Do They Sing Us?

"Just Another Day"

Morning alone

When you come home

I breath a little faster

Every time we're together

It'd never be the same

If you're not here

How can you stay away, away so long.

Why can't we stay together

Give me a reason

Give me a reason.

[Chorus]

I, I don't wanna say it

I don't wanna find another way

Make it through the day without you

It's just another day

Making the time

Find the right lines

What do I have to tell you

I'm just trying to hold on to something

(Trying to hold on to something good)

Give us a chance to make it.

Don't wanna hold on to never

I'm not that strong

I'm not that strong.

I, I don't wanna say it

I don't wanna find another way

Make it through the day without you

I, I can't resist

Trying to find exactly what I miss

It's just another day without you.

Why can't you stay forever

Just give me a reason

Give me a reason.

[Chorus repeats]

Do singers depict the experiences of others?

What does make a Song a successful one? Is it ability to cope with each listener's condition? Or its power to alleviate his resident state?

Was Secada singing me in his song?

Why I used to obsessively write the title of the song and the name of the singer on every paper or wall or table?

Suddenly, I noticed how this favorable song for the Cuban singer, Jon Secada, is singing an important and a prolonged part of my life. Truly, in most of my relations (I do not want to say all in order not to sound pessimistic), separation was one major element.
Is it because I do not ask for much?
Is it because I do not pressure the partner?
Is it because I do not plead for my natural rights?
I am facing everything alone, and I may not be able to carry on.
Receiving all the blows, saying all those good-byes, repeating the same encouraging words, saluting, welcoming, packing for others their tiny things, reminding them of what may have slipped from their memory, … and after all .. “making through the day without you’ and without others!!

“How can you stay away for so long?”
Just tell me how?
How can you when you are my breath I breathe every morning; when you are my pillow I sleep at night; when you are the ink I dip in the fountain pen to write; when you are the bread I luncheon on; when you are among my whispers, and in my murmurs; when you are everything that makes me someone!

A Creed

Emily Dickinson - a 19th century poetess - used to think that one should: “dwell in possibility”. The creed is not easy but not impossible, in the same time. It reflects an extraordinarily positive mannerism, whether it was regarding thinking or acting. For I believe any act is best performed if it is the foster-child of optimistic fore-reading and prospect.

The selection of the word ‘possibility’ has to be much appreciated. Its value lies in the enforcement laid with both ease and straightforwardness of the beneficial, productive, and energetic notion of possibility. If an idea is to entail something, this latter idea necessitates the adoption of what builds not destroys, what constructs not knocks down, press on not pull off.

The credo denotes and signifies several aspects. It is similar to a prophet’s philosophy: phrased with plainness, but asks charged will and steady decision.

not in simplicity nor in difficulty. The nature of such likelihood is not determined by the level of its aftermath. Whether the upshot was pampered with quietude or treated in hustle and bustle, the vital concern is to set in the mind a flexible thought of possible occurrences and happenings.

for the world opens up only to those who open to it; for nature spreads its ever-sprouting wisdom to those who embrace it with both trust and cheer. Naturally, the laws of life do not follow a certain temperament. They share what they should share with according to their own capabilities and limits. They share all that with someone possessing visual and virtual potentials to absorb most of what is being there, lingering for his appreciation and implementation.

in order not to fall in the pit of darkness displayed for deactivated visions. The insight has to be the imposing sovereign. It is capable and it is enough. Our admiration of the universe around us falls in two sections: internal, where it is translated in the form of thoughts and ideas, and sometimes it takes the shape of dreams, illusions and ambitions; external, where it is actively shown in our mentally spoken speeches, realistic accomplishments, and actual deeds. Each feeds each. And all in all give life and vividness to our personality. To shape such luxury, believing in the possible welfare of the nature of things, accepting the impression of the well being of people, and foreseeing goodness and justice in the bestowed gifts release the tension widely-spread among beings, and forecast a pure recessive pedestal that in turn will change through time and by experience to become a positive dispatching source.

because although Life has lined the notion of impossibility, Time does tell everyone that sooner or later Impossible is going to become Possible just through adopting the belief of Possibility!

