Mysterious.....

  One, two, three, four..... Ops, I am losing it. Count again. One, two, three,......, eleven, twelve,....., hundred twenty,....., thousand. Ops, I lost it again! Whatever! Generalize. It seems everyone is like that, wants to be identically that. Everyone wants to be....."mysterious." Sh, that's a secret. Yeah, it's common and seems like human nature, but play along and act as if it's a "secret." It's part of being mysterious too, don't you think?

  Oh, you thought I tried to be funny at the counting part? I am ridiculous, but not to that extent, I think. I did really count how many people want to, love to act mysteriously. I think as much their intention to be mysterious is intense as it's obvious to be falsely and naively -add foolishly- mysterious. 

  People who want to be mysterious are...... (Lonely, undignified, hurt, lost). Their aim is to be...... (unpredictable, respected, feared of, cool). Come on. Choose. Answer!
You don't want to answer, right? You're afraid someone would take your answer as being "pathetic." You just act "cool" and say that type of people is "weird" with that curled lips, turn your face away which means you're not mysterious either, at all.

  We all had times when we were lonely. Even if you were never left alone, you dragged yourself away from the crowd for a while. The noise of how many people around you, forces you to lock yourself up in a calm room where the only voice you can hear is yours. That's when you learnt the necessity to teach people around you that even if you seem alone, you're still cool. So, you went ahead as the mysterious Holmes.
  We all suffered from being undignified. Friends, parents, teachers, whoever in your life had played a part to suffer from scratched dignity. That's when you learnt the necessity to be unpredictable, so people wouldn't go at you with their should and shouldn't, break your plans to pieces, make your wittiness unclean rag. So, you went ahead as the mysterious Holmes.
  We ALL have been hurt. Yeah, I stressed at "all" this time, cause I am sure of it. Some are hurt for serious dramatic reasons, others are hurt for silly ones, it differs from one person to another -according to the applied conditions-. Well, I've just noticed that it doesn't differ from "undignified" much. It's just being your dignity hurt is intentionally mean & somehow expected, but being generally "hurt" means shocked & unbelievable as it's from someone whom you thought of as the center of your universe. That's when you learnt the necessity to be feared of. To be the boss whose frown may make everyone wish to die. So, you went ahead as the mysterious Holmes.
  We all felt lost. This time I say, EVERY NOW AND THEN, we feel so. People feel, it is a chance to do a good deed and they run to you offering all......shallow advice. That's when you learnt the necessity to be respected that however you seem lost, your decisions and your smartness must be taken seriously and given unlimited time to show up. So, you went ahead as the mysterious Holmes.

  My friends tried to be mysterious. They had it as an aim. That's how I reached this deduction, may be I am wrong, but if they were really mysterious with no fake-acting thing going on, I'd have never had a chance to feel a thing. 
  Stop! Question: how can I judge someone as being mysterious? I actually found out that they would make me lost. It's not by being moody, but by their flexibility, variation, stability and criticism. You think mysterious people are silent, I see them talkative and interactive, cause they have a lot to say and they are very picky to find the right time, the right place and the right people to let it shine. And because, all those factors take so long time to be found, the ideas and the outstanding concepts grow in their brains till it develop as an automatic answer, that's why -I guess- mysterious people always say what impresses you in a calm tune and within no time.

  I am not a psychiatrist to set theories. I am not 100 year-old to be knowledgeable about different types of people. I am not a person with million novels in her library. I am sure the majority of what I said would be wrong, but I can't skip the fact that it can be true to a minority.
  

ايها السوًاق

عزيزى المواطن (transporter عصرك)

                                                    تحية ....طيبة و بعد

 مجرد كونى بنت مش معناه أن قدراتى "تستحيل" ان تصل لقدراتك "الخارقة" فى السواقة. أنا بسوق مرعوبة من تعليق سخيف زى "انتوا بتسوقوا ليه؟" أكتر من خوفى انًى اطيًر حد فى سكتى. زى ما مفيش بنات بتعرف تسوق/تركن عدِل، مش حلقات "سابق و لاحق" اللى خلتك "super سواق" بالفِطرة!

