tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7611507205402785412024-03-12T20:50:55.298-07:00Samar Osmansamar-speakinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12535711643341417714noreply@blogger.comBlogger25125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-761150720540278541.post-7631402361203062292014-10-12T06:25:00.001-07:002014-10-12T06:25:17.538-07:00My hands are dry<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
My hands are dry</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Longing for your touch</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When will your hands caress mine?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I hope you don’t keep the longig too long for that we don’t
know for how long I’ll be here.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Do you mind the wrinkles on my hands? The colored veins that
are paved and queit vivid to the eye?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Do you mind the pale color of my skin? Do you mind the ten
other hands the preceded yours? Perhaps it is not my hands that are keeping you
away? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Is it the two husbands I once had? Or the many lovers who
crossed by my heart and body? Or the children that call<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>me grand ma?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My hands are now either baking or knitting for the little
ones. And sometimes, they are struggling with the tv remote control. But they
do more than other time long for your touch. when my hands is with yours, I hold
a grip of the woman I once was. And I feel that I can for a little while let go
of my grey gown and wear once more my favorite scent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
</div>
samar-speakinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12535711643341417714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-761150720540278541.post-52805314487934269062014-10-12T06:24:00.003-07:002014-10-12T06:24:48.825-07:00Layla & Nadeem<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
<strong>Nadeem</strong><br />
Surrounded with An archive of 20 years of his work. Nadeem finds
himself overwhelmingly sitting amongst his photos, trying to select just 23 of
them for his final exhibition. A photo for each year he had held his camera
catching some of the hardest moments of the past two decades. Mostly wars and
what happens or doesn’t happen after them. Nadeem who is yet to turn 45 was
born after the “Naksa” with some years which is why his mother used to jokingly
tell him as a child "you're the happiness of the defeated". It
wasn’t quite a joke as nadeem grew. He was indeed the source of healing of many
hearts. A playboy one might describe him however a playboy usually leaves the
women heartbroken. but Nadem, he is still in touch with his previous lovers. He
listens to them as they complain about their current lovers and they help
setting him up with new women. inspite of his hard profession, and the two
daughters, and the wife, Nadeem has always found time for love.<br />
<br />
Some days before the Egyptian revolution, Nadeem and his journalists friends
were aware that Egypt is approaching a definite change.. the subtle news
articles calling for protests on 25th of january, , along with the underground
mobilization were enough signs for them. They have seen it happening around the
world many times. They have it all printed and pictured. It was just hard to
believe that its bound to happen in the Arab world. And for that, Nadeem
and his very close friend Murad, decided to stay in Egypt to welcome whatever
that is that’s going to happen and maybe even participate. They have been witnessing
such events all their lives, but this one will be different; they will
cross the neutrality line and join the side of the people.<br />
It has been almost two years since the revolution started, and Nadeem was
already reassured that there were more to revolutions than victory and pride.
There was blood. He has seen blood, he has always valued blood for it
sells and boosts the stocks of his photos. but this very last photo he took, it
had more than just blood. There were years of companionship, there was the mind
than never failed to understand him, and the ears that never bored his talk.
There was Murad.<br />
Ever since that last photo, Nadeem swore to never hold the camera again. He
decided to let go of the game and like any professional player, he thought of
having a grand exhibition as his finale game. 23 photos, a photo for each year
he has been in the game will be exhibited in the library of Alexandria this
winter.<br />
"How about this one?" says Karem, Nadeem's assistant who is also
his nephew.<br />
"No. This one was printed over 10 times! I don’t know what is hard to
understand in I don’t want to show the popular photos"<br />
"Well, it’s not hard to understand but its just hard to believe! These
photos are like your trademark. People know them and they know you because of
them. How come you don’t want to exhibit them in your final exhibition?"
