To my dear dad ..

You once said that I had taught you of late the meaning of being akin to your own father.

Know, dear dad, that wherever you are, in all your struggles; the ones told; and the ones only you and I knew of to this day; know that it is you who never ceased to teach me, and only today I realised how hard you fought for your sanity; know that I too have been, still am, fighting for mine; that I know if you were not victorious, it at least never got the best of you; and nor will it of me.

QED.

خيوط الحقيقة في يد معتوه

قبل الف قال قائلهم: " إني أعلم أنك تعلم أنَكَ و الله لكاذب "¹

وتمشي تلم شَتاتك ۔۔

على رصيف مل خطاك ۔۔

يعبث ريح الشتاء بوجهك ،

يمسحه على مضض ،

يصفعه حتى يستحيل الدم المحموم في عروقك ،

لوح جليد ۔

*******

مَعتوه مَعتوه مَعتوه ۔۔

تطرز الوهم قلائد في جيد يقينك ، تُلبسه ۔۔

حتى يستحيل شكك يقيناً ،

و تسير أوهامك بالحاضر سجيناً ،

و تبقى تفتش عن أمن اليقين في شكك حيناً ،

و في مطر بلل حتى العضام في جسمك حينا ،

مَعتوه مَعتوه مَعتوه .
*******

تتوسل الموت أن يأتيك و ما يأتي ،

تستفزه تارة و يهرب منك ،

و تركض إليه تارة  و ما يأتيك ،
لا يأتيك ۔۔

و هو الحقيقة و معنى اليقين في روحك الثكلى ،

و ما يأتي ،

هل يأتي ؟

و لا يأتي ۔۔

لا في ضوء الصبح الباكر شق سَماك ۔۔

و لا في عتم الليل البارد ضم خطاك ،

جفاك ۔۔

مثل الكل جفاك ،

كنت تعلمه مُرَ الحقيقة في وهم دُناك ،

جفاك ،

و ما يأتيك ۔۔

يأبى حتى الموت إلا جفاك !!

معتوه معتوه معتوه ۔۔

*******

تطرزه الشك قلائد دُرّيَّة ۔۔

حتى صار يقيناً ،

و سار وهمك بالحاضر سجينا ۔۔

أواه ۔۔

ها قد مِتَّ أخيراً ،
آن لك أن تستريح ۔۔

مَعتوهاً مَعتوهاً مَعتوه ،،

فقد ضاعت منك خيوط الحقيقة .
----
1: ما روي عن عبد الله بن الزبير في مساجلة مع يزيد بن معاوية بن أبي سفيان

Numbers

I made a point of reading everything he wrote; or, more precisely, everything he wrote that I could get my hands on; alas, being cursed with an evil memory, I had also remembered everything he wrote.  Right down to what he told me when I asked what brought about a particular piece of poetry or another.  I was proud to be his biggest fan; still am.

One particular piece, amongst the many, keeps hounding me, in the most hopeless of ways; he once said to her: "you never knew the art of numbers.  Had you known, then you'd have also known that any number becomes zero when you are taken away from it".

He left.  To a better place I'm told, and I hope to be;  he left me grieving for him for the rest of my days, and left her dead in the world of the living.

QED

You'll love me at once ..

How does the song go? as hopeless and as ridiculously fictitious as the story is I guess; of a form of love so pure, that it would actually bring back the dead, or the almost so; of the girl that has it all, and the boy that wants it all, and the whole cookie crumbles and everyone lives; well .. happily ever after.

Alas the never ending cycle that intersects reality with dreams, hope with utter disaster and a 'pick-the-pieces and go' kind of outlook with the grim surroundings of this thing enforced upon us called life.

And that, as they say, is that.  The only constant I've ever been able to see in it all, is this ever lasting, bitter sweet pain that I'd miss if it ever went away, and hope every day it'd end, and if it did end I'd go seeking it again add infinitum.

The way you did once upon a dream ..

QED (for now)

Disastrous Love

This is the tale of hopeless and disasterous love of poet with one beauty in the court of Sultan  Abdülmecid I, c1850.  He suffered and was imprisoned for her sake, only for her to reach him at his death bed with only this song and lyrics witness of a tale of love denied.  The poet and composer's name is Haci Aref Bey, and this is just about the most famous classical Turkish/Oriental pieces on love ever sung

It's been a year ..

To the day, and there is hardly a man more proud than I that you are the one that has his heart in the palm of her hands .. and no one else.

QED

Just say ..