عايزة افكرك بشىء صغير: اللورى أو الباص اللى اداك أول خبطة، اللى بيسوقها مكنتش ست! المشروع اللى عشان خاطر عيونه اتعلمت أقبحها الفاظ، مش ست اللى بتسوقه. العربية العدمانة اللى ماشية على مهلها تفتكرها ست، تطلع راجل عجوز بيطلًع فى الروح.

حتى البنات/السيدات اللى سواقتها على أدًها و أنا ممكن (ده لو مش أكيد) منهم، خوفهم أنهم يدوسوا حد أو يخوشوا فى عربية، هو اللى خلًى نسبة الحوادث أكثرها انتوا كرجال مَن يرتكبها. و مش كل بنت عندها سوًاق و مش كل أب فاضى 24 ساعة عشان يوصًل بنتهُ و مش كل سيدة لديها رجل يصلها حيثما ارادت، فمن الممكن أن تكون أرملة/ يتيمة/ بعضهن يتخذوها كوسيلة لكسب الرزق (توصيل طلبة المدارس). أنتَ شخصياً ساعات تبقى مش مركٍز عشان قلق امتحان أو ضغوط عمل أو تعرقل حياتك الإجتماعية أو حالة وفاة أو إذ فجأةً مرضت، زى ما من المحتمل يحصلك كل ده، ممكن يحصل لغيرك إذا كان رجل او امرأة.

على أى حال ده فكر مجتمع و مقدرش ألومك على ضعفك إنك تتعدى كونك شرقى عنصرى. :) 

Meet The Little Patriot

  I was looking at the human being in the mirror, and actually I found nothing. Yes, Michael Jackson had lied to me. :P So, I deduced, I was a phantom. 
  I decided to go around like a ghost, causing mess, getting all the old dusty things out of the drawers, till I found an old copybook. I let the pages run between my fingertips and had those Harry-Potter moments, when you see the little you within the flipping papers and the fuming dust was nothing but spread perfume, that lovely odor of the past.

  I found the little me talking. No, the discussion wasn't addressed to me, cause actually the words, which had been said, ran out of my mouth on one of those days, in one of those discussions I used to open with my parents when it came to studying National Subjects, when I was the shorty patriot, when my parents used to look at me and have that breath of confidence "we brought up -like they say- a good citizen." That little person used to say: "That's my land. I have rights. I have commitments too. I am free to express myself the way I want. I have the right to choose the route which I see as being the best for me. I have the commitment to help someone who needs my knowledge to let him live as well as I do. Being a girl can never be an obstacle. Being young can never be a block. If someone will stand in my way while I'm working for the sake of my country, I'll defend my dream and fight."
  To be honest, meeting such personality made my respiratory system a perfect model for a chimney, made my thoughts like a roller coaster running on the grooves of my brain, made my throat cuffed, made my soul shiver. 

All in all, she made my world spine. I was like "if that was me in the past. The little me. The one whose ideas were naive, illogical. Who is that coward saying 'I wanna be off this land as soon as possible'? Who is that person who is shamelessly retreating?"

Hey, I've my own conditions, right?
The question is: if I had the chance to travel to Somalia, would I disagree? No, I'll agree of course! Why? Cause I believe in my mission. Why? Cause I am an Arab and I have to help. Why? Cause my religion says so. Why? Cause humanity forces me to be what I was created to be....a human. Then, out of the blue, comedy fat structure -woman- appeared in that loud -شرشحة- tune saying "اللى يعوزو البيت يحرم على الجامع." 
  Patriotism is perfectly fulfilled by an action, but it can be beautifully and simply done by knowledge to armor its existence. It doesn't have to be about participation in protests. It can simply be self-educating about politics -in case you were that interested- and inspire youth. Old people have their opinion already formed, STONED, unchangeable. Of course, such stony heads are wrong to be like that, but that's how our environment, our negativity, self-denial, immutability, despair and our...."education" built those people. We've to save the youth (yes, we're young, but I consider what we went through, manned us up, made us older than our history books, made our hope as ashy as burnt Roman corpse, so.....we've to protect who is younger), cause those are our partners who will be surviving with us till the end. If we let the "old" shape them as they were originally "hypnotized," we still would be talking to the wall then turn around to throw the blame on the one in the mirror!