Karem asked in a rather pleading tone.<br />
"You know what Karem, the more time I spend with you the more I regret
letting go of Amina. She would’ve just read my mind.<br />
"Well, first of all you didn’t let her go. She quit. And second, I
wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t hit on her! How come you hit on your
assistant for god sake?!" karem asked with his eyes lost in the photos.<br />
" I haven’t! I never did, its just her jealous fiancé who thought I did
even though he never actually seen me before"<br />
Nadeem said the truth. He never hit on Amina. Not that he didn’t want to,
but he was just a professional. It was his reputation that angered her new
fiancé. Nadeem is known for his habit of collecting tough photos and fine
women.<br />
"Omg how come I haven’t seen this photo before. Where was that and
who's feet is that?" asked Karem<br />
Nadeem stared for few seconds to the photo. He told karem that it’s a photo
of a man and his three daughters trying to escape during the first days of the
Gulf war. It was never printed because Murad's feet was mistakenly in the
cadre.<br />
He selected this one for the exhibition.<br />
For the rest of the night, Karem asked many questions and Nadeem fed
his curiosity with anecdotes about his photos, the forgotten photos.<br />
Nadeem was a real professional. It took quite time to become one. He always
respected the distance between himself and his photos. And Now with his new
bitter heart he is trying to let go of his professionalism and to unlearn all what
he had learned, he felt an urge to make up stories for his forgotten photos.<br />
What could’ve happened to this man? has he safely made it? Has he lost any
of his daughters? Where was his wife?. the 23 photos were in some way or
another deformed in technical way. This was had no enough lighting and
this one's focus is not quite focused. He now has 23 photos that will be
exhibited for the first time.<br />
<br />
<strong>Layla</strong><br />
Layla, 30 years old. Born and lived most of her life in Cairo,
had just moved to Alexandria with her mother. Her mother is originally from
Alexandria a But she lived all her adult life in Cairo with her husband,
Layla's father. Now, after 4 years since her husband died, Layla's mother
decided to go back to her summerhouse in Alexandria to be closer to her
sisters. Layla didn’t want to leave her mother alone for the first months. She
wasn’t quite sure if wants to stay in Alex or not and for that reason, she
accepted a short term job offer in Alexandria library as seasonal events
coordinator. Mariam, her friend who already works at the library, set her up
for the job. Short term jobs were her kind of jobs anyway. She knows what she
wants to do and she knows that anything else is just temporary. She wants to be
a writer. Perhaps that is the one thing she is sure of. She reads a lot and
nothing fascinates her more than a well written novel. She is always envious of
establish ed writers and wonder what kind of a full life they should be living.
Layla knew that she is missing one important element that is why she hasnt
started her dream yet.She doesn’t have any stories. She is very eloquent and
knows how to express herself so she is aware of her ability to describe. She
just has no idea what is it to describe. Last time she wrote a full story was 8
years ago and since then, she had trouble in finishing any other.<br />
"how are you Layla. Whats up. Tell me everything" asked Mariam.<br />
"I am Fine".<br />
"When weren’t you fine. Come on tell me! its been a year since we've
seen each others. Any stories?" you’re stuck here with me for a while so
you should trust me a little bit. I am fun and I sometimes give good advice.<br />
Layla squeezes her memory in search of any memorable anecdote. Nothing
really.<br />
"Its not that I don’t trust you Mariam. You know that. I just was busy
with work so nothing much really happened"<br />
So no boyfriends? Grooms?<br />
No. I mean yes. There are the usual grooms that aunts offer. But I just
haven’t found the one.<br />
Do you meet them or you just say no to the offer?<br />
Layla was embarrassed to say that she did meet a couple of them since she
was always against the idea. However, Nothing new was happening to her life so
she thought of being proactive and accepting one of the arranged dinner offers.
