وعود

ذاك أحد الوعود الذي قُطِعَ. ألا تمتد عينيَّ لغيركِ، و ألا تنبس شفاهك لغيري. صوت السكينة يصيبني بالصمم، كلما رجوتك فصلاً من كتاب الذاكرة. تُقطع الوعود، لتقطع. تنفجر السماء بالرعد كاسراً حائط الصمت الفارضِ حصاراً على شفاهكِ. ينهار المطر فأمسك بذراعكِ لنفر تحت سقفٍ يخسر الصراع مع قطرات الماء. عانيت طويلاً و باحثاً عن الحروف التي ترشدني لكِ. تتنافض أطرافك برداً، فارسم في مخيلتي رداءً يقيك و طوباً يكفينا المطرَ.

أخسر الجدال مع السكوت، و كلما ارتفعت حدة صوتي تأخذين بالانحسار وراء حجاب الصمت. يستوحد بي صدى صراخي، و سرعان ما يستوطن الهدوء جدران المعركة. لا تدرك العاقلة بغية الرجل في صولة صوته و تأجيج حنجرته أمام كبريائك الذي يتدرع التجاهل. لازالت تمطر و بدأت بنات السماء تخترق سقف المخيلة. أغمض عينيَّ، لأرى الأرض يراعاً، اجذبت فوقها بقية الأفكار التي راودتني و أنا أبحث في بوحي عنكِ. رحلةُ الأبجدية منذ عصور الكهوف حتى تلاقي أذنيكِ.

أراكِ أمامي ماثلةً، لستِ صنيعة الحلمِ. يتمسكنُ داخلي الطفلُ الذي يحن لثديكِ. سرعان ما فطنتُ خسارتي الصراعَ بين كبريائي و الحنين. فكيف بذاك بين كيانكِ و خوائي؟ كم يبكيني، كنتي تبتسمين له، و تولد داخل البسمة ضحكة. كم يقتلني، كانت تضج عيناك بالحياة و أنتِ تتأمليه. حسبته رفيقاً ملَّكتِيه منكِ مختارةً ما تشائين. و ما أدركت أنه الخليل الذي استجرأ فيك رجفة الخافق و طرفة العين. أراكِ أمامي في سراديب الذنوب. إنما تستعصي على رجولتي الإقرار، و تأنف مروئتي المطالبة بالعقاب.

صار المطرُ ينهمل من عينيك. يتعثر خيالي في شروده، كيف يصد جيشاً يبكي؟ يخر السقفُ فوقنا، و نغرق في سيلٍ من الوحل. ظفرت منكِ بدمعة، و سلب مني ثغرك الضاحك. أعفيك الإجابة عن سؤالي، فقط أوقفي ذرف دموعكِ. لا تبكي، قوة عينيكِ فوق طاقة خيالي، و غضبي، و احساسي بالألمِ. كيف أردُ عليك، أيليق على الرجلِ البكاءُ؟ في دفاعكِ تهاجمين، و أرسم ألف دربٍ في خيالي يأخذني تحت شلال ماء، لتفقد القطرة معنى الانسكاب.

سأكيل بمكيالكِ. سأفجر، و أناكح مثنى و ثلاث و رباع. سأجعل كل العذارى عاهرات. سأحفر أخدوداً يخترق جدران العفة و كتب التقوى. سأنصب شبكاً داخل عينيَّ لا تفلت منه أنثى. حينها واجهيني، أرجوك، و اصرخي أنت خائن. اكسري القيد الذي فرضتيه عليّ فوق لسانكِ. خاطبيني، كي تخسري، لن يحميك صمتكِ. سأدير ظهري، و أتخيل أنك تحدثتي و اعتذرتي، و رجوتي ما قتلتي من رحمةٍ داخل فؤادي أن أعودَ. 

