remnants and ashes nema al-araby · remnants and ashes nema al-araby 4 word from the author there...

Remnants and Ashes Nema Al-Araby

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Remnants And Ashes

Nema Al-Araby


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NEMA AL-ARABY REMNANTS AND ASHES

First edition : November 2010

ISBN : 978 – 977 – 6364

SHABAB BOOKS New maadi – Cairo – Egypt

Tel.: +202-27044904

Mob : +201-10450216

Email :[email protected]

Website: www.shababbooks.com

2011 © Copyright

Shabab Books Distribution Co.

All Rights Reserved

All Rights Reserved

http://www.shababbooks.com/


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And I wonder, where do we stand without

the power of imagination?


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Word from the Author

There is more than just a metaphor within you. More than a rhymed or a free verse poem. There is, in fact, a whole infinite world of art that runs in your veins – whether you felt it or not, whether you let it out or suppressed it, or even never allowed your delicate soul to feel it. You can never fight it, though, you can never neglect it; it will send signals to your heart, signals that will, at times, cause sickness. You will be unable to realize the cause of the pain, but it’s only because your soul is blinded from seeing all those exquisite things in life, and refuse to write them down, sing them along, or draw them.

Never let this exquisiteness drown inside of you, perish and disappear just because of a mere thought of your incapability to change the world around you. And if there’s only one thing for sure, it’s that words are decipherable in endless ways, by different souls, who will, eventually, feel like you’re taking their hands from darkness into light. That power within you, it’s a battle where you choose your triumph.. or your surrender.


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PROLOGUE

Poetry is infinite

"And by the way, everything in life is writable about if

you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the

imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to

creativity is self-doubt."

-Sylvia Plath


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A thank you to my family, my outstanding sisters and

brothers, my twin. To my precious friends, who never

even allowed me to think of giving up nor dwell in

writers’ block. To my true passion; my country. To my

poetry clubs.

To Hagar Haggag, Engi Amin, Nouran Ziad, Noor Al

Zubaidy, Yomna Arbad, Nada Shokry, Amira El Mazny,

Haitham Reda, Mamdouh Ibrahim, Mohamed Anwar,

Ali Naguib, Seif El Islam, Eddie Landsberg, and-literally-

everyone who made this impact in my life. My words

are here because of you.


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Poems


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Rise [Kyrielle] 'Tween two thoughts in my mind lie you A tranquil aura to pursue A spring-deprived look in your eyes Home, tomorrow the sun will rise Charcoal tears make life incomplete A dreamer's smile is bittersweet Despair is destined to demise Home, tomorrow the sun will rise Ink shan't hold deterioration Spring will be your one salvation Tho' hope, away, a thousand skies Home, tomorrow the sun will rise A Kyrielle is a French form of written in quatrains (a stanza consisting of 4 lines), and each quatrain contains a repeating line or phrase as a refrain. Each line within the poem consists of eight syllables. Rhyme scheme is aabB ccbB ddbB


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Fragrance in Paper In an empty note, Run away, Hide So that the heart of My pen would pulsate Once thy fragrance kisses my ink. And I'll write thee Like poets -- Immortal, Complete


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Emancipation Green lights are fading And none red to stop.. Stop this filth from falling.. Falling from hypocritical lips.. Lips that imprison your name and mine, And free them; a curse; a demon of fire, On selves that breathe. Breathe? Slavery -And the master is all, yet none- Hear the heartbeats of a nation, Silenced together on the impatient Winds of change, And deafen your ears to the words of One. Melodized by emancipation.. Then open your eyes, Open your eyes for me: Darling, freedom to you is A freedom to none.


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Ira The idea melted away Within anger; Dead-danced in oceans Of diseased hearts and Exiled almas A cluster of clouds moved clumsily, While pride fell like racing raindrops Even the senseless did feel - And the battle went on for seasons I guess you never foreshadowed That the moment between Your ira and self-respect Is only half a breath that you never let go of Until you were rendered breathless. Ira is the Spanish word for Anger. And alma is for soul.