Animation Masterpieces

The former post widely opened my juvenile memory. I started recollecting images of old cartoon series that I used to wait to watch. Cartoons have been both a generous and a resourceful rootage of dreams and illusions. They naturally dilated my imagination and were a great aid to overcome many dilemmas and plights.

Among the series that still invade my jejune recollections:

1. Belle Et Sebastien: the French cartoon series was translated to Arabic. The series have some episodes. It is about a boy who seeks his mother through the countries and villages of France. Of course, he happens to encounter many troubles and adventures. His companion, the dog, was a protector and a guardian. Together, they fought, ran, played, and experienced much to find the Mother, who turned to be in a cottage in a snowy area! The series is thrilling. It intensifies feelings of Love, Devotion, and Tolerance, along with determination. Besides, morals on the importance of friendship and generosity were also among the obvious themes.

2- Sunday Belle: a little funny girl who lives in a small village. She has many friends. Among them, there are two boys who used to fight to win her attention. A typical fun-to-follow series, which debates the questions of Innocence Love and Early Relations that begin as friendship until they develop into something more realistic. The series also denotes the challenges made in our youth .. the silly fights over a girlfriend .. the anticipation of her response .. and the cockamamie dreams we start developing in our childhood.

3- TinTin and Milou is one of my favorite cartoon series. I have recently bought some episodes on DVDs. The young adventurer fears nothing. He has a great enthusiasm and courage, but above all, his Curiosity is genuine. He is always challenged by two detectives. They are both stupid and clumsy. Surely, TinTin avec his dog solve the mystery before them. They are the symbol of The Forever Later Police Forces ;-D, which is a typical quality of the police worldwide. The series fixates clearly some important characteristics that are lovable and preferable to be found in young athletic energetic teens: determination, hope, scientific curiosity, analytical thinking, ... that would build a stout dependent and imposing personality. The episode includes many funny scenes and hilarious misfortunes.

4- Sasuki: the best Ninja ever drawn and portrayed. This character had an effect upon my childhood. I used to think that I am him, and call myself by his name, and surely I used to mimic his actions (poor sis, she had to go through all the tests ;-D). Sasuki with his fat friend, Jumbo, used to trace problems to solve. They were trained to defy Evil spirited people who use Black magic to harm others. The Ninja has their own codes that are derived from the Ninja School. Loyality, Faith in the Cause, Respect, Obedience, Fighting Evil, Protecting the Innocents, Spreading Wellfare, ... are some of the famous traits of this amazing school. Of course, I am referring to the Good School, and naturally everything has a diametrical version. So, it is the Old Motif of Good Vs Evil .. Virtue Vs Vice! Unfortunately, Sasuki implanted in me the dream of possessing Magical Powers .. and the dream still haunts my mind every now and then!

5- Captain Majed: the Japanese anime has entered the hearts of many, as I recall. During that period, it was something fantastic to watch a series about football game. Usually, cartoon series adopt family or personal subjects, or action-directed themes. So, when this one chose a game, it was something extraordinary. I do not like football myself, but I watched the complete series. Something in the fictious portrayal of the game appealed to me, especially the wonderful kicks of the Captain during several games. Majed was a nice cartoon to discuss with boyish friends who like to get in touch with their masculine future from their youth. ;-D it was fun to confuse them with my own personal preferences. Yet, the character has its own charming power.

6- Sanshiro: a playful and youthful guy who likes to program electrically-controled figurines. Jumaro is his creation (shown in the picture) and his sole companion. The series is a Japanese version of the American Wrestling Championship, and of course with the definite substitutions : Robots instead of humans, technology and computrization in place of savage hand-to-hand-moved-by-simple-minded-fighters. The theme is mostly about Winning .. with slight focus upon challenges and overcoming them .. and the never-ending road to Self-gratification in order to gain Recognition!