Picture: tears of stone by aphostol 

Odds

I’m trapped between the tides of hope and despair. I plan to pick a water drop, a particular one which guarantees the eternal happiness and wellbeing. I thought initially that a human being journey starts from a drop of water, or semen, and extends to rule the seas and oceans. Apparently the odds of my existence are similar to find out that exact droplet. I was lost before I’ve arrived, and it’s foolish to expect that I’m going to be found inside this terminal.

Honestly, the idea which I try to deliver through this whole article is how difficult the phase I pass through. I imagine myself like, a pin, a guy surrounded by countless pathways. I can’t determine my destination. Nevertheless, I have a little clue about how it looks like. I imagine, again, that I’m a doctor in the middle of the space. I don’t have any idea where, how, or when. All I have to do is studying, working, and practicing. Simply, I can’t handle this number of variables. I can’t control my future. Alas, who can control the future?

Unfortunately, I’m not only bound to make a decision regarding my career. So, a guy, or a pin implanted in the middle of the fourth dimension, where I have the option to progress in any direction. Yet, I can’t go back through the time, because I’m the time. How can I redo myself? How can I be uncreated, or recreated in other shapes or forms? If reincarnation is true, I wish to be a rock in my next life. Death itself is very fortune option, since we need be alive in first place before dying. Time itself needs space to exist. How correct is the contrary? My odd of existence is almost one to one and 2685000 zero next to it, simply zero. And my options how to spend this life is only one and 268500 zero next to it.

I think, I took the wrong turn in the previous paragraph. Still, I insist moving in the same direction. Humans, us the current species, weren’t here in 200 thousand years ago. The fact that we can burn the oxygen, to make energy inside our cells, wasn’t viable idea until two billions years ago. This ability is very unique considering how toxic oxygen is. Anyway, Oxygen wasn’t abounded in our atmosphere initially. Still, the first evidence of life stands almost four billions years ago. Just like what I mentioned earlier, many extraterrestrial beings may not rely on such gas to live and flourish. Humans are very fragile, very transient phase, and soon I believe they would extinct.

I’m sick of masks that people are wearing. It’s shocking when I observe the poor placing the mask of wealth, also, for the rich to disguise as a Tyrant. The strength is not inspired from the finical status, or the mask which covers an individual face. How fragile is that piece of fakeness and phoniness. To tell the truth, talking about options and possibilities raises the question of free will. Indeed the first question to be asked in the middle of all those coincidences and big deal of luck, did we arrive to earth by our own wish? An individual can’t choose to be born, but how free is one individual to terminate own life?  In the end, what’s the meaning of our lives? Given that the atoms which build our cells will contribute one way or another to the major spirit of universe and the minor life along this planet.

How attached are we to the building unit inside our bodies? The answer may define the soul, the life, and the free will. There’s a wrong belief about inability to utilize more than ten percent of our brain capabilities. The amusing about this misconception is to what extend we can control the atoms inside our cells. How can we control cells? This way, we may reverse much pathology. How free are we? I have no clue. Are we just a video game? Gladly, I finish my article again with more question marks!

the picture: Maybe the moon is missing by Crina Prdia.

Eyes up!

It’s time to blow the dust. Every morning I woke up I repeat this sentence. I expect to have a better day, more productive one. For my surprise my energy gauge drains quicker than my prediction. I contribute that to suturing patients in labor ward after delivery. Wow, I just said it like a Sir without using the V word. Oh, I screwed it up.  As my energy runs out, my thoughts follow it. I’m running out of thoughts, blank inside, shiny outside.

Earthy phenomena stopped amusing me recently. When it comes to such, all my thoughts were toward reinventing the wheel. I mean, we all think for a minute that pale blue dot, and the creatures over and beneath are unique. Stop it please, we’re not, I’ve seen the worse in humanity. Best guess; we’re just an accident or coincidence. Mathematically, there must be other forms of life around our galaxy and the whole universe. In our galaxy alone, there’re around 17,000 inhabitable planets, according to “HabCat” Catalogue. How many are other galaxies around us? Our unique phenomenal existence could have been repeated concurrently or previously, just like a sand grain in a desert. I bet, in the end of the day all creatures in our planet and other neighbors have one creature. Still, what does make a planet livable?