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Insanity's Evocation Tell me about an endless walk Through fogs and stones, Stumbling, falling, rising. Ambling, walking, hustling. Tell me about an amber sundown And the red air, Wading through tepid hands that wave goodbye Today, Yesterday And tomorrow (fastest, strongest, coldest) Ask the moon in silence, Who breathed into its lightning, Evoking yellowness of a thousand nights.. And crimsonness of a hundred dreams (one, two, three, four..) Ask the ships why can't they anchor, Why can't they steal a moment out of Angry seas and oceans? -Unstoppable sickness- (In, out, in, out, in again)


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Please don't question the insane glares Just give me today, And tomorrow, Tomorrow We will matter.


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Wrath [Pleiades] Wrapped in fury, thoughts burn- Wringing the mind. Comfort.. Without ease, hunger to Winter's wind. Breathe out your Written revolution: Words stained with their blood, like Wonder; a still revolt. Pleiades: Only one word is allowed in the title followed by a single seven line stanza, six syllables each. The first word in each line begins with the same letter as the title. Note: Between the poems “Rise” and “Wrath” is a year and a day difference. Both are for Egypt, albeit with different feelings of hope for the first, and anger for the second. And this was a naked coincidence that I feel proud of.


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Growing Rebellious Grow, Beneath the tidal waves of sorrow, Within the hopeless looks for light. Prosper, In the shimmer of sane words, Amongst insane glares, Frenzied hands, And lackluster minds. Speak, Slowly but drive them mad, Walk as a hero and they'll call you..

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A coward! Rise with the sun, amble on the moonlight and be still- Only when they accuse you of their sin.


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Swept Away by Your Shadows You have wandered enough In all the open spaces 'tween my heart And my veins; Hustling the moment my heart is Weary of all the eclipses. Ambling the time I would rush Into your colony, tugged by consolation; Allowing myself to be vulnerable-yet quite unclose To falling. The moments would be endlessly short, Like thunder, Tiny, like a single raindrop. The words we share would be Ocean-deep. Rainbow-colored. Music-soaked. And without a fight you would breathe in and out, -like a gentle wind of your tranquil season. Sweeping away All those tiresome thoughts o' mine, Sending me to rebirth; thoughtless- But one notion beating... "Ever, could I or could I not count the shadows of your being?"


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Inspired by the poem "You who never arrived" for Rainer Maria Rilke.


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To Dusk from Dawn The sun rose at your side Shriveling the note of my diaries -To gray Where your name dwelt in silence Just to fade away By sunset..


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Sinful Winter (Though the cobwebs of time have borne Being aged and fragile) Upon the weakling and the Brokenhearted, the city cast a shadow, Whilst raindrops would await ...hardly consistent -Wrath of winter- The wind would crawl; Impetuous, to get to the place where Only atop mountains it would rest, Leaving footprints of a thousand hearts Mystified.. And the cobwebs of time Would surrender; Dormant, so that rainbows Of new eras can emerge Despite the hollowness Of you


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Cosmic Shadows [Rictameter]

Cosmic

Thoughts roam around The corners of my mind,

'tween sleeplessness and moonlit nights. I, wishing to dream, fight the power of

Ever triumphant, sepia-soaked Nightmares, believing in

Shadows that stay Cosmic

Rictameter is a scheme starting the first line with a two syllable word, then you consecutively increase the number of syllables per line by two. i.e. 2, 4, 6, 8, 10 Then down again, 8, 6, 4, 2 Making the final line the same two syllable word you began with.


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Stillness at Twilight My fingertips run across Your heart Leaving a shadow of love Once spoken with no words No caresses.. Nor I love you's I loved you when there was no season; With colorless looks and Gray sentiments, Yet I did. I love you like I shouldn't, Like the sun loves the moon, And to reunite I'll meet you every day At twilight.


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Total Eclipse of You [Sedoka] The desolate wind Passed through the lilies, leaving Neither spring nor autumn. Naught. But you came, as if A golden, half-lightened moon Metamorphosing; Apate. The Sedoka is an unrhymed poem made up of two three-line katauta with the following syllable counts: 5/7/7, 5/7/7. Apate is the Greek Goddess of Deceit.