She shortly regretted that.<br />
"No, I haven’t met any of them" lied Layla.<br />
"Very interesting Layla" Lied Mariam too.<br />
"Ok so here is the deal, Nadeem bakr is holding his final exhibition in
Alexandria. And lucky you, you will be working on organizing that.<br />
"Who is Nadeem Bakr?" asked Layla innocently<br />
"Oh God! Nadeem Bakr! The photographer? Ofourse you know him!"<br />
"is this the one who was injured during the revolution?"<br />
"Yes that’s him. Listen, he is a not easy and you are a
bit…well..lets just say innocent. So please please be careful"<br />
"What do you mean be careful? Is he dangerous?"<br />
"hahaha dangerous! Well that’s a bit of an exaggeration. Well actually
no. He is charming, decent, and you just can’t help but love him."<br />
"is he a playboy?"<br />
"Well yes. He is a married play boy".<br />
"Oh shame on him!" Married?! Of course married. His wife stood by
him and gave away her youth till he made it and now he just fooling around with
women behind herback".<br />
"Wow, look at you, you already made up a story and believed it. She
actually knows all about her stories. I once met her in a cultural event and
she made a couple of jokes about her playful husband. She seemed ok with
it".<br />
"Of course she is not ok with it! Poor her she surely just doesn’t want
to be labeled as a divorced woman. Or maybe she doesn’t have an alternative
source of income"<br />
"Well, not really. She is quiet rich on her own. And she is fairly
beautiful as well. She is just really ok with it".<br />
Layla couldn’t sleep that night. Trying to understand what is preventing
this woman from leaving her husband. She got her notebook from under the pillow
and thoughts just flew into the papers. Her mind is finally free and now she
can sleep with a proud smile that she had held a pen once again. The pen that
her dear father gave to her. “Papa would’ve never done that” she comforted
herself as she closed her eyes. <br />
<br />
<strong>Layla & Nadeem </strong><br />
<br />
We met in a winter and parted in another winter. She was clever and needed
no longer than year to write her book. I should've known better than to trust a
struggling writer. Layla, my latest piece of work has made a fool of whoever
says a picture is worth thousand words.<br />
We met during my final exhibition in Alexandria. she wasn’t quiet my style
of women, but she was curious, and back then I admired curious. The questions
kept us stimulated. And we knew it is time to part when all that was left were
answers.<br />
"So why don’t you write about me? I can do a great hero of any
story" I jokingly offered once. I did believe it though. How ironic it is?
How can I blame her for doing so. I offered and she just accepted. If I were
her I would've done just the same. I used to watch her writing for hours using
just one pen her father got her as a child, and deep inside I was worried that
she doesn’t write me. Why wouldn’t she? Am I not inspiring enough? I figured
later that to her I was merely inspiring. I was just inspiring. She had
me written, spell-checked and almost published.<br />
I loved her and I answered her questions. She said she loves me too and
asked more questions. And when she got all her answers she left. In our last
day, she shook my hand and thanked me for granting her her first story. I
asked, "what about the ending" and she replied "The ending
belongs to the writer. The ending is mine".<br />
</div>
samar-speakinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12535711643341417714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-761150720540278541.post-47141679456829192752014-10-12T06:24:00.001-07:002014-10-12T06:24:05.196-07:00Night night lover of the night<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Night night
lover of the night. My secret fugitive, why don’t you reveal yourself . </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">You can
trust me as long as the moon is awake but don’t blame when the morning comes. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">In the night
I promise you madness. Sweet madness that shakes your soul. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I won’t
think of you in the morning but at night, oh at night, I will paint you and
write and dance with you. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">You can call
me baby and I will use your first name. Yes your first name that you no longer
recall. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">My secret
fugitive of the night, how come you are at once the reason of the fire, the
fire alarm and fireman.</span></div>
</div>
samar-speakinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12535711643341417714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-761150720540278541.post-47644829167684015432014-08-29T00:32:00.000-07:002014-08-29T00:32:48.268-07:00عن البارحة اعتذر لك<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="_5k3v _5k3w clearfix">
<div dir="rtl" style="text-align: right;">
<div class="_5wj-">
ابنتي العزيزة</div>
<div class="_5wj-">
اكتب لك خطاب اعتذار ..لعل الحروف تعبر عن مرارتي وحسرتي بعدما تهشمت كلماتي تحت ارجل عفنة</div>
