car into the John D. Long Lake in South Carolina.



Again, in 2001, Andrea Yates drowns her five children, ages 6 months to 7 years, in the bathtub in her house, Houston, Texas. Yates claims that she heard voices. She’s found, later on, to be guilty and sentenced for life long prison.



Last not least, in 2002, A woman named Bernadine Flores drowns her two children and herself in a river near Pilar, New Mexico.

Sources:
La Malinche
Hernán Cortés
La Llorona
La Llorona movie and legend

Happy Birthday to me

Thursday, November 19, 2009
today is 2-12-1430.. in Arabic calendar. it means my 24th birthday..
to make it easier for anyone who wishes to buy me a gift..
I provide you with my wish list...
though,, i know nobody would bother to buy me anything..

بالعربي.. عشان لا احد يتحجج
اليوم يصير 2-12-1430هـــ،، يعني عيد ميلادي الـــ 24
و عشان اخلي الامور اسهل لاي احد يبي يشتري لي هدية
باعطيكم قائمة الاشياء اللي اتمناها
مع اني ادري ما احد بيتعب نفسه و يشتري لي شي
..

The Chain

Saturday, November 14, 2009
A sequence of events passed very quickly in my mind. I was in my friend car, listening to some music, I could at the point feel the unity of the guitar tone and me. The chain started from the guitar tone, to a conversation with a colleague, passing through a violin, and ending to me, having high standers, in life and friends. I want to take you with me in detail through this chain of my thoughts. However, recently, I’ve been through a lot of events, and I couldn’t catch a moment to write.

Violin, speaks the saddest sound a musical instrument can speak. I received one, 2 weeks ago, in a plan to learn how to play it. When I, first, held it in my hand, brought it closer to my neck, I realized that the arteries and veins that coming and going back to my heart lied beneath this instrument. That makes it very different to any musical instrument. I believe its sounds speak to and from my heart, my sorrow, and my ambition. In addition, it’s not very common to find people who can play such an elegant instrument.

A colleague asked me, while I was talking about my violin, why I didn’t buy a guitar. He didn’t ask why I bought a violin not a guitar. He didn’t ask me what’s so special about violin that I bought it and I didn’t buy a guitar. The nature of his question was very closed ended. I believe he assumed that nothing is better than guitar and asked based on his brilliant assumption. You can’t dare to discus him if guitar is not the best, as long as he believes so. This strict mentality fits the religious environment this boy was raised into. In the end, he only lives in absolute righteous and sure answers for every question, where no place for doubt. I’m not sure of what I’m saying next: (being liberal is accepting the chance of being wrong and admitting it, and many other advantages, like the freedom in sex practice, beliefs, and life options.) Anyway, I’m sure that my colleague community is eliminating different individuals. That’s why I’m fucking up eliminated in Riyadh. I can say I’m sure I’m different, and I’m very proud of being different. In the end of the conversation he asked me: (what’s violin?)

I was thinking between myself and myself ego, of Ahmed after 10 years for example. Myself ego was wondering between titles that I can be called. It was thinking like; Ahmed the doctor, the thinker, the writer, the poet, the revolutionist, or Ahmed the violinist. Well, I preferred to be called (The Violinist), it’s touching me deep within. The violinist is very extra ordinary.

Music, in any form, is amazing. Back to the beginning of this entry, and it all started there. I was listening in my friend’s car to a song; its name is La Llorona. La Llorona is an ancient Spanish legend, which in Spanish means “The crying/weeping woman”. The basic version is that La Llorona was a beautiful woman who killed her children to be with the man that she loved and was subsequently rejected by him. She drowned the children then killed herself, and is doomed to wander, searching for her children, always weeping. The story doesn’t end in here. I’ll be back soon to continue.