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Corner of the Moonlight [Verso Blanco] In the heart of Indelible hues, breathe Memory-clad promises Upon chains. Forever’s and ever’s Lay dormant in the corner of the moonlight Just to wake by sunrise, 'neath the warmth of your faithfulness Syllable count is 4, 6, 7, 9, 11, 14


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You; An idiotic Fairytale When gold and silver met -Like the sun and the moon A faded color shone In a sleepless city Of love And lust. Blue breaths, Holding on to lifelessness, Embraced lips, with entanglement Of two souls, two hearts, with one thought -Chaos- Locking these lips with mine, in fear Of letting go, of relinquishment Of saying the truth, one Inevitable truth Of this non-sided Love. "Maybe I love you But not today"


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Brown cigarettes Brown cigarettes and masquerades Suffocate the breath of autumn rain, In the beat of heavyhearted skies, We dance in a single moment; harmonized.


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Amnesia I remember you walking Through the depths of my memory, Trying to collect shattered pieces altogether, Though hope dissipates -A blanket of rainbow on colorless skies- Your voice is a drug that I inhale; The closer I get to you, The more I relish, Like falling in love with a stranger. Words and sentences Choked in the air, Thawed and nothing made sense To you more than to me, for I am Lifeless for your taste. Winter was gone, despair The day I found you In the realms of my memory, My name rested in your universe Of forgetfulness


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Unreasoned Vulnerability But the sun was falling away Leaving a two-faced moon And a sign to unreason -Perhaps you- I pursued a weary light, Uneased by ambiguous dreams, Provoking a pensive mind, But a hollow heart Your being echoed in me; A schizophrenic look in your eyes Tantalizing with salvation, Yet a moment longer it fades Like a mirage... I ran in hopes of redemption Walked enticed by your beauty-clad abyss. Vulnerable before you.. And once again we intertwined: You; a schizophrenic Me; a chameleon and our dreams are fickle


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Perhaps Love [Quatern] Perhaps love, spring in autumn days A dim smoke or a feeble haze An open heart to open arms Passion lingers with no alarms Sun arouse with infinite rays Perhaps love, spring in autumn days A moon to guide you at nighttime And I promise, your life will rhyme Calendars have endless numbers Lives that are bereft of slumber Perhaps love, spring in autumn days Still a confusion with its maze Butterflies flutter to reach you Cling to forlorn hopes to renew Fearless, spread senses to their ways Perhaps love, spring in autumn days A Quatern is a sixteen line French form composed of four quatrains. It has a refrain that is in a different place in each quatrain. The first line of stanza one is the second line of stanza two, third line of stanza three, and


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fourth line of stanza four. A quatern has eight syllables per line. It does not have to follow a set rhyme scheme.


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Void Dance You smiled. I caught raindrops on the palm of my hand And washed away these burdensome thoughts My heart was rain-soaked. We stood undressed of fear Under cold winter branches. You Used to be my umbrella. The wind blew. Rain hit my face. You asked me to dance. (In the rain?) I thought it was cliché, You guided my steps Leaving me within the density of the night. What a shame, Insidious! I danced, Blindly, unwittingly, until I danced with your shadow. While you, You silenced the aria of this beauty and Alone was I.


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You left? Untraceable, unremembered. Just to live in peace And leave me in pieces I cried.


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Color of Solitude Beneath the dark cerulean skies of my universe Thine stars cast a shadow upon this earth I follow the gray existence in the ebony of night While thee injure me everywhere I reside I walk parallel to the line of thy deceit Whence the walls of my being bleed Fed by thy abysmal entity of seclusion Quenched by infinite illusion Within the colors of solitude, thou shalt fade And I wilt be just another dismal shade


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Somniphobia Rusty dreams soar around me Clustering in despair. I sit on the rooftop, dangling my legs. Weary eyes full of slumber, Despite the heavy wakefulness I smile and grieve, over an endless eve. The sky drizzled hope Upon my already withered orchids In the melancholic garden of my Insecurity Grimace of the night, caused the moon to ignite Leaflets of spring trees Fall from branches of foul odors. -Unanswered questions to this chaotic mind- Perhaps early autumn it is? I forsook my pitiful vision, to open a new incision Doubtfully, I ambled, Afraid to wake a dream, Where all the darkness would seep And I would surrender to


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Eternal fatigue I screeched for valediction, to my tireless affliction Unwantedly, I started war Where it was my defeat; Grim smiles of Erebus pierced through Leaving me to vanish with light Enclosing my false salvation, I submit to the figment of my imagination Somniphobia is the fear of sleep Erebus is the Greek God of darkness