  I know you may reached, miraculously, this very paragraph out of boredom, may be I am not making sense, may be my vision is toddler's, but such chronic thoughts might kill me if I didn't kicked them out. :D

Battlefield

  I tried to identify love, deceit, trust, exploitation, care,....all those vocabulary which used to be said by the adults & they used to claim that those words wouldn't be understood till we get mentally mature.
  I tried to find the identifications in their simplest forms. I found some. I missed the rest. I got confused. I got theories. Finally, I went mad, and I thought monkey's brain had been transplanted into my skull.

 Let's blame it on my idiocy that I consider being me 20 years old, gives me no right to talk about emotions at the highest level which is love. Yeah, that type which ends up with marriage and a wedding ceremony, girl's dream, guy's sweet soar symphony. That kind of "key" -as people claim- for another life. Completely independent one. Just you and the one you chose.

  As I got to college, I found out from stories I'd heard that the problem wasn't the absence of girls' prince charming nor the disappearance of boys' Angelina Jolie. They were talking about a whole other thing. They were talking about who should love whom first.
  Society's traditions say: "Boys, who are so emotional and exposing their feelings, are silly. Guys, who keep their crush a secret, are fools. Girls, who show admiration, are..... 'bad girls.' Girls, who admire secretly, are maniacs." Apparently, society never gives a trophy to any of those. None of them is right, and who's on the "straight line" will always be a mystery. So, according to society, whatever you do, you'll be blamed. Cheers!

  In my own poor point of view, we -girls- are not allowed to fight in battlefields. Why? Cause, we're weak. That's our nature. Yes, with training and exercises we may knock down dozens, but still our nature is giving us the merciful and caring trait. We're variable, like there is a type of girls who is so mannish, but in the end you'll find out, her actions are just to hide her weakness. Guys fight, cause they are brave. They are heartless (not completely). They are variable too. You may find out a father who cares for his daughter more than the mum does. But, in the end of the road "he" becomes "her" shelter whenever danger calls. I call it "Mother Nature."
  You got lost, right? Promise this is the last time to write......or may be the one before the last....see, I'll try to bury my thoughts, just I ask you to try hard to stand me this time. What I meant by my previous "bumble" that love is a battlefield. You, my princess, is the land which "he" fights for. You, brave warrior, is the one who run miles to reach this land, to make it yours, to protect it from others and to care for it more than any other king. I always see the land (girl) is always at rest. She's waiting for the one who really wants her and who really cares for her. For the warrior (guy), I see he's the one situated in a tough choice; whether he win and celebrate his victory -marry the girl- or he dies with dignity -I mean if she didn't share any feelings, he simply let that little person inside of him (who loved this girl) die..... die and never come back-.

  Dear people, boys and girls, the story will always be "dad loved mum & mum loved him back." It would really sound eccentric to say "mum loved dad. She proposed. His parents (your grandparents) agreed. YAY!"
Girls, you're a princess. You don't have to "act" like one, or try hard to "seem" like one, cause the princess of China is not identical to the princess of Britain. Both are beautiful, but they are different. There's no paradigms for "How To Be A Princess."
Guys, don't act like a teen-sensation waiting for your doll to come for you, love you for real and beg you to love her back. You're not a Barbie.
You are supposed to be searching for a good father/mother for your future kids and in the same time, a father/mother for yourself -in the far future after losing the dearest to your heart-.
Yeah, can I say something? Stop thinking about this issue excessively. It's like that time you wasted in high school when you kept thinking which college you'd go to. It's all under fate's control.

