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!!

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!!

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!

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?

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

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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

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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

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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

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Hello

In 1994, Dr. Alban released a song called: "Away From Home", and nowadays it is always on the tip of my tongue ;-).

It is very positive to be away from one's home.

It is even healthy to change our spot of residence from time to time for a short while.

Time To Say Goodbye

Every passing minute assures the fact that we are going to get separated. Each natural element shares with me the course of departure. Parting is merely meant to be physical, yet no one knows what the future hides in its horizons for us: the children of expectancy.

I hate to sound melancholic. Pessimism doesn’t exist in my dictionary, but it is an appraisal of reality, an evaluation of facts and possibilities. One gaze at the scope of actuality strengthens the scene revealed in between the horizons: a procession of memories and events regressing towards a dark zone, a lighted torch fading away, a hand parting from another hand, a tie unfettering, a loss!

No matter how such a bond is important to me, I have to step upon the heart that is not crying but weeping, I have to restrain the soul that is not screaming but lamenting, and insert a pushing smile in my words, draw a spring in my steps, and lift the Hope to upper places.

No plaintive feelings have to be displayed when it is time to say goodbye. Farewell parties are meant to encourage the leaving/traveler not to thwart him/her. It is the right time to fixate an everlasting image of valor, audacity, and a reinforced challenging spirit. Cropping comes later, when distance plays its symphony and yearning coats our eyelids with layers of disturbed esthesises. And surely, it is the perfect moment to eschew the esurient impulse of saying: Stay; it is more lucrative to both to stress on being single-hearted while away.

So, on that day ..
My look is going to be the Spring in Summer ..
My step the stride of grasshoppers ..
My smile similar to Julia Robert’s ..
My voice the chants of the Benedictine Monks ..
My embrace as that of the ocean hugging the pedestal of mountains ..
And my only word: Indulge in the joie de vivre.