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Bereft [Rubaiyat] Yesterday you held me in the palm of your hand Striving to revive me upon the desert sand Never thought embracement would not save me? You kept smudging me with life and Coyly; I tried slipping away, falling on to the mud Lest you may rupture a fragile bud Looking at me-I won't hold for eternity Smiles were turned to a stream of blood Sanguine sorrow, your existence is naive Beautiful azure eyes that seem to deceive You once trod each part of my realm, and Thought just as you stepped in, you'd leave Tepid! your apathy and hate are intertwined You feign wisdom like a fool feeding the blind While you, gruesomely, slay my seasons one after one Walking away with sunshine, I'm forever left behind Rubaiyat is a Persian poetry form that consists of four-line stanzas, and the rhyme scheme is aaba.


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The Sad Café A mug lies before you Filled with coffee Flavored with pain. Steam of rejection All set on a table of fire. Hands that burn Attempting to write empty thoughts, On a paper of doleful lines And a pen that cries -Silently- You gradually relish your pain Reveling; an addict, As if any antidote Would never heal you Gazing at her vacant spot (I once killed love Left it to rot, Yet I enjoyed the torment) Until aurora approaches You sit here Like it's your reign. You die..


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while breaths tell you're alive, They lie! Strength has come to its peak Frailty cauterizes the heart You wither slowly after the dawn; A lonesome in the cafe -Portrayed on the wall Left to fade to gray..


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Torn Pages of a Poet [Double Balassi] False words lapse from my tongue Fall where they don't belong While papers seek something new Eerie winds stir bleak thoughts Verses yearn for old notes Dead roses cling to the dew Words drown with sinking ships rhyme dies between the lips Just as rainbows lose their hue Waves that dissipate shells disperse stories to tell Making poems incomplete Metaphors lost in void In poems we destroyed Of poets seeking relief My pens ran out of ink While true emotions wilt Poems will forever bleed Each individual Balassi stanza is 9 lines in length and has a syllable count of 6-6-7-6-6-7-6-6-7, the rhyme scheme for each stanza is bbaccadda.


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Who Needs Pictures? Betwixt reality and delusion Lie faces in black and white, A portrait of the old times Where the souls stand still; Carefree. It happened once- When time was anonymous And the memories we held -In frames Were innumerable ............................................ Today you put me in a frame Surrounded by crippled borders, Though colors shine like Rainbow after winter rain, You made smiles shrivel In a hoax of dun reminiscences, Done by the snap of your Narrow mind ............................................. Draw me diaphanous, Next time you try to Comprehend me. Draw me disrupted- I don't care But please..


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Don't draw me falsified; For it's easier to have never known me Than to know me for years Without picturing who I really am.


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Mutual Death You Are the savior To my thoughts, Yet, you -Like a dying butterfly- Lie down on the floor, Unable to save yourself. You reproach me For not holding on, To a life worth fading, Whilst you perish on. We are two different reasons: You die because you have never been Loved I die because I Never could; And we have the Same ending One shot for two..


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To Let Be..

The lines on your face speak wisdom While between my lips lie unspoken words Your eyes hold so many hidden truths Alas! my breaths spoke vain lies. Silence always used to guide A truth that could never be denied "Hope" was written on the palm of your hand "Suicide" was scarred on my wrist I fear running my fingers across your palm For I destroy everything I touch.. The smile on your face was promising The frown on mine would never disappear I finally had the courage to look you in the eye And I let out a sigh of relief My heart was a desert with no emotion Our silence led to a truth of no confusion It was always you, me and the smell of spring And everyday you'd teach me how to mend I'd always cry and tell you "good things always flee" You'd smile and say "Let it be, just let it be".


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Pride

I bled within you.

Without mercy; profanity

Was your grenade,

And like a fragile rose,

You plucked me out-

Oh, impassivity.


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Unfinished Poem (You) There's a weeping wall between Your heart and mine, A rising sun, dark and dull, A barren field— Meet me there.. And we'll intertwine. There's an empty pen, An obsolete piano You cannot mend, A cold summer day— Call me there.. And we'll sing There's a poem unfinished, With a closure to find; A never-ending end— Follow me there.. And we'll unwind.