Find Me A Name

This is my favorite puppy!!

And the capture was a success .. even though I wasn't meaning to snap it pulling its tongue at me .. ;-D

I am searching for a name for it. My friends keep telling me that eventually I am going to name it: Zinger (referring to the dog of Tawfik, known as Takhtakh), or maybe Buster (in reference to the authentic British version of the same dog).

Milou seems very nice, but it's not white at all :-D. I just like Tintin's Milou. Although the English translation doesn't sound as much pretty: Snowy.

Mmmm .. I remember Belle .. from Belle Et Sebastien .. My favorite cartoon series during my childhood.

Yet, still .. It is not White!

Morning Sun

Although I consider myself a nocturnal creature, but still the awe-inspiring morning sun has its own charm.

My father arrived at dawn with my cousin from my mother's village. Their noise and loud voices pierced my dreams creating pandemonium and disorder. So, my eyelids were forced to commence the process of separation, my mouth had to dart several yawns, my eyes blurred the images I tried to conceive, until I decided to fully wake up.

It was 5:15.

My father and my cousin were eating an early breakfast (Foul + khoboz 3al 7atab: my favorite morning meal: typical Tyrian breakfast). I saluted them with a slight bow. They invited me, but I said: NO with arrogance, and sat on the table to open the laptop!!

I don't like to be disturbed ..

I don't like sudden wake-ups ..

I don't like my cousin ..

But, all of these negative elements failed to let me embrace the Morning Sun with a bright smile and sniff the scents of roses from our backyard!

SO,

Good Morning

Dears.

Smash Hits

Previously, I have mentioned that my childhood friend and companion was my guide to the Extrovert World. He took my hand [frankly I was on my way to write innocent, but it didn't fit ;-)] and introduced me to millions of details.

My family is very conservative. Not strict nor fanatic, but conservative.

I was a child.

And what a child does?

A child covets what he sees.

This is a common aspect that is well-accepted in psychology.
And because I was both rebellious and had my own way from the start, I had everything I saw and coveted.

"Smash Hits" was one the things that made my face turn into a big shining eye. The colors, the bright papers, the gifts, and the fact it is from London and written in English were things quiet new to me.

Since the minute I bought the first issue, I became addicted to reading it.

To define Smash Hits: it is a British magzine that deals with stars and their fans, and includes the latest news about art, music, films, and their worlds.

Its publishing company issues another magazine called: Big!, which I used to read and collect as well.

The magazines shaped many of my thoughts, added some, changed others. They definitely have stretched zillions of scopes in front of me, and not only flavored my nights with amusing tips or trivias. For I always read seeking something different than the words scribbled and stuffed in front of my eyes. I like to go in deep, to catch the meanings behind the words, the unwritten messages, although it is not necessary for many literary-related books, magazine, ..etc to have some latent messages. But, it is a trick I used to play to enjoy my time, and in a way to express a rebel against the norms of regular reading.

But, I have also to point out that I used to enjoy the gifts to the maximum limits .. Some were tattooes (untouched till now :S) .. Sometimes, they used to attach with the issue a collection of Stickers .. Other times, they dedicated the last pages to cut and fold in a certain way and become a Tape Star (covers for tapes) .. and regardless to mention the posters in different shapes, colors and subjects.

I believe that there is always a Benefit .. from everything .. no matter how trifle it seemed to others .. no matter if 'others' accept it or refuse it .. the importance comes from within .. and when it does .. the results are surely to be fruitful.

The memoir was risen up after reading an old news that the company has stopped issuing SmashHits. They have closed!!

So, I hope this page would be a tribute to the 'source' that I gained much much much from!!

Names & Faces

Some faces stick to our minds without exerting any efforts. Some sounds are prefered by our ears without our consent. And surely there are some names that could always be memorized no matter what damages our memories.

Kevin Costner is a name that has a special Place in my heart .. mind .. memory .. and Past. The first movie I watched him acting in was [ No Way Out]. It was displayed on Future TV when it was in the testing period. I felt charged when I saw him. He captured all my senses.