Thanks

Thanks....Gratitude or aversion?
I say it a lot and I always mean it, but to be honest, I never knew I meant it in which way? Come'on, doesn't "Thank you" have two meanings? May be more and I haven't realized it yet, don't you agree?
I realized its second meaning when I lost living, when I lost the five senses, when I lost the aim of breathing, when I felt my uselessness. When people offered me much; multiple lifebuoys, many ventilators, additive limbs, and I'm still surviving in my coma, determinate to stay like that till death knocks my soul down. Still my conscience is alive telling me that I should say "Thanks", but this time not out of gratitude, it is out of aversion. "Thanks" is switched from the tenderest word to a cancer-like structure, when it means "Stop giving, I've decided to commit the worst. Stop caring, I've killed my humanity.Why now does your angelic side shine on me? Where was it when all what was left for me is a devil as a company?" Oh no! That flip of "Thanks" from being its meaning "I understand your sacrifice and I respect it. I confess it is a debt I'll work hard to pay it back. I'll remember you in each prayer for saving this critical state of mine. You'll be always the closest to my heart for having my back." to "I don't need your heroic act. Please, stop being around. Thanks for what you've done for me but don't give me again, I am turning to a thankless creature and I don't wanna hurt you."

Please, let's have some clarity of mind. Why would we waste hours of our lives, the whole world count us as living things and we're doing nothing like a dead body, then we call it "Depression"? Why do we look at depression as an illness which we didn't share in its causes to occur? Depression is stimulated by our hopelessness while we are surrounded with people who love us; even if you're friendless, you still have your parents; even if you're an orphan, you still have your role models; even if you're surrounded by losers, you have God to depend on and He will never let you down.

So, whenever you'll find yourself using "Thanks" with its second meaning, give yourself a wake-up slap, tell yourself no place for hopelessness, depression is mythical, I've God to provide me strength, so I'll always be a winner. 

Sinner's First Prayer

  He walks to the sink. He opens the tap and watches the water flows. He let the water passes between his fingers, feeling its cold stream, his eyes are piercing its purity. His mind is working as if he is accomplishing a daily habit while, his soul feels, a new phenomenon is occurring. His wading is done and he finally feels his exhale, he touches things thoroughly like he had been dead before. He sees his father by the corridor and trying to hide his joyful giggle that his father guaranteed him before to find it if he simply got his prayers done. Here he goes to his room and looks at the mirror. His eyes are wide open. His thoughts: "Is this me? I've a good looking! Haha. Serious! This is me? As if I lost useless hours caring about my look and wondered how everybody sees me looking good except me. I was the only one feeling disgust when I look at myself in the mirror. Now I realized that my eyes penetrates my appearance and get into my inner hidden feeling of guilt to reflect."
  He turns around to get ready for the prayer but he posed a second for a moment, he is looking back to an empty space but it resembles for him the past he left. The past, he regrets letting go with its heavy burdens of sins, wasted hours of confusion -while the answer was there- & its wrong arguments about the route of happiness -which he thought it's main theme is being numb and wasting-. He let go of the past without any beam of pride in there. He looks right ahead, in front of him "It is a new start. Today is tomorrow's past. When I will look back like I've just done, I'd have added this bright spiritual moment."
  Is his body vibrating or the earth is shaking? He stands there saying "Allah Akbar" with a voice he could hear while others can't. He has that feeling of shame how couldn't he make this loud "Allah Akbar" as the usual thing to hear at his house from a son like him? How could he make it phenomenal to be heard by his own voice as if he was an atheist living along with the family? Just how?!
  Look! He's standing still right now. His body made it clear "My power is returned". The first second he was like broken rotten flower, now he stands upright like a Greek warrior. His eyes are tearing with a vibrating smile on his face. His soul is flooding waves of contradictory feelings. His guts are relaxing as if they were tied. "Allah Akbar" now he is in his Ruku'. He gives a breath of relief, his burdens on his shoulder, those rocks of sins have just fallen off and broke to pieces. His breath, that untamed lion, has just found his restful lullaby. Once his head touches the ground during his Sujud, he feels the two worn out halves of his head got healed.
  Now, he is done but he wants to get to that peaceful world once more. Would he keep this his lifestyle or he will lay this person in formalin till he gets lost once more and gets his body out to study some facts and get into reality?