Best guess, we’re made of star dusts, thank you Carl Sagan. We’re the outcome of thousands of millions of years of nuclear effusion and reaction. It takes so long time and so much energy for an atom to be created, and then exploded into dust or a heavier element. The impact carries such minute particles away, to be attracted by another field of gravity. We’re talking about millions of years, and of so much wasted or invested energy. I emphasis on such values as they’re really huge, massive, and gigantic, I just stand dazzled in front of them. That’s excluding the initial process when the big bang took place. This way, most likely, our universe was instigated. How many are other universe there? Just like there’s a universe inside each one of us made of countless atoms. Inside each atom, there’re subatomic particles, a complete different universe, and in such tiny particles, they’re many sub universes. In such universes, I dare to question the laws of physics.

So, is really life restricted on the presence of water? It’s just a star dust. Where does the energy required for life come from? Does it really require a divine power? Then, what’s the difference between an isolated amino acid, the main intergradient to build protein, outside and inside of the living being? A lovely experiment, Miller-Urey experiment, showed the possibility to create such amino acids only by using electrical current.  This way Talsa would be the new god. Beside water, we always claim that carbon is the cornerstone for any living structure. I mean that’s the basic of organic chemistry and the whole dexta structure glory. Back to amino acids, they’re just some carbon, oxygen, hydrogen, and nitrogen. Those are the components of the first earthly life pool. As we make more gadgets out of silicon, it could be other lives substitute for carbon. Also, ammonia can replace water. Above all of these questions, can we soon escape from earth to other spheres? Humorously, that’s called panspermia!

In one Arabic novel, a patient in a mental hospital was only crazy about or due the universe. He keeps repeating: “you know, prof, how big is the universe?” How old, how it happened, and how this planet was created, and how we arrived to it. Silence is the best answer, because once you start knowing, you would just listen more to the universe, and to answers. Indeed, such a big bang would have an impact, and each bang in the universe has a distinctive sound. How does the big bang sound sound like?

My wheel, which I plan to initiate, is a series of articles about the universe. I mentioned the word “answers” earlier, donating a replay to unanswerable questions. All we have is possibility, likelihood, or a sci-fiction, not answers per se. Those could be repetitive, reinventing the wheel again. Yet, this place is so massive that it can accumulate my ideas regarding its massiveness. In contrary to my feeling of the earth is too narrowed for me to stay. So, I’m leaving it to the stars.

The Message

This’s not a paper slipped inside a bottle, where ocean’s waves control its destination. It’s not a leaf, a golden one, when the autumn’s hand touches it, it falls. I doubt if my message has the form of a paper, or contains words. I fail to describe this category of phrases, since it’s so pure, so white, and so sincere. I’m afraid that words, eyes, or even a gentle wind of early April may carry some dirt, or defect, or envy to what I really hold inside my heart. Believe me, it’s the heart where all the emotions take place. And it really does so, by manipulating the blood supply to the brain!

If I could, I wish that only you may read this rubbish. Nevertheless, it’s only you whom my words to. Ok, I want to sum it up from the beginning, so no need to continue reading. How to sum it up? It’s the feeling which makes me laugh and smile like an insane man. Euphoria, except there’s a reason, and it’s not alcohol.

Knock, knock! They had left. Can you please open the door? We’re inside an old British cottage, near some shire where you and I only know. I’m neither afraid nor ashamed. I’m proud of being here, between your two eyes, and confident that my decision is correct. Yet, it’s cold outside, let me make some tea. Sit down, my fine lady. I’m here until the night to serve you. You know, for years I used to write and complain. This time, how can I complain of happiness? I used to have troubled mind, but when I see you, the storm stands still, and turn into kind waves of peace. Did you enjoy the English breakfast tea? I like to see the impact of your lips over its surface. So, you want to see how your face, angelic face, would turn my deepest pain and selfish emo into exploding pleasure and old 70’s hippie. 