I felt that he is the man I would like to be if I was with the ability to choose a body.

And the obsession started ever since. I began collecting his pictures and photos from all the sources I could reach to. I used to gather information about him. And all were sorted in a file especially made for him.

Today, I regard him with admiration. I still like him more than the others, but nowadays my love for him has took another curve; maybe it became more profound but more logical, as well. I appreciate his work, have my own critics about some of his films, yet, my eyes always seek meeting his (through the screens of course, although I had my fantasies of living next to him!!).

Another actor that impresses me is Anthony Hopkins .. His presence negates all others .. His voice overwhelm everything .. His mere look is an epic never told yet!

I got acquainted with thic incredible genuine man in [The Silence Of The Lambs] as Hannibal Lector .. The character was both eccentric and imposing to the degree I went the next day to buy the movie (VCR, there were no DVDs at that time). I didn't like Foster in her part, she was dull and looked as a beginner, or let us be just and say: she acted well her roll as a complexed FBI agent. Still, I disliked her performance. But as for Hopkins, he mastered the role. I do not think that anyone could play it better!

And following his filmograph was actually a normal thing to do, and so I did.
It was his voice .. His voice that drives me insane ..
It thrills me beyond measure.
Something that lies between the scream of a hawk, the sirens of sharks, and the sound of the fallen leaves of an Autumn tree!!
Something that combines savagery and anger with serenity and transulence..
That unites the ununited .. !!
Yet, united !!

Another stop has to be taken to the amazing Matt Damon .. Not exactly amazing .. but precisely the Witty Matt.
I have never encountered a smart guy like this young man. His strides are full with enthusiasm. His eyes glitter with intelligence. His face portrays complete readiness to anything.
I initially met him in [Good Will Hunting] .. The movie is a complete success. It was created in a good way, and acted much more better.
The movie was very touchy. Actually, it hit on some of my fragile cords. I stayed 3 consecutive nights crying .. I just couldn't stop. But the bright side of the incident was that I never cried ever since.

Matt is good. He is more than good. But I do not know why he is not that appreciated. Most of his films are perfect. He chooses his roles in a very delicate way. I am waiting the release of the third part of The Bourne Identity to complete the threequels. They are far more interesting than Mission Impossible or even 007 James Bond.

Damon has no much effect on me .. but the 'coincidence' that he was the one who acted Good Will Hunting .. and had the breaking-of-ice scene with Robin Williams who said the killing-to-the-core words: It is not your fault .. It is not your fault .. It is not your fault ... etc.

Euthanasia

I was watching a movie, which I wasn't able to finish due the inconvenient electricity, about a little girl who was born to two employers in a company. They were living a regular life, without any extravagances, because they can not afford that, but without depriving themselves from the normal sources of pleasure.

Yet, having Laura changed their lifestyle. She had an early sickness that made their nights turned into days. Much care had to be offered to this ill child. She was their first. And in a moment of despair, they felt unlucky .. felt damned .. cursed!

Events continue with a rather alteration in the pitch of the drama, until a rise occurs when the child falls from her bed. The thud drew the parent's attention .. Clothes were quickly on .. ER was the destination.

The minutes became hours. The hours dressed the coat of days. The days displayed its monotonous changing process, flipping a week after a week.

Tiredness became a feature on the parent's visages.

Insomnia a trait of their character.

The peaceful serene life .. the quiet stereotyped life .. was a far-fetched dream ...

Boredom and lonliness in the old life appeared to living in heaven comparing that to then ..

And then a Spark of Hope glittered ..

A Spark that lightened their eyes ..

A Spark that seemed to be the last chance of every quandary ..

.....

Have I mentioned that Death could be a Hope?

Well, could it be?

I wonder how much this is a Merciful deed .. !!??

Bellicosity

"Unless u go with a bomb to the embassy."

The concept of Violence has been spread around with great swiftness and simplicity. Above, is a short comment - by a dear friend who was joking only with me - that explicitely denotes how the Aggressive Language has unconsciously entered our dictionary.

