Thursday, August 23, 2007

Leaving Things

I have always loved the term "things". I can not simply call it a word, because it connotes to several meanings of a flexible nature. The unidentified expression that holds within the definite and indefinite stands vividly on its feet relating itself to everything, yet without clarity.

People get attached to their 'things' with the flow of life. I was, myself, addicted to my own stuff. They were essential needless things. Of course the reasons are strictly wide. First of all, they intensify my feeling of possessiveness. They belong to me, and I belong to them. They identify my hobbies, my interests, and my own preferences, and in my turn, I give life to them. From another point of view, I relied/rely much upon my things to occupy my time. Leisure times are supposed to be assigned to something particular that is able to change the form of the 'wasted' to the 'beneficial'.

We always assume that we know our own things. We tend to love our things and fight for our things' rights. We stand by them, defending something, neglecting something else, beating someone, offending another. It is not at all necessary here to name the something and the someone. They could be anything and anyone. And this is the true beauty of the matter.
I remember a saying that kept ringing in my head for several years. I once read it in an old Reader's Digest's issue, it says:
"In the middle of nowhere, but always in the middle of something".
And it is quiet true.
So, when we leave our things. When we are forced to abandon them, we feel as if a part of our hearts has been taken .. much more than this: has been ripped off with brutality and cruelty .. and we ache .. we truly do .. and we feel the world has became shaken in all directions ..
I love my things.
I do not wish for them to get scattered anywhere.
I love things in nature.
I love everything that has a thing in it.
I even love the things that compose everything and anything.
Such a loaded life .. Filled with many many things!!

Thursday, August 16, 2007

On/Off

They are often the same.
They come and go, pop in and out, stays and vanishes, without specific expressed explained reasons.
And we ought not to ask. For askance, sometimes, is considered a direct interference. For questioning is often deemed as a prohibited detested action that is usually performed by the FBI.

They come and go.
They expect us to remember.
They await our love, appreciation, and understanding.
But, truly speaking, or rather writing, they never do know what happens when they are Off Line!!

Saturday, August 11, 2007

Me & Them

KSA ..
In its hottest weather ever ..
And me walking under the sun and the humidity ..

I looked around to discover that I am the only Arabian guy walking .. the rest are in their air-conditioned cars and jeeps. I took a surfing look, I found company with some Indians and Pakistanis men, cleaning the roads, building some new constructions, or just passing by. Me and the working people, the Asian workers and laborers were only on the streets. I felt an awkward sensation when I realized that. Because even this Asian fellow is definitely wondering about that young punk who thinks himself on Tahiti beaches, wearing his mini pants and tight t-shirt!!

It was a strange moment!

Monday, August 6, 2007

ID

Someone has been chatting with me lately
When I asked him about his name ... he gave my name
When I asked him about his work ... he defined my work
When I asked him about his preferences ... he spoke of mine
We only differed in age and place of residence

How are the chances of meeting such a lier on line?

What one has to do about that?

Wednesday, August 1, 2007

A Rhyme-less Poem

And I thought it is going to be easy
And I thought it would pass
The world collapsed in front of my eyes
And I was left counting the stars
.
.
And I thought he will cry
And I felt he would be sad
But no tears were seen on his face
Nothing was heard at his heart's gate
Relief was standing instead
.
.
And I thought time should take a break
Clocks would stop clicking
Yet, each passing day assures my error
Each plucked paper from the calender
Fourfolds intensifies my own distress
.
.
And I thought summer would cross quickly
While autumn will summon the leaves and the sun's rays
Although I am surely witnessing the daily rise of the dawn
Besides, two days ago I got a sun burn
It still feels like summer in everything
.
.