Your face, the surface of a creek, descending from the highest mountain an eye can witness. I can’t prescribe it further. Let’s just walk under the tender sun of November, where the shadow of that mounts tend to go a bit south. Let’s inspire the warmth, while the sun is chill, from each other’s hands. When I look into your face, I realize how far I’m from the human world, you’re my world. I wonder along your facial characters and figure out that the language we both speak has no words or phrases. Don’t talk, I’m placing my finger over your lips, don’t talk please. Remember, how flattering to see your lips touching the edge of that cup. Your colorful eyes spread me with emotions.

We walked hand in hand. My fingers pray not to be taken away from yours. You see how childish they play among each other. And when you press my hand, you just want to transfer an impulse of emotions which ask me to hug you. Do you remember that scene in “The Inception” where they approach their dreamy world? The ocean is hitting and collapsing the empty buildings. I don’t know why I mentioned it here. Let’s just hug, we’re just between the horizon and god vision. Let’s just hug!

Feminine, per se, is ideal. I know you’re not going to be a prophet while you can have the divine power. I’m sure the least power you practice is making me smiling. Your circle of influence expands to make everything within go into orbits around you. Do you think I exaggerate? Please don’t, as I feel ashamed to tell you how chaotic my life was before. Nevertheless, the balance I witness among my atmosphere is all contributed to your gravity and attraction.

Picture From Arden Ellen Nixon. Message in a bottle. Website

Super Mario

It’s comforting to write in a blank paper. The feeling of no boundaries is taking over. This way I can overcome the illusion of being watched. It’s not clear why this particular idea disables me from writing, like I’m not doing anything wrong. However, the guilt sensation is implanted deep within my subconscious.  Still, the red line varies based on many factors, like being abroad. That’s why I rely on traveling to be inspired again. I don’t mean that Saudi Arabia has something against creativity. It’s probable that a negative atmosphere aborts the ideas from my little caring womb, I mean brain. Apparently, the practice of obstructive medicine is affecting me.

I’m trying to find a factor to blame for my recent flee. I’m not back to my optimal status, I’m just used to the new compromised condition. Living over the knife’s blade, where everything may collapse if I spill. To tell the truth, I just have been exposed, rashly, to the real world. Does it always have to be bad to be real? Does happy ending exist only in fairy tales? So, is it really stepping over a knife blade? I wish if life was just like a video game, were you die and restart from last saved point. Honestly, I deal with life in same manner. Yet, either I play easy mode or I’m an excellent player. I died only once.

I didn’t give up the idea of unreal world we live into. Yet, who’s punishing me? Also, is the guilt sensation a punishment oriented? I know that Adam and Eve action after eating the apple is feeling shamefaced for breaking divine order. I need to make it clear, that I deal with religion as folklore stories, as something lacks solid evidence. It’s nice to mention that the apple resembles the knowledge, or the insight. Thus, they figured out they were naked and started dressing. Why did they feel guilty in first place? Some psychiatric disorders based on the idea of being punished because of being loved by the punisher.

Anyway, as I’m afraid of the punishment, I have a glimmer thin thread of hope for forgiveness. Though, I’m not a sinner. It’s funny that last time I wrote, I asked for forgiveness and I do it here again. So, the feeling of fault is profound, why is that? Indeed, a part of it is due to my absence from my dear readers.   

In the end, I’m comfortable saying that I can stand and observe each sentence I wrote, as they hold a deep meaning and story beneath it. I wrote once in Arabic about being imprisoned inside a room. That room is surrounded by broken mirrors; all its four walls are composed of broken mirrors. I see my reflection for countless times, yet that’s a broken and disfigured image. I assume if that mirrors were intact, I would end up with paranoia personality disorder. However, I was broken. I hope I broke that handicap. I’m back, wiser probably, or more fool, more probable.  

moving around

Coming soon on:

www.lineless.org