It still astonishes me everyday how hostility have ventured every house .. every single corner in our houses and became a regular practice .. done on regular basis.

Whenever one tunes on the TV, he will never find anything cheerful.

Not only on TV. Real Life gives daily vivid examples.

Traffic jams manifest anger.

Schools explore complexes.

Students express vulgarity.

Neighbours develop aggression.

Friends, sometimes, shows signs of condemnor.

It is worldwide spread .. like a contagious virus ... Sending and emitting negative charges all over ..

.
.

I have one hope ... that other things would Prevail, too ..

So .. let us pause for a minute ..
Close our eyes .
Contemplate our souls ..
Check the dim lighted spot inside ..
Try to approach it with care ..
Enlarge it ..
Enlarge it more ..
Till its pixels fit our oculi ..

Then, at this solemn moment, let us dream of a Society filled with Agape and Passion!

Hymn of Nostalgia

I yearn for my childhood friend.

I yearn the 'lad' that took me to another world, who ultimately opened new realms of the unkown and familiarized them for me.

I yearn the 'bro' that shared withme his laughter and mine, his joy and mine, his success and mine.

I yearn the 'friend' that was nearly always beside whether I was in need of his existence or not.

I yearn the 'adult' that cultivated many of my wild ideas, framed logically much of my silly nuisances.

I yearn the 'hand' that used to help and never deforming.

I yearn the 'lips' that uttered only truthfulness and sincereity.

I yearn for you .. my mysteries-buddy .. my friend!

Do

Time goes by my friend, and there is nothing left but the silence of the music, which haunts your memory … bits of a very disturbed memory. What can music do in front of these oppressing sirens of violence? How may any contribute to the extermination of such complication? And the never-dying question: Do we still have time?

Time, my friend, is being stolen from us … in front of our bodies … under our bare eyes … and against our own volition!

O heaven!
O Witness of our case!

We ask not a quick salvation, but some tranquil moment in time; an era of peace, to rest the wary eyelids, the aching hearts, fragile legs!!

What can I tell you my friend about the days of yore?
I will not portray my life at that period in colorful hues .. I never knew any colors, then. My perception of Life was: Happy-Sad equation, neither more nor less. And permit me to assure you that ‘grief’ had the widest share. Yet, my grief wasn’t – for the wonderment of many – a dramatic one. I used to think of it as a remedy; sometimes, it was as a consolation. Others, an alteration.

O friend, words are going to wither upon my boughs. They are like the little leaves. They need watering. They need pruning. They need helpful hands and warm-hearted harvesters. Unluckily, my own plantation is as abandoned as an untrodden desert.

It has been so.
And most probably, will stay as such!

The quandary doesn't lie with Others.
It exists with me.
Something in my enigmatic personality that deteriorates every relation .. mutates it .. and leaves only bitter hearts at the dark corners!!

Still, I defy this.
And will always do.
Will always do.
Always do.
Do.

Wheel Of Change

Interested in making a Change?

Not an ordinary one, but one that alters crucial matters in your life.

Think of this chart .. rethink of what you have planned to change .. and regulate your thoughts.

And have fun!

Homicide

I had a surf around me ...

I found Anger .. Rage .. Fury .. Wrath ..

I have contemplated in the Human Being .. and I am still .. The equation did not seem right. In most Religions along with most of the Ideologies, beings have a relative relation to their Creator. In some, they are in His image; in another, their souls comes from his; and from others, they were reflected from His omnipotentency. So, all has to show feelings of Happiness, Satisfaction, Fortunate, and Love .. a great portion of Love!!

Yet, there are only few reflectors of such sublime feelings.