New b....Dead

  "Happy birthday" They said. They cheered. Their wishes were good, said loud, that meant they were getting closer to God and they would come true quickly, didn't it?
  She felt blessed. She felt lucky. All of a sudden, she felt tired, worn out, ripped out of her soul. She felt pain out of her disability to stand for showing her gratitude to the present people. She fell on her bed. She closed her eyes. Wait! Hadn't she got older? Isn't sleeping, a childhood-related habit? She should have been awake thinking about the past year's sins and great events, she shouldn't have been asleep, should she?
  What?! It is her nature? She is a child? She will never get old? What? You call it "Soul's purity"? Ha! She was asleep! In the middle of the day. Could you hear that? Azan. Why wasn't she off bed to pray God for a whole year had passed with a soul in her body, a breath blowing her chest. a quake shaking her heart, a flood of blood streaming in her veins? She was a saint? She was off bed, prayed already? Why? Yes! I am serious. Why was she off bed to pray? She had to? Wait! She didn't think about how much gratitude she had to show to her God in that moment? She hadn't count her steps? Watching her toes touching the ground then laying her ankle softly like a ballerina drifting? She hasn't wondered at her mother's musical voice calling her name? She hadn't burst out laughing when she heard her dad's joke? She hadn't embraced her sister? She hadn't played with her brother?
  She stood up right, sweat running on her cheeks, she went to wash it with blurry sight, nearly closed eyes. She was back again in her room. She turned the fan on. Then, the light kept flashing, electric current was going off?! She said "Damn it! I am a bad luck owner." She forced herself to the bed, under the covers. Wait! She hadn't smiled? She hadn't felt the softness of the pillow on her cheek and how it was flirting her so she would smile? She wasn't......satisfied?! She had joyful day, didn't she? That flashing light is the reason why?!
  Oh! The current kept coming and going. The fan was giving weird noise. She got furious she sat in angry manner, when.....when.....when the fan's blades came across her neck. She bleeds? She is bleeding! Someone, help. Is she screaming? No! No voice. Apparently she is not even trying. Is she surrendering to the pain? Is she already dead? So, why is that body shaking nonstop? Wait! Can you see that? That scene?! Come closer, listen:
Hey! Oh! Oh my God! I am bleeding! What?! How am I looking to myself while I am bleeding? No mirror in this direction. *Tearing* What's going on? *airless breaths* Why can't I hear my breath? What's all that blood? Where is my family? No, no. Focus. I am bleeding! God......Oh......No! No No No Dear God Please not that end. I have to get to that body again. Let me in. Let me in. *Terror* * Unrest eye rolls* I am letting my arm in, why isn't my body absorbing me in? The body is shaking between my hands. More blood to see. Oh No! God! Please! I beg you. My only wish! My birthday wish! Make me survive just for another day.
*Shouting at her body* You! Hey! You! Let me in, I say. You stupid being let me in, let me in, save me time, do me a favor, let me in, idiot. *Screaming* *Crying* Save me! I am crying over myself. Why don't you stop?! Why do you look so pale? No smile on my body? May be I will live. Yes, I am optimistic I will live.
What is this? The body is getting away. Oh! No! God please let me be here. No, please, not now. *Breathless cry*
*Mother entered the room screamed and fainted, the father looked at the scene his feet vibrated back and forth, right and left, lost destination of what to do, where he should go ahead. He ran out of the room for calling an ambulance. The sister, the little one, entered, screamed "No! No! Not my sister. No way." She ran to the body putting her hand on the cut which flooding out blood, she screams at the weird feeling she got when she touched the blood, the cut gap. She stepped back then gave a loud courage cry with more tears, heading her hands to stop the bleed. The brother entered fell on his knees, he saw the fainted mother, then an eye noticed his sister act like a fireman trying to put off the... explosion. He took her from the waist and his hands on her eyes.*
So....I am dead? I am a ghost? *Force pulls her to above* No, no. *The ghost holds on the body making it quaking again.* Mum! you love me. Wake up and take me back in this body. Sister, good job keep going on, my doctor. Brother, let dad quick, I am flying away. People! I am still here. Not dead. Why are you letting me go? Why is this force pulling me stronger? It should have been my birthday. I supposed to be a new born by that day. Think?! It is too late to think. I am in a panic.I .....a.....m.........*The ghost faded.*