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The Color of Silence

I know your words by the Silence you speak; it is Like a hurricane- Shadowed by destruction. I never knew that The power of stillness Is heavier than Words. If I could color you A portrait in my mind, No colors would resemble you, For, dearest, you are powerful than colors Perhaps a color of silence.


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Colorblind

(Am I colorblind because I'm dreaming, or I'm dreaming because I'm colorblind?) Love, once carved on bleeding stones, Never attained to beating. And I, looking at the tidal waves; Tomorrow didn't bring any wonders How did your sadness creep in to my dreams? You, Dreams thief, Sift the vitality, and bereave Me of my strength (Your colorful world left nothing to my almost-colorless life. How could you?) Once upon a time the nirvana of my dreams Walked into my life and I was As alive as can be (You promised tomorrow it'd end) Tonight the fullness of the moon


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Leaves me stranded ashore, And I don't believe in forever, yet I don't believe in you.. Can thieves heal hearts? Your image is getting old in my sleep, It's as hideous as a relinquished book. And I could only see you in black and white- Release me, I'm jaded.. Would you color my dreams?


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Syllables of You Soaked in imagination The air sends my letters to you -Like seasons- Faster when it's autumn, Faithful like pigeons. Could I be meticulous to think That my desolate season May clutch the words to be Awash with fallow leaves and Send me spring? Guess I'll only know if I ever Were the last syllable Of you.


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Prose


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Battle of the artless

Deep and within, words fought themselves, rushing in his veins like cancer. And for a moment, everything was colorless; superficial. Trite. Archaic. He placed his palm on the coffee mug, killing the steam, in hopes that an explosion will burst and he will just.. sleep the final sleep. The half-lightened room was a mere condolence to the chaotic, unfathomed feelings and unexpressed words that filled the room with heavy air, as if it were black smoke above the horizon. A lesson unlearned, a word in ashes, a poem forgotten and on the ground for just another attempt to write with the sound of his breaths, ink-free diaries and silhouettes of memories roaming around his blue, lined pages, restrained to innumerable words of disappointments, alien sentiments and abysmal destruction. "I'm imprisoned by what will free me"- A phrase that is both with and against him, a phrase that embraces the state of indecisiveness in his crushed lines, an aftermath to everything he said and didn't mean, didn't say and hid beneath a cloak of indifference, to every mistake he didn't write down for a lesson, and every mistake he didn't make for a reminder that perfection is an illusion only to the naive. And for that, it had dawned on him that self-doubt is his own worst enemy, and the battle had torn his


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thoughts asunder. And once the moon was full, he sank in ponder: "I'm an alien in my own world, a writer without words, a musician without a piano, a magician without a wand. I am fooled by infinite words that rush in my blood, yet imprisoned by the very thoughts of silence. I'm a gray green fallow leaf on trees and abandoned on the streets, a never-ending spring season and an eternal autumn. I'm the golden of the sun and the silver of the moon, the fog of dawn and the amber of dusk. I'm the white and the red flag , the obedient and the rebel. I am the coward in the brave, and the child in the man. I am, but a writer."


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The Thief of Words There is a thief that comes seasonally, he doesn't knock on doors nor windows, he walks by every street and collects words, only words. In times of anger and times of agitation. In times of depression and in times of selfishness. He gathers those angry, sad and ego-filled words and runs away, he places them in a box that is so neatly decorated, yet from the inside.. no one knows what's behind that figure A thief of words, a thief who goes from one street to another, from one suburb and town to another, and collects the same angry words, only angry and negative words without reasoning - he leaves people speechless, as if wrath and depression are the center of the universe, and all else is worthless. All else is vain. Emotions pile up. The box is full and the burden of carrying it on the palm of his hands is just too heavy to bear, the burden is infinite, and the words, they’re contagious; they're a disease. They can consume your mind and eat at your heart like cancer. They can deceive you and lead you to closed ends until you are either heartsick or until your own words slay you. It's ridiculous to think that taking out words will heal hearts,


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because a palm-sized box is just not enough for the anger of this world.