Wondering why, I looked again .. trying to perforate into the people next to me .. trying to probe through their minds to read them. The first catchy sight was about a little boy, most probably he is in grade 6. He was seated next to me in the internet café. At first, he put the headphones (the necessary company of loud/noisy/heavy music), then he popped the msn chart and ventured in . His displayed sentence (nickanme) was poorly written, and most of the attendents at his list were so, as well. No one whispered him, so, he reluctantly switched on a pc game and started playing. The game stopped me much. The violence in it was unbearable: Hitting, Shooting, Killing, Fighting, ....etc. Blood oozed from all the screen's corners. It splashed on the walls in side the game. It even hit me in the face. And with every blow he did, with every successful KILLING, he used to give me a peripheral smirky smile that shows both his self-satisfaction and self-pride. He scored a body. He sabotaged a human!!

A minute later, killing became Regular and Common. He closed the game's window to open the msn's. A friend nudged him. They started cursing each others in a friendly way (calling names of animals). Then, the cursing was elevated: *icks, mothers, fathers, *ucking were all IN!! The boy noticed that I am looking at him. He smiled his yellow naïve smile, and looked away with coyness.

The question is highly raised with stiff highlights: From where does a kid possess such violent anf aggressive tendencies?!

And the examples never stop ... from astonishing me!

So, let us stretch out a hand towards Peace .. and Compassion, but we have to do it Together .. Hand in Hand.

A Novel.

If you are looking for a slow novel that includes many qualities from the 'Theatre of The Absurd', read Waugh .. in: A Handful Of Dust .. It is a nice and a serene novel that I have finished reading in two reading sessions.

An Invitation In 3 Quatrains

Forget the sweetness of life ,

Mine surpasses it ..

Needless to struggle or strife,

I just hope that I fit ..



Approach me, my hands do unfold,

And emit abundance of serenity ..

Come nearer, but weigh and behold,

You may not like my tranquility ..


I neither kiss, nor use my lips to bite,

I never show what one needs not to see ..

Yet, you just come, into my ample light,

I'm a foresaken orchid, you could be my tree!!

First Book: Whodunit?

Some memories never fade away ..............

I have been reading mysteries from a very long time. It all happened by chance. I think boredom has to be thanked, at that time.

In the end of Summer of '88, I was both alone and aloof. My elder brother had pity on me, and acted as a brother should: he offered me some short stories. They were small; they were old; but their covers were still as bright as the sun that shines everyday.

I still remember the feeling .. the sensation felt from touching the yellowed papers .. I still recall the chill received when I read the names of the adventurers .. They were five and a dog .. They were friends, and they were intelligent.

And since then, the spark never went off ..

They say that Books are the Best friends, and it is very true.

Yet, all the thanks .. goes to my brother ... whom I may have never thanked ... and to the first mystery book:

The Balloons' Seller:

Ponder

Sometimes .. a Picture .. a Saying .. especially if they were both Holy .. translate what tongues can not express and words fail to summon :

It a Blissful Bless to know the Righteous Road .. and the Peaceful Path that would lead us to the Total Truth!

Math = Poetry!

I was in class today, monitoring students who have a Mathematics examination.
They were two classes: BE7 and EB8 ..
The students were solving, writing, and busy with their drawing utensils ...

All of a sudden, the queer French Mathematics teacher ventured the room ... He murmured some kind of salutation that was accompanied with several nods (as Hi, good morning, how are you), in addition to several movements of the lips (similar to: I am fine, asking about your health ..) .. He is definitely not a sociable teacher .. on the very contrary, he stated from Day 1 that he has his own rules regarding Teaching and he doesn't follow the school's regulations!

I said, he ventured inside the room .. and started looking at his students' answering sheets (EB8). He stopped at one in particular and shook his head. I guessed that she was wrongly solving an exercise. The guess was , of course, right.

What stroke me was his reaction ...
Suddenly, he turned to his students .. put his hands behind his back .. explicitly showing his round and large belly .. raised his head up .. and without looking to the examination paper, he recited the mathematical Exercise word by word .. with special stresses upon certain points, numbers, and letters ..