  Relatives, friends, colleagues are all dressed well in black. Haven't they thought of, if this was their own funeral? Stepped into the mosque imagining their body in that coffin? I mean if they can't tear for her death, they can weep for theirs. The sister, the shorty, looked at each person coming across her, kissing her on the forehead, petting on her back, smiling at her face, and she was simply in no need for all of that. She actually was dreaming of someone to take her hand, sits her kindly by his/her side, gets the Qur'an and reads with her some verses so, she would feel...the surroundings, else than this all those audience are nothing to her but ghosts.
  Hey! Here is the enemies showed up. Miserably broken?! Oh my God, they are in psychological shock! I thought they would be happy. They were actually sad cause of the death of a black core in their heart, crying over a chance of purity washing out their dark hating hearts.
  Finally, the girl's friends. How happy she would be now! Oh! that's so horrible. How could she deal with such friends? Those couple chatting over there, the two with their hands on there mouths, with the pale faces. Yeah! I know. They look pretty sad for her loss but actually you didn't overheard their talk "She used to wear tight clothes. I used to advice her. I am feeling so guilty towards her." The other: "I told her several times not to talk about others. I am feeling guilty too." Don't you think both need applause? They do deserve it, really. They acted like Oscar-winners. The first used to talk about her behind her back during her living but she never faced her with that kind of truth, she had never advised her. The other was the one who never shuts the hell up, talking over and over again about people's flaws, the girl joined her as kind of sarcasm but she didn't like how the talk sounded and now she is blamed -after her death- that she was smiling at such talks, not only this, but out of the blue she is the one who used to start such talks. What about laughing now?
You are missing it, aren't you? You're still focusing on how stories can flip, how the girl died, how the people reacted, aren't you? Come'on! Yes! You missed it. You miss this story hero. The little sister? Nah. The mother? Nop. The girl herself? No. The hero, people,.....death. The only spotlight is on it. The only talk is about it. What? You answered with "deeds"? No I seriously mean death. Even deeds between this man's hands are just.....space. The girl is gone. I'm gone. You're gone. Each one is gone on his own way, towards his/her own destiny, different shores, many floods, some break you, some throw you to a new shore, some just drown you.

Friendship Means....

Isn't friendship like bonds made of different fabrics?
 
Some made of Gold but you can't always walk around wearing it, due to the fear of being it stolen, so you throw it in your drawer (Mistreating dear friends not on purpose). 
Some made of metal, has hideous look but you are forced to be with and by time you will like it cause with it you are secured (People who pop up into your life, out of the blue, you get freaked at but then you find their fine core). 
Some made of thorn, has nice adore, with beautiful flower but having it around your wrist can't give you a break off bleeding (People who hurt you but you can't let them go cause they are what you're looking up to be). 
Some made of wool, you can't feel their existence but when you feel you're out of jewelry, you find it still there, decorating you & you're happy having it. (People who loved you, never worked hard to scar your life, never showed off their missions that saved you and still you accidentally don't appreciate them.)
Friendship means a part of your appearance, rarely when it means part of your character, nearly impossible part of your heart & unfortunately fictional to be part of your fate. 