صلوات في هيكل الحب

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

لأبي القاسم الشابي


عذبةٌ أنتِ كالطفولة كالأحلام كاللحنِ كالصباحِ الجديدِ

كالسماء الضحوكِ كالليلةِ القمراءِ كالوردِ كابتسامِ الوليدِ

يا لها من وداعـةٍ وجَمالٍ وشبابٍ منعّمٍ أملودِ

يا لَهَا من طهارةٍ تبعثُ التقديسَ في مهجة الشقيّ العنيد



يا لها من رقّةٍ تكاد يرفّ الوردُ منها في الصخرة الجلمود

أيّ شيء تراك هل أنت فينيس تَهادت بين الورى من جديد

لتعيد الشبابَ والفرحَ المعسـولَ للعالَمِ التعيس العميـد

أم ملاك الفردوس جاء إلى الأرضِ ليحيي روح السلام العهيد



أنتِ .. ما أنتِ ؟ رسمٌ جَميلٌ عبقريٌّ من فنّ هذا الوجود

فيك ما فيه من غموضٍ وعمقٍ وجمالٍ مقدّسٍ معبود

أنتِ ما أنتِ؟ أنت فجرٌ من السحر تَجلّى لقلبِي المعمود

فأراه الحياةَ في مونق الحُسن وجلّى له خفايا الخلود



أنت روح الربيع تختال في الدنيا فتهتز رائعاتُ الورود

تهب الحياة سكرى من العطر ويدوّي الوجود بالتغريد

كلما أبصرتك عيناي تَمشين بخطو موقّع كالنشيد

خفق القلبُ للحياة ورفّ الزهرُ في حقل عمري الْمجرود



وانتشت روحي الكئيبة بالحبّ وغنّت كالبلبلِ الغرّيد

أنت تحيين في فؤادي ما قد مات في أمسي السعيد الفقيد

وتشيدين في خرائب روحي ما تلاشى في عهدي الْمجدود

من طموحٍ إلى الجمالِ إلى الفنِّ إلى ذلك الفضاءِ البعيد



وتبثين رقّة الأشواق والأحلام والشدو والهوى في نشيدي

بعد أن عانقت كآبة أيامي فؤادي وألْجمت تغريدي

أنت أنشودة الأناشيد غنّاك إلهُ الغناء ربّ القصيد

فيك شبّ الشباب وشّحَهُ السحرُ وشدو الهوى وعطر الورود



وتبثين رقّة الأشواق والأحلام والشدو والهوى في نشيدي

بعد أن عانقت كآبة أيامي فؤادي وألجمت تغريدي

أنت أنشودة الأناشيد غنّاك إلهُ الغناء ربّ القصيد

فيك شبّ الشباب وشّحَهُ السحرُ وشدو الهوى وعطر الورود



وقوام يكاد ينطق بالألحان في كل وقفة وقعود

كل شيء موقع فيك حتى لفتة الجيد واهتزاز النهود

أنت..أنت الحياة في قدسها السامي وفي سحرها الشجيّ الفريد

أنت.. أنت الحياة في رقة الفجرِ وفي رونق الربيع الوليد



أنت .. أنت الحياة كل أوان في رواء من الشباب جديد

أنت.. أنت الحياة فيكِ وفي عينيك آيات سحرها الممدود

أنت دنيا الأناشيد والأحلام والسحر والخيال المديد

أنت فوق الخيال والشعر والفن وفوق النهى وفوق الحدود



أنت قدسي ومعبدي وصباحي وربيعي ونشوتي وخلودي

يا ابنة النور إنني أنا وحدي من رأى فيك روعك المعبود

فدعيني أعيش في ظلك العذب وفي قرب حُسنك المشهود

عيشة للجمال والفن والإلهام والطهر والسنَى والسجود



عيشة الناسك البتول يناجي الرب في نشوة الذهول الشديد

وامنحيني السلام والفرح الروحي يا ضوء فجري المنشود

وارحميني فقد تَهدمت في كون من اليأس والظلام مشيد

أنقذيني من الأسى فلقد أمسيت لا أستطيع حَمل وجودي



في شعب الزمان والموت أمشي تحت عبء الحياة جم القيود

وأماشي الورى ونفسي كالقبر وقلبي كالعالم المهدود

ظلمة ما لَها ختام وهول شائع في سكونِها الممدود

وإذا ما استخفى عبث الناس تبسمت في أسى وجُمود



بسمة مرة كأني أستلّ من الشوك ذابلات الورود

وانفخي في مشاعري مرح الدنيا وشدّي من عزمي المجهود

وابعثي في دمي الحرارة علّي أتغنى مع المنَى من جديد

وأبثّ الوجود أنغام قلب بلبليّ مكبلٍ بالحديد



فالصباح الجميل ينعش بالدفء حياة المحطم المكدود

أنقذيني فقد سئمت ظلامي أنقذيني فقد مللت ركودي

آه يا زهرتي الجميلة لو تدرين ما جدّ في فؤادي الموحود

في فؤادي الغريب تُخلق أكوانٌ من السحر ذات حسن فريد



وشُمُوس وضاءة ونجوم تنثر النـور في فضاء مديد

وربيع كأنه حلم الشاعر في سكرة الشباب السعيد

ورياض لا تعرف الحلك الداجي ولا ثورة الخريف العتيد

وطيـور سحرية تتناغى بأناشيد حلـوة التغريد



وقصور كأنها الشفق المخضوب أو طلعة الصباح الوليد

وغيوم رقيقة تتهادى كأباديد من نُثـار الورود

وحياة شعرية هي عندي صورة من حياة أهل الخلود

كل هذا يشيده سحر عينيك وإلهام حسنك المعبود



وحرام عليك أن تهدمي ما شاده الحسن في الفؤاد العميد

وحرام عليك أن تسحقي آمال نفس تصبو لعيش رغيد

منك ترجو سعادة لم تجدها في حياة الورى وسحر الوجود

فالإله العظيم لا يرجم العبد إذا كان في جلال السجود