It was not Math .. surely not Math ..
It was more like a recitation of a Poem to Coleridge or to Keats ..
The passion that was translated with every uttered word was highly far than a simple statement of a 'given' to be 'proved' as so and so.
The 'airy' voice, the stiff posture, the steady gaze ... make one believes that he is witnessing a grave moment of inspiration, leaped swiftly from the Edens of words to the tongue of a stout and experienced poet, and were recited by the spur of the moment !!

I have never sensed such a mingling feeling ..
Things were always acute and crystal clear ...
Yet, one can not always await for an apt response as long as he doesn't really know what is the nature of things.

Two Paths

In these hurried lifestyle, I fight to gain a free space for me everyday ..
The space is not for mundane issues, but rather for simple retrospection in my passing days ..
I tend not to judge, but to monitor .. and analyze ..

What stopped me recently, is the fact that there are many 'people' whom you think they are going to establish a relationship (whatever the notion holds), and regardless the 'sex' element, yet, they stun you with their deep indulgence in their industrious and diligent work or routine. It hurts to know that one estimates or maybe overestimates others without considereing whether they are up to such estimation ...

I tried to analyze this phenomenon . .
And reached a conclusion that is growing to become a belief ... that such People are not very much "walking on the same path" .. each is carrying his life (with its little occurences), holding his worries (and there is much to hold), and lifting his own dreams/fantansies/and many times his own expectations(!).

I wish for all the best.

.. And Me !! ..

"" Teacher ... TEACHER .. write for me , please .. Write anything .. in any language .. write it with your nice handwriting .. to remember you .. ""

With such words, my students are saluting me these passing days .. It is the end of the school: Students have forgotten all the vicious and barbarous acts of their teachers (:D they truly describe us in this savage hues) .. Teachers have reached the time where a Smile is worth much than a Slap, where a Wink could do fourfolds more than a Shout, and where leaving a Good Memory is normally far more better than leaving a Dull Trace!

So, a clever and brilliant student (Areej) began the process of collecting the teacher's souvenir or what we call a "keepsake' or a 'token' .. and the move was copied by the Entire class ..

Areej's souvenir's book was very tidy and smells of flowers .. It was both decorated and filled with fading pictures of nature and love's symbols ..

As for the students ... they tore papers from their Agendas .. Copybooks .. Books .. Diaries .. and proudly asked for something written ..

It was frustrating ..
Writing to me needs a form , a style, as long as to an inspiration ..
Sometimes, papers inspire me ... other times a nice fountain pen would do the trick ..
You can not tell .. why in this moment my handwriting was perfect , and in the following second I appeared to be ignorant of the Calligraphy rules!!

It is the Details ..
The little details that entail every reason ..

.
.


And the funny thing ... is that ... when you finish from about 8 or ten papers ... another student screams from behind:

Mrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. and meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee !!!

And as funny as it may appears - to some - , the mere statement .. the askence .. implies a hidden need of Regoniotion that hasn't been fully developed at this age, but still growing!! It gave me a sensation of Pity and Sympathy to these little souls that are in need to being Recognized and Identified in a world that has lost its normal standards and in a neighbourhood that has created its own Laws and Creeds. Such traits in a personality should not be aroused at this young age,, for where is their Childhood? and most importantly, where is their innocence? Among these rushing crowds .. these noisy mob .. I feel that I am the only Innocent Figure there ..
Trying my best to teach Simplicity rather than Complications ..
Love and Compassion instead of Intense Animosity or Hostility ..

I try to teach my own Ideologies ... but in their own Language .. Through their own Images ..

I try ..
I share ..
I give ...

But, still .. there are many ...
Screaming:

Teacher ............................ And meeee!!