Today I had this thought that kept bothering me.  A revelation, more than a thought.  What does one do in the face of utter silence? in fact, silence is a far more powerful expression than all the words in all the language.  One can respond to words in a variety of ways; some words wound; some comfort; others are outright venom; others still are comforting.  There must be a million and one things and subjects one can say with words.

Silence, however is a different story.  It is incredibly difficult to decipher for, amongst other reasons, the mere fact that you can go back on a silence a million times.  Whatever your counterpart recipient may think, you can simply rebuke it - no words were said, so any deduction is a presumption, and presumptions are a trap for the unsuspecting fool ...etc. ...etc.  You deduce ignorance, your counterpart accuses you of the same; you deduce lack of interest, and guess what? right back at you comes the table kid !!

So .. not ever being a man that's scared to say my mind, how about you say yours? say you hate me; say you love me; say any nonsense; say things that make sense; say whatever it is you would say .. just say 

SOMETHING !!!!

QED

Christ Post Mortem

'tis a lonely night, like another, and the day breaks.  He wakes up, Jesus of Nazareth, knowing it is his last day, knowing he is to be no more, that he is to depart, that he is to go back home.  "Before the cock crow twice, thou will disown me thrice", and he broke down and wept.  And as sure as anything, the crow crowed twice, and his loyal student denied him thrice.  It has all been in vain, and it is time to go.

'tis a lonely day, all day.  He knew he was to be killed.  He sent them to get all the ingredients for the last supper.  Even the lamb to sacrifice.  It was farewell.  And he had to say it, and he had to fulfil his all too clear, all too tragic and all too controversial destiny.  Though, I would suspect, he had a certain peace and clam deep down inside.  She was always there, that much he knew; she was always there, and there she will always be, true to him, and he true to her despite the odds.

'tis a pleasant evening that night, as they ate, and said their peace, and there he was, the Judos Iscariot , his most devoted student, or so he thought, till that night, and he knew all about it, that night too.

And the sun rose on yet another day, and he was crucified; and that's when it all begun, and she to him as you to I my  one, though I am no Jesus, and you, my love, are as pure as the sun lines and the morning breeze, and a tender, cold winter's day.

And it is you, my one, that called me from the cross, like she did when she wept at his feet that miserable afternoon they left him hung out there.  You gave me life, and for that I am in your debt forever.  You gave me love and for that there is no repaying you.  You gave me my breath back, and with that I shall always be with you, with every breath I take; you are with me in my very being.

Know this: I will always love you, always.  Nothing can change that, nothing ever will or will even come close.  You are my fate, my destiny, all the good in me and none of the bad for that is mine and mine alone to carry and answer for.

What remains, my love, is the day when the secret will be exposed for all to see, of Christ the lover and the man he once was, and of this insignificant being that is I.  One thing unites he and I, across the times: we are both lovers, and our secret shall be found the moment our hearts are cut out open.  Post mortem; and that, my darling, is that.

QED.

Humpty Dumpty

It would be hard for anyone not to know the infamous Humpty Dumpty and of his great fall sitting on a wall.  Even different cultures have this, or a very similar, character by different names.

What brought Humpty Dumpty to my thoughts today was that my two little princesses, the twins, came home from nursery insisting on singing the rhyme over and over and over again and, of course, I'd have to sing it with them.

Then, this struck me: it would seem that I have for a very long long time, been sitting on a wall. An anticipation; a hope; a longing, and visions of the green fields  and the roses and the riches in the King's garden.  Not knowing that all the time, it would seem, the king and his queen have had this massive interest in Humpty Dumpty as little more than a curiosity.

So, when Humpty Dumpty fell, all the king's horses and all the king's men came rushing; the queen had lost her amusement, the king is furious, for there is no more an Humpty Dumpty to focus his anger upon, and so rushed the men, on their horses, in an attempt to pick-up the pieces.

The sad bit is that ..

All the King's Horses ..

And All the King's Men ..

Couldn't Put Humpty Together Again.

He's been shattered, and what's done is done ..

QED.

I WISH

I wish I could say I hate you

I wish I could forget all about you

I wish I could run away from the shadow of your your eyes

But the harder I run, the more eyes I look into, the harder I try to forget about you, the more I punish myself, in every pair of eyes, in every pair of heavenly breasts, in every kiss, in every taste, of every lips, there is only one woman, and that woman is you.