Failure Of A Hater

I want to be the invisible stinger bee

I want to be the unknown warrior at your defeat

I want to be the secret golden key

Unlock your brain, the intentions you seek

To expect your slaps with no surprise

Like a fortuneteller in disguise

I want to have your vision to follow your glance

I want to have your force of grabbing the chance

I want to have your stony heart

I want to study your immortal chant

I want to be your competitive hater

But I ended up as a cherishing respecter

She Is Not Dumb

Marilyn Monroe is not dumb as many had declared. Her quotes makes me deny that.

Her Quotes Directed To Girls:  

Her Quotes About Life:

 I am not saying she is a role model, but I found out that her words express what a lot of girls want to hear and what most of us need to know.

Walking On Water, Drowning Down

I am the girl who walks on water and drown down hard
I am your colorful crayons for your black and white chart

I am the voice who will sing your plain note
I am also the concrete sculpture that you shove

I am your fire in the sunny hot days
I am your sandy hill in the greenish hays

I am the dark sky surrounding your sparkly star
I am everything that you don't need so far

What Hurts Me The Most

This is what hurts the most, to blame me for what I consider as my worst nightmares, to put my country's name next to OUR COMMON enemy. Can't blame you. Can't blame you at all. My past regime made me shout for you in vein, made me sleep and left you in living hell. I wish you understand, it was all a play we had been fooled by. You have got to believe me I am not a participant in this dirty game. I will never wash my problems by your blood, just my leaders are not under my control. My voice, as yours, not heard but I am trying to change it. Not only for me! But for you too! For us together.

The Foolish Lover

Oh, no! Oh, dear!
He loved the wild savage deer


So pure, so sincere
How he couldn't stand her tear

So beautiful, so kind
How her voice is still on his mind

So sad, so unsafe
How she made him, her slave

So painful, much sorrow
Added to his grief in his dark hours

Shocking truth, hard times
To find another reason to survive

So stupid, so foolish
Killed by love & the murder is dronish

Poor victim! He is sinking in regrets
"How can I be the foolish lover?" is what he gets

Tears nor sleepless nights recover
What he had been feeling, even though it was undercover

Oh, no! Oh, dear!
The foolish lover cherished the wild savage deer

Blame

Blame, blame, blaming letters
To anonymous person from anonymous sender
Words, words, filled up with words
And still the writer is trying to use tender swords

He feels hollow or shallow, anyway pain is inside
Like a huge heart beating, less breaths, more sighs
He doesn't want to be the sin-committer in these games
That's why he goes on throwing lies and firing flames
Aching and hurting hearts with his meaningless blames

He stands in front of the mirror which breaks and cracks
Trying to tell him out loud that mercy is the thing he lacks
He shouts "Why is the blame always on me?
When will I stand for my dignity?
When will I stop being a sinner?
When will I be the angelic winner?"

Would he be forgiven after this slaughter?!
After being a blame-and-lies roarer?!
Would the anonymous person answer back,
With his own reasons, with his own facts?
Who would drift tears first?
Who would rebuild this thurst?