(!!ش.ك.ر.اً. (كلمة يلبسها الإستيحاءُ خجلاً

هو ذلك الشُكر المخضرمُ
ما بين أسطورة الأمس المنسيّة
و ترنيمة الحاضر الواعي

ذاكَ المدلهمّ بالليل
بالصمت
بالسكينة
المتدثّر بالحمرة الخجلى
خفراً

إنهُ الشًكرُ
النابعُ
: من محلّةِ الإنتظار
كان كامناً
يتربّص
يشفي حالةً من التهميشِ
،إعترته عن إفتراء
كان مشرأباً
يرابطُ
يرمي رنوةً كل حينٍ
! نحو السماء

هو ذاتُ الشكرُ
يا صاح
ذاتهُ الذي ينبعُ
من مصدره الأمّ
نفسهُ العابرة
بعتي المشاعر
الحاملة لأجنة المحبة
النابضة
بالصدق
هو ذاتهُ
يتَّضع أمامكْ
يرسمُ سهماً
ينحتُ قلباً
يخطُّ حرفاً
أو بعضُ حروف
.ش.ك.ر.اً
....

.ج

ooOooOo Rosary oOooOoo

With cheeks so red
And amiability
One truth is heard
Of some affability;

Hands didn't toil
Hearts didn't err
Parting lips never fail
To praise whom we admire;

Ninety-nine black ivory
None dedicated for me
The pleasure is sublime
The yearning is intense
Too rare to catch
Yet, Common at time,
Or Ordinary.

** Danniel **

Deep down the Soul

Dig hard

Deep down the skin

Float

My nights tell a tale

Of a lad

A male

That dwells in my oceanic abyss

Behind walls

Of flesh

Where one can not note

Behind eyes

Where visionary rate

Is Nought.

<< L.O.V.E. >>

As Men fought,
Cities they conquered,
Raved hearts of all,
And wrote,
On each wall,
The story of a warrior captured,
Whose strength met a rival,
A heart,
And caused its Fall.

From 'A' to 'E'llie

Agitated by the eagerness to define a passing flare
Aspired to conquer concrete, to touch the truth bare

Brain had it all although not so fast yet not too slow
Basically, profoundly focusing on certainty although

Certainty disappears when love is on the partners’ list
Can’t truly decide whether it’s whimsical or a mist

Daring to define means acquiring the power to feel
Deciding to feel, may simply turn the head over the heel

Ellie, you’ve stirred inside what God has set to be moved
Elaborating a new man, his silent life has simply grooved!

3 Words

Hope for Good ... and you find it!

.

.

Expect Light ... and you perceive it!

.

.

Love all and all will love you!

A Wish

" Free that soul of yours,

I've been diving for so long ..

Closing my eyes, hushing my tongue ..

Singing till I became a song ..

Let me be from thy yores"

دوّامةُ فجرٍ وليد

من أنتَ؟ من تكون؟

من أنا؟ من أكون؟

تائهٌ وسطَ صحراء؟

في بحرٍ أو محيطٍ ملعون؟

أيُّ زمانٍ هذا الذي ينفثُ الغضبَ تُراباً

و يزرعُ في بتلاتِ الحياةِ ماءاً عُصاباً؟

إنني الخنجرُ .. فهل تُصبح لي الجرابا؟

متى كانَ هذا الوعدُ؟

و متى تنتهي دوامة الأسئلة لتبدأ دورة الجوابا؟

كُنْ مع البحرِ موجاً

عِثّ

و لا تُغرِقَ السابح الهادئ أو المهيابا

كُنْ للمطرِ زخَّاً

و تزوج النور من ندىً رقراقا

قابل العاصفة بالصمود

و لا تقف بالمرصادا

عنقاً تحوزُ

قلباً رهيفاً

و العصفُ في الأرجاءِ

كان من أمرها مُرادا

من أنتَ؟

! أنا الليلُ

أنا الفجرُ الغسيقُ

! و الصبح العتابا

و نسيجٌ من ألوان الطيف أنا

و خيوطٌ من طواطم الكتابا

رُبَّ قمرٍ يزهو من عِشِّهِ النورُ

كُلّ العيون و الشعر

و أقلام الشباب المعابا

للقمرِ إذن

خطوةٌ للخفا

و للسحر الناتج من نورهِ ألفُ شعاعٍ

بتنا نحارُ

تراهُ كان نوراً أم سراباً ؟