Sunday 22 February 2015

I'm doing myself a crime
I'm running away all the time
Even though I cross the line
I pretend like I don't care


I tell myself a bunch of lies
Put a blindfold over my eyes
& turn a deaf ear to all the cries
I pretend that I don't care


I'm shrouded in darkness inside
I'm in a dilemma, I can't decide
To all reason, goodbye, I bide,
I pretend that I don't care


I refuse to look on straight
Of what I'll see, I'm so afraid
Despite what is told and said,
I pretend that I don't care


My senses have all gone numb
Poisoned, silenced, & finally dumb
From the moment I chose to succumb
& pretend that  I don't care


My footsteps lead to my doom
Amid the chaos I can't find room
I somehow need to pick up a broom


And stop pretending that I don't care

Friday 13 February 2015

"Why did you go without saying goodbye??"

I'd only really started talking to her that day. Everyone else had been fussing about her and making such a big deal, since she was only eleven years old - the youngest in the place. And she was the star - she had a confident little ego about her and she enjoyed the attention. Yeah, I remember a time when I was like that. I used to be so sure of what I want and what I know and never really backed away from a discussion. Then the teenage years came in.
I thought, as I looked at her from afar, how she's got enough attention already and that I don't need to go and stare.
But what actually annoyed me was how everyone were treating her the way one would when they went to a zoo or a circus. They watch and cheer and laugh and have a good time. And then they go home when the show is over. No one would really take something he saw in a circus too seriously now, would they?
I saw her trying to fit in the circle of big people around her like an equal, and admired her for it.
She came up to me when I was folding some paper into origami, and asked me to teach her how to do it. It wasn't easy, and she ended up asking me to send it to her email - what, this kid has an EMAIL?? - and I got to talk to her a bit.
Later, when she went to talk to someone else, I got up to leave. But just as I was almost outside, I heard someone following me and calling my name. I turned around and saw it was her. "Oh, hey" I said. "Why did you go without saying goodbye??" She said when she reached me. I was speechless for a moment. But what I felt inside made it clear to me that I was really moved. I gave her a hug, thanked her, and promised it wouldn't happen again. I went home with a smile that day.

A week or two later, I had to give them a visit to finish some things with her sister, who was an organizer. When I arrived, the girl ran up to me and escorted me proudly inside. "Come in, this is our house" And then she ran off. Once I settled in their room upstairs, she appeared agin, cradling a large cat in her arms. "This is my baby" She told me. I was amazed. She then told me about the animals her and her brother kept saving off the streets.

Then she ran off again and brought me some chocolate, which I think was a gift to her family. I felt a little guilty, thinking of how something like that was a rarely found delicacy in Sudan, yet she wanted to share it with me anyway. She offered it so heartly I simply could not refuse. I tried accepting everything she had to offer, trying to consider both appreciating what she did, and at the same time trying not to look uncivilized in the eyes of her elder sister.

On the day of the event, she came wearing a beautiful little dress, but her hair was a mess. It looked she'd washed it before she came and simply twisted it in a knot. I was wondering how come no one in her family noticed, when she came up to me. "I wanted you to do my hair for me, just like you did the other day". I was horrified. I remembered how on that "other day" we were hanging out after we were done our practice for the day, and she was holding a hairbrush trying to groom her tangled hair. I offered to help, though it didn't exactly turn out good at all. I had no little sister to practice on, after all. But here she was, one the actual day of the event, with an undone hair and a hairbrush. I had no idea what to do. I ended up doing a simple obviously-not-fit-for-the-occasion hairdo for her, and she happily ran off.

When the whole thing was over, and it was time to leave, I found her amidst the mess. It was time to say goodbye, although I never wanted to say goodbye. I was a college student and she was still in elementary. I had no more business to take me to their house again, not to mention the 8-year gap between us. And it's not like 11 year olds would have her own phones. We live in completely different worlds. And there I was, trying to digest it all as I looked at my young friend. As I hugged her, I wished I could find a way to relate how much I appreciated it all - how much she did for me. She taught me how friendship was simply caring, sharing and trusting. You do not care where they study or how much money their parents make. You don't care whether they traveled the whole world or was stuck in a 1 km square area your whole life. Not if they were your friends.



I never saw Zainab again..
But I could never forget her.