She Is A Gay Guy

    I came up with this statement trying to describe somebody. She is a girl who may wear girlish clothes, so no problem with that, but actually most of the time she is in her sneakers and sweatshirt. She talks to guys like she is one of them, she never had a thought that someone would mistaken her as a flirty girl. She likes wrestling, soccer, metal music,... anything which this society relates to man's world. She hates romance and feels bored when soft music is on. They say she is kinda a guy while she will end up marrying a man; so, I thought "she is a gay guy" statement would fit her.
    Actually, I am not judging her. I like her as she is! The thing that when a good friend of yours comes to you and tells you what is said about you behind your back which is the complete opposite of you, when your parent is warning you from this world that it is not judging you according your actions, your words nor your intentions; it is according how the world WANTS TO SEE YOU. That's what had been said to her. So, she found out that "Out of sight, out of mind" motto may work well, but, apparently, she couldn't cause THE SAME PEOPLE WHO ADVISED HER, said: "You have to keep updated with this world outside. Meet people, know information, listen to new thoughts. Being isolated is like a plant was put away from the sun, the result would be death. Isolation is an actual suicidal."
    So, what will she do? She is religious. She knows her limits in treating others whether boys or girls. Isolation is forbidden, mingling with respect and borders is banned. Solution?!
    Finally, she could convince herself with the truth which is "People never stop talking about others." They judge "others" when they have low self-esteem. They admire "others" when those "others" give them attention. In the end, to have peaceful life aim for the following:
1)Seek God's satisfaction.
2)Avoid hurting others.
3)Respect others' opinions even if they sound weird.
4)Correct who is wrong without making it obvious that you are the right one.
5)Be yourself.
6)It is an obligation to face haters in your life, so never change yourself for them, cause they are envious of how amazing you are.

The Wind

Let the wind play with my hair so I can laugh

Let the wind push me so I can walk

Let the wind dry my tears so I can smile

Let the wind drop me so I can feel weak

Push me to weep and cry

Make me feel relieved

Let the wind sing so I can remember

How I struggled long ago and had to be stronger

Let the wind drive my friends to me so they can get me up

I feel always better when they are around having fun

Let the wind fight with the sea so I can enjoy the scene

When I feel the sea shouting at me saying stick to your dream

Let the wind play with a kid's kite

When he laughs and holds the rope tight

Let the wind bring that smell which brings memories

When I look into nothing revising my diaries

When I remember exam's days & trips

When I remember my teachers & friends

When I feel safety specially in the feast

When we thought that the angels were passing by and the smell was their greets

Let the wind's blow mixes with someone's sorrow

Drive them to a beam of light to follow

Let the wind spread rain's drops

Which cleans up all my thoughts

Let the wind bring my taken breath back

Let it heal my broken heart which was attacked

By fake disloyal so-called friends

Let the wind blow till the end

Who We Are, Who They Are

We need to think more about our future and expect the worst to be aware

We need to trust in our power and dream big to accomplish more

They will never let their greedy demands go like that

Because you've just advised them to revise History and look back!

They are all about heartless monsters made of paper

Their sharp edges scratch you but you keep being stronger, braver

Don't call their men, soldiers but they are bloodsuckers

Don't call their women, mothers because they don't know the feeling of losing sons and daughters

Don't call their children, kids because the weapon is their toy

And they are sure that their prey is our courageous boy

Don't call the land where they live, Isreal but it is Palestin

Where they save on its lands, their crimes and bury their sins

Won't we wake up?! Won't we tell the world?!

Won't we talk and say our word?!

Just Words

"Don't act cocky that makes you look ugly

Don't act idustrious that makes you boring

Don't act careless that makes you a fool

Don't act humble that makes you useless

Don't act kind that makes you stupid

Don't act evil that makes you hated

Don't act helpful that makes you a loser

Don't act lonely that makes you sympathetic

Don't act social that makes you easy to gain"

Just who said I am acting

That's who I am

Whatever it makes me a fool, stupid or your safe ground to land

I am not confident at all

I don't even know what I say

Just things jump into my brain and here start a gab

They call me a fool or a joke

But look at how many smiles are here

You try to make me sad, but ha ha here I cheer

You call yourself you are the best of all, but your words never satisfies me

Who you underestimate, their laughter is the world to me

Even for you, they are people you love to ignore

Call their look "hideous" and make fun of it in your cold show

Love hearing their heart breaks from thousands miles

For you, to shut up is hard, it is like "How would I waste my time?!!"

You say we are different and that how life goes

I say we are the same and if we were blood united, you wouldn't have said so!