I curse myself a million times every slow, painful hour of every day, to the point of damnation, to the point of blasphemy, to the point of utter degradation, and in her desperation, my soul seeks absolution in no other arms but yours.  My body seeks refuge in no other body than yours; my manhood can be in no other female than you. You are in them all. In all the blonds and all the redheads and all the brunettes and all the young budding flowers, in all the mature roses, in every leaf and every breeze and every smile and every sigh and every tear drop and every miserable morning and moan and every laughter and every smile, all not my own, all falling on a numb soul.

I wish I could say you are gone .. I wish I could bring myself to abandon you and all hope with you ..

I wish ..

Then I remember, that there is no escaping the truth with a lie, and that truth, my one, is that I love you; with all my sins, and all my mistakes and all my contradictions, I love you, and there is no escaping that and no lying my way out of it, and the only sadness that is greater than all of this, is knowing that you are crying deep down and I am not there to wipe your tears.

QED.

CRIME

Did he ever think of a particular crime when he, one Fyodor Dostoevsky, set about shocking the world with his master piece? does it ever strike you that the book is a perfectly balanced monument not only to his genius, but also to the perfect chaos and interoperable contradictions in human soul?

This has been on my mind for a while.  Of crime.  Of what it is to commit one in the first place.  Of the definition of the same.  Of what is it, and the source of it; all of the above being completely interchangeable.  A crime, by any other name, is, well let's hold back for a moment; the more one looks into either or both, the more blurred the boundaries become.

Unlike all my earlier postings, I find myself overwhelmed with a ton of emotions to the point of inability to write.  I keep having flashbacks to some days, and things, and words that were said and tears that fell and smiles that shied away and the whole nine yards.  Far too many of them to be able to keep a clear stream of thought or consciousness to put what I have to say into words, and make it make sense.  It is the trait of lateral thinking taking its toll to extremes, to the point of utter flatness and destruction.

Where is the crime in loving? I would submit that this is a massive crime - against one's self for instance;  where is the crime in wanting to pursue that love once one stumbled upon it? to pursue it against all odds, against all others, and for one particular and for no other? is it society that is doing this to us, or is it us that are doing this to ourselves, or is it simply a foolish act that, despite whatever we may do, will forever be a burden?

And that burden, my one is the point .. for it is the one crime which I will commit over, and over, and over again add infinitum, against every odd there is, even the odd of you totally losing interest for the sake of one other; of my fear of knowing I have fallen in love with you the day we uttered a word on the phone;

And that, my one, I will hold dear to beyond the grave;  and that, my one is ..

Punishment

QED.

Never have I felt this empty in my life.  Never, in my lowest moments, in my hardest moments, at the time I lost a dear, dear loved one and buried him with my own two hands.  Never .. and I will grieve you forever .. and nothing you can say or do can ever make it better or make me change.

QED.

You are still Nahawand

With every note and every beat and every whim and every intonation and every bit of hopeless passion.  You are still Nahawand, in every sigh of pain and tinkling tear that draws her path on your loving face and every agony that you go through, taking me with you, willing or not.

And so will you forever be in every note of this most glorious of scales, most alive, most passionate, most desperate, as he and I.  Whenever he is played, it is you he carries, and he will forever only carry you to me, and to me only, whether we both like it or not.

For whenever I miss you, I shall only have to go as far as listening to your heart beats in a place where he is played, which is everywhere.  For whenever I want to touch you, all I have to do is pick-up the Oud or dance my fingers on a keyboard and you will be there.  In a place most secret, most sacred.  In a place most cherished.  In the only place where you exist outside of my desperate heart.  In Nahawand.

QED.

In the name of L O V E
Ridiculous notion, that of love, and here's why: humanity kills in the name of love; I will love you to destruction !! I love you, because Jesus is love, so I'll bomb you out of existence, with all my love !!
And I wouldn't even know where to begin debating when it comes to the Jews, the Muslims and every other "God" "Loving" creature out there.  At least the white-supremest-anglo-saxo-roman form of Christianity is easy to discredit in this regards, for contradictions are all around.

Now superimpose this on an entire species that wants to live with all the above contradictions, and calls it, well L O V E !!.  I'll stab you with love, and hate you with love, and kill you with love, oh .. and I'll fuck you in every way, shape and form possible so lovingly, that in the end, they'll be nothing left of your remains, I love you !!

How much more ridiculous can the notion get?! well, there is one, last, final and ultimate level:  those stupid enough, gullible enough, daring enough, mad enough and hopeless enough to believe in it all, take it all, thrive on it all, and toss it all on a whim, on a smile, on moments when time stopped, and nothing filled the silence but the beats of hearts racing out of the time-space continuum jail .. when you thought she loved you.

QED.