The End

Saturday 14 December 2013

A boy with glasses

It was many years ago, and I was still allowed to go to the playground without being frowned at for being too old. It must have been twelve years. Maybe that's why I don't remember it so clearly.
I was on a swing, and my sister and other friend were occupied somewhere some way off. On the swing next to mine there was a boy around my age. He had hair that stood on its end in little spikes and he wore glasses.
I remember saying hi, in a self conscious way. He said hi back. And we talked. I couldn't remember about what exactly, but I do remember how serious and grown-up that conversation was, for the girl I was then. He was a nerd, and I think I was too, for I read huge books and reading too much later made me wear glasses myself. I was pretty impressed on how another kid was interested in serious things also. And I wanted to have many others. I liked the idea of having a friend like that. But then, as I said goodbye and walked away from the swings, I saw my sister ad her friend huddled together. They were watching us. And as I came closer, they started teasing me, that I was "talking to a boy". And that made me really embarrassed, and quickly snip back to my silly little self. I was rude to the boy after that, just to prove them wrong. And I never had a conversation like that with him again.
Some years after that, on that same playground, while I wanted to cross the bridge in the kids' castle, I found him blocking my way, going in the opposite direction. I rudely told him to move aside, since I was older than him, and he retorted that he was a man and "a man was worth two ladies" I didn't know what to say to that, I replied mockingly that he was wrong, and was furious at him after that, trying to to round up the other girls in the playground to back me up. But nothing happened.
Four years ago, while hanging out with my friend on our street, he showed up, and stopped on his way to the local club to say hi to my younger brother and his friends. One of my brother's friends was saying a few bad words, and my friend, apparently, had been replying with some extremely rude hand signs. As I walked up to them and told the boys to stop, the guy with glasses, now a guy taller than I am, with muscular arms, told me that my friend was using even ruder sign language. I told him that I didn't know what they meant anyway,and when he struggled to find the words, and finally said he could hint what they meant, I refused, saying that I didn't really want to know.
And that was that. I headed back to our house, and after that, aside from occasional glimpses I never spoke to him.

Two days ago, I heard my family murmuring in our house as I was getting ready to go to college. I hear something like, someone's passed away.
And later, as I was heading out I asked my mother who'd died. And she says, someone's son. She said he was as old as my younger brother. And I slowly comprehend who she was referring to. I couldn't remember his name for a while, as an unclear image of a guy with hair standing on its end, wearing glasses forms in my mind. I tell my mother simply that he's a bit older than my brother, but also younger than me. I express how terrible it must be for his parents, and utter a prayer under my breath. And I go out.
He was studying in a university abroad. They said he went to sleep that night and just never woke up.

There's nothing on my mind. No real feeling stirs in me. No pity, no grief. But simply, a bit of disbelieve. I go on with my life, as if it's someone I don't know or never spoke to. Nothing changes.
I never knew that guy who died. I just remember there was a kid with glasses that I spoke to on the swings when I was little, with the same name.

Saturday 26 October 2013

In my head



How many words were said
How many paths I’d tread?
Yet it was all in my head..
Despite the tears that were shed
Despite the prayers that were read
It was all in my head
The dream that I fed
My hopes were its bread
And it was all in my head

Monday 15 July 2013

Nine

Nine figures but one spelling a name on his card.
As nine steps was all it takes, to cross his shabby yard.


Born with Nine lives, he thought his place was up there in the sky
And getting there, he always said, is always worth a try


He'd stood and declared, at the age of nine
From today, someday, all the world would be mine


In Nine years, he'd already conquered all his fears,
And ever since, he never knew the taste of his own tears


A warrior of nine battles, starting from himself
And ending with winning over death's rattles


It would be the same even if he never went past the age of 29
 He'd still declare, I have a dream, one day the world would be mine

Thursday 11 July 2013

Glimpses from my grandfather’s house: Eyes

* I wake up and see them staring at me. They leer, and follow me persistently as I get up and move away from the window, covering it with the curtains. Their owners call at me, asking for “mosa3ada”. Come on, little girl, give me something. Anything.


* They have always been lined heavily with black kohl. They overflow with fiery warmth, and they’ve always looked at me with tenderness. Every morning they were hovering over the old blue-green sideboard, as the ringed hands arranged assorted cups and made delicious tea.


* Two eyes reflect the beam from my flashlight in the dark. One is a clear bright yellow, the other a gruesome bulging purple mass. I descend the metal stairs and they follow me. I hear a meow, telling me to wait for them as I move away with the light, leaving them behind.


* Many pairs look at me, frozen behind the glass. One is twinkling with humor. Their owner is much changed now, but their twinkle has never dimmed. Another hasn’t been here for a long time. They are smiling, next to the ones that came and took them away. There are three pairs in this frame, a graduate flanked by her mother and father. All are glowing with pride. This pair is looking calmly at their photographer. I have only known them through the glass.


* I don’t have to look at them to know they’re around – they’ve always been around, even when they’re not really there. When I do look at them, I see my own looking back at me.


* Running around, laughing at the dark, then came a loud WHAM, a sharp pain in my head and two cries. As we moved to a room that had working lights, one of the pair of eyes was starting to swell, blackening.


* My gaze never really lingered on those before, but they’ve been brought sharply into focus after the death of my grandmother. Perhaps they were eclipsed by their fiery companions. Now they are blank, and their iris encircled by grey. They meet mine and no light flares in recognition. I gaze at them all the time now, but too late.

Allah ydeek al3afia ya jiddo
.

October 27, 2012

Saturday 29 June 2013

Release

Fluttering softly like a butterfly
That turns to paper snips
Floating slowly down


Silently,


Silence. Not a sound, not a breath,
Nothing moves.


Then she starts,


spinning on the tip of a toe
Sailing, soaring,
Arms reaching up high
Facing the sky,
Eyes closed, breathing in the stillness


I'm here, I live, I love
I'm here, I live, I dare
I'm here, I live, I see
I'm here, I live,
and I stop


The swishing comes to a rest
Brushing her ankles,
It's life


sudden pauses,
a second chance,
Or maybe a dozen.

stop..
And silently trudge away
From where the snips still lay