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Resurrection He didn't bother looking at me, he just kept listening to the silence between my tired breaths, and the beat of my heavy heart on his shoulder, with eyes shut as if he were almost blind. The words came out of my mouth and fell instantly to the ground, I was too weak to carry them, or to utter them again, and he never embraced them either, even the letters to form an I love you. It was all nonsense, to me more than to him, while I kept blurting, and he listened. (Or not, I'm not sure). A numb gesture here and there, a faint smile between the long stillness and the tiresome weather, then nothing more. My words have become a mountain in front of me that made me unable to breathe, yet I talked endlessly as if I knew my mountains were ice and they would eventually melt before the sun goes down. And I talked some more. Until he twitched. I fell nearly breathless. Then he said it. That one word that made him look at me, stare at me. "Resurrection" -He said. And walked away.


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State of Doubt Tireless looks make their way to the speed of my heart pulse, pushing my footsteps faster and faster, to and fro. Like being haunted with sinister accusations, I run my way to escape their ignorance. The moments slay my eagerness, and slowly, they turn into a broken hourglass-- counting down for nothing. Their looks still try to decipher my stillness, yet in a moment, I am meant to be insane, imbecile and judged. They think? Or they know? And in this silence, in these wordless fights and cliché judgments, I hide the infinitesimal thoughts flying in and out of my mind, And I wait. I wait until my colony is my imprisonment and my heart is awash. I wait until the sun is pale and my constellations turn into ashes. Until the moments become the hours and fear is a companion. I wait. And I sing for farewell as much as I sang for the pirouette. Until I am them, and he is none.


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Whiter Moons in Daylight Fragments of light keep aligning in the cave you have created between ignorance and wisdom. The spaces you have left are like the silence that abides between two songs; just a synonym for void (yet a kingdom of intrigues). Your world is an interpretation of an impossible vision that is neither a dream nor a nightmare: A world that is darker than red, whiter than green. Your suns are silver and your moons are white. Your winter is starry and your summer is leafless. You use ugly words for wishing upon the night. You hold onto an enemy like you're kissing a first love. You talk through obscure looks, a definition of your own that we are not letters, words nor sentences. And the deeper your looks, the worse I crumple, like some sort of mind-abuse. And ugly I was, When in the daylight You called me Gorgeous, Just to push my tears.


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Tempest of a Shadow Inspired by the quote: "Sometimes it's easier to open up to a complete stranger than to someone you love" –Unknown. Face embracing the clouds, you drew half breaths on the windowpane, almost as silent as the night, yet a tempest of emotions within your halo. A paper heart worn on your shoulder, tiresome, and the tempo of your breaths leaves you almost a shadow without a light. I would look at you, a body without a soul, a thought without a companion; Lips that have never kissed before, eyes that have never seen a rainbow, and breaths that have never been lost for love, I would soar in the spaces you left between breathing and thinking, between your silence and your insanity, and I would see reverberations of my own wishes, a hazy image of my now...and I would see you. The light of the day would shine in your looks, and momentary hope would kiss your being—I would draft us: strangers of one shadow. your secrets would beat with mine, so fast I could swear it can last a lifetime, but the further we went the deeper we cried. And our hellos were so fast they were goodbyes..


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The Echoing Colors of You The skies keep twisting, round and round and round, changing colors. The horizon is breaking and taking the tiny tangerine light at the edge of sunset. (I can't think of something better than embracing the end of daylight ropes). I freeze. My thoughts refuse to breathe anymore, my mind shuts down. Wait, where am I? Just when I thought I was in your realm, the sky changed colors again. Dust has covered the flesh of your starry nights, like an abandoned, beautiful book on the shelf, ugly untouched. My feet have lost trail of your colors, the traces are slowly fading away-I'm roaming in unknown realms with colors alien to my sight. And you leave me to wonder, what color are you?


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Your Kingdom: My storm The desert in your eyes evoked a storm in my heart, just to reach you. I opened all gates of amiability, that my senses caressed your sand-but for a second there, I thought your nights were so shiny; perhaps ungrateful? Burdened by forgetfulness, an excuse for painting the sky charcoal. I look at you again. I leave. You unveil (A kingdom of disguise)


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Memories of Forgotten Nightmares Between a thousand fights and a moment of silence there is always a thought; fear. Conquering and controlling all your inhalations and your ability to thrive - you can only thrive with more nightmares that clutch at your soul once you fall asleep - or sleepless, it's all the same thing. You try to pick up your dreams but you can't; how unhappy you are, yet you are greedy enough to think you have the power to dream of happy endings that don't quite fit in your poor dictionary. You lay down open-eyed and conscious but you're somehow drunk on something. The night? The opaque stars? The tiresome moon? Or perhaps fear.. You can only know when you fall dormant - and the next moment? A nightmare's visit then the wake of horror, and a forgotten vision but a painful memory. How; You're addicted to dying.


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Hypnosis You hypnotize me, and then I'm all the feelings you want to think about. And you? You are free. You are a free thought, Whilst I carry the burden of your loneliness And my ugliness.


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Clichés of a poet (On love) My senses are tangled with disbelief, as you blurt with nonsensical apologetic words. Like a shell exasperating the waves of the sea, I fall smash-hearted; gashed. "I don't believe in love" You beseech me for believing, yet leer me for those lies I painted upon your sickening skin-I'm inflicted with love's curse. "I never lied" You're like a riddle, idiotic once solved..or perhaps a labyrinth? I never believed in you anyway.. I caress your heart with my sword, you slay my senses with your cruelty; a massacre. "You're imbecile" I carry the remnants of my crumbled world and forget that, for one moment, you loved me. You leave, too. "I never believed in love.. it's cliché.."


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Barophobia Between the sound of breaths and the stillness of thoughts lie a thousand words unspoken. Imprisoned 'tween the lips. Cornered. Wounded. A word falls, and the walls keep tightening as if a thief has unexpectedly robbed him of his imagination, and all that is left is fear; A fear of letting go. A fear of holding on. A gravitational force takes everything out of his heavy-with-words lips and a rain of words falls upon agitated oceans of wasted reflections and dead sentences. The walls.. The more crushed words on the ground, the less air there is in a room where thoughts breathe more than he; he who never speaks in fear of having his thoughts fallen and forgotten just like the oceans he drowns in every night, he who keeps sentences bleed within his lips only so he can bear the pain of being the master of his poetry, and relish the feeling of unfallen lines. The walls.. Short of breath, he crawls to collect raindrops in an attempt to heal their meanings and allow a rainbow of colorful stanzas to shine. But the last imprisoned line fades within him as he sinks with the fallen. And panic. The walls..


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The fear, kept only one sentence.. "If they rob you of your imagination, depend on your dreams. And sleep forever". Note: Barophobia is the fear of gravity


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Things that still follow me in my sleep 1-The colossal oceans. 2- A full moon could never burn alone. 3- Your lustful beauty. 4-The echoes of your existence scatter my everything. 5-Spring moments in Autumnal days. 6- Smile of the chameleon. 7- The telltale. 8-A book, never completely finished. 9- A flicker of light. 10- The chimera of dancing in a masquerade. 11-The pirouette. 12- Fatigued eyes running after a memory invisible. 13- Memory-painted pictures are ever indelible. 14-Prayers before the aurora. 15-Death is never too far.


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Index

Poems Rise [Kyrielle] 8 Fragrance in Paper 9 Emancipation 10 Ira 11 Insanity's Evocation 12 Wrath [Pleiades] 14 Growing Rebellious 15 Swept Away by Your Shadows 16 To Dusk from Dawn 18 Sinful Winter 19 Cosmic Shadows [Rictameter] 20 Stillness at Twilight 21 Total Eclipse of You [Sedoka] 22 Corner of the Moonlight [Verso Blanco] 23 You; An idiotic Fairytale 24 Brown cigarettes 25 Amnesia 26 Unreasoned Vulnerability 27 Perhaps Love [Quatern] 28 Void Dance 29 Color of Solitude 31 Somniphobia 32 Bereft [Rubaiyat] 34 The Sad Café 35


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Torn Pages of a Poet [Double Balassi] 36 Who Needs Pictures? 38

Mutual Death 40 To Let Be.. 41

Pride 42

Unfinished Poem (You) 43 The Color of Silence 44

Colorblind 45

Syllables of You 47 Prose

Battle of the artless 49

The Thief of Words 51 Resurrection 52 State of Doubt 53 Whiter Moons in Daylight 54 Tempest of a Shadow 55 The Echoing Colors of You 56 Your Kingdom: My storm 57 Memories of Forgotten Nightmares 58 Hypnosis 59 Clichés of a poet (On love) 60 Barophobia 61 Things that still follow me in my sleep 63

remnants and ashes nema al-araby · remnants and ashes nema al-araby 4 word from the author there...

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