<div class="_5wj-">
يوم
ولدتي اعدتك بأن احميكي من أي شر... دعيت ربي ليلا ونهارا بأن يبتليني
ويحميك وان يمرضني ويشفيك ولم يخطر ببالي ان ادعي يوما ما بأن يعريني
ويسترك</div>
<div class="_5wj-">
البارحة تعرينا سويا واغتصبتنا رمال الأرض وعفن الطريق</div>
<div class="_5wj-">
لم استطع مواجهة هجمات جميع شياطين الكون وحدي</div>
<div class="_5wj-">
شياطين تبرأ منها خالقها</div>
<div class="_5wj-">
حبيبتي...البارحة كنا فريسة كل الأشرار</div>
<div class="_5wj-">
تلك الأشرار المعلومة وتلك التي لم يبوح عنها الرحمن</div>
<div class="_5wj-">
يا ليتني ما ولدتك ويا ليتني ما وعدتك</div>
<div class="_5wj-">
اليوم اطلب من بارئي ان يمنحني عمر فوق عمري افنيه في الاعتذار لك نيابة عن انجاس عالمنا</div>
<div class="_5wj-">
وشياطينها الخرس</div>
<div class="_5wj-">
كائنات دفعتني لخرق وعدي معك...مثلما خرقت الإنسانية وعدها معي</div>
<div class="_5wj-">
ابنتي الغالية</div>
<div class="_5wj-">
لن استطيع ان الملم ما تبقى مني قريبا وربما ابدا...ولكن قلبي المهان يعتذر لك</div>
<div class="_5wj-">
لأني كنت انا سبب مجيئك الى هذا العالم</div>
<div class="_5wj-">
غدا ستتطاير تغريداتهم من فوق غيمتنا لتحلق في سماء مصيبة اخرى</div>
<div class="_5wj-">
وتمل أفواه المدينة من حديثنا</div>
<div class="_5wj-">
وتكف القلوب عن مواستنا</div>
<div class="_5wj-">
ونظل انا وانت وحدنا</div>
<div class="_5wj-">
نترنح بين اليأس الأبدي والخذلان التام</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
samar-speakinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12535711643341417714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-761150720540278541.post-55001738875035454182014-08-29T00:09:00.002-07:002014-08-29T00:09:31.149-07:00The Gemini Love<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
If only you can love me less<br />
Share less and care less<br />
If only you no longer expect<br />
From me to be that cute princess<br />
That waits for you in a colorful dress<br />
You told me once "my hearts a mess"<br />
I felt relieved I have to confess<br />
that you have mastered my heart like you do with chess<br />
I do love you but I don't want you all the time<br />
I do want you but contracts I wont sign<br />
I wish that you from time to time<br />
Turn off your lights then suddenly shine<br />
then turn them off again and just mess around<br />
believe me love, thats fine yes fine<br />
If only you let go a bit<br />
and play once in a while the hard to get<br />
and join along in my see saw<br />
of love and hate and shades of yellow<br />
and green and blue and the rest of my pallet<br />
Dont worry love its not about you<br />
its just how I choose to love<br />
why let straight arrows to tie our hearts<br />
if they can fly to marvelous parts<br />
and express our love with music and arts<br />
I wont promise you eternity but I'll grant you a dazzling Now</div>
samar-speakinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12535711643341417714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-761150720540278541.post-11526602937373052842014-08-29T00:08:00.001-07:002014-08-29T00:08:44.510-07:00Yester me yester you<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="_5k3v _5k3w clearfix">
<div>
<div>
<div>
Yester me yester you<br />
<br />Yesterday’s no longer due<br />
<br />We are today..fresh and new<br />
<br />I did love you, but that was yesterday<br />
<br /><br /> <br />
<br />I do recall all our moments<br />
<br />I keep them safe in my memory<br />
<br />I sing along when I listen to our song<br />
<br /> I still laugh at your jokes, I still find them funny<br />
<br />And my heart still aches when you are not fine<br />
<br />But you remain in yesterday<br />
<br />And darling now, we are today<br />
<br /> <br />
<br />I already grabbed my umbrella and heavy coat<br />
<br />Because its raining and almost snowing<br />
<br />Like it usually does in winter<br />
<br />While you are still counting the yellow leaves<br />
<br />That are abandoning their trees<br />
<br />Autumn is over and so are we<br />
<br /> <br />
<br />When you join me in the new season<br />
<br />smile back at me when we meet<br />
<br />and be kind like you have been<br />
<br />because we might meet again<br />
<br />In another day that is not today</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
samar-speakinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12535711643341417714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-761150720540278541.post-10828142234950024162013-11-06T00:06:00.000-08:002013-11-10T06:54:01.487-08:00Yours Helena<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<b><i>Dear Paul,</i></b><br />
<b><i>I write to you
from a land that I can’t pronounce its name. I am incapable of
describing it as well. All I can say about it is that it's yellow. My
brother chose a spot in the middle of the desert to be our home; they
call it Egypt. He claims that it carries a hidden rich future which no
one else sees; like when he claimed that you and I have no future. I
sincerely wish that time swallows this land and forgets all about it
just to prove him wrong; maybe then he would know that we are
inseparable. </i></b><br />
<b><i>We arrived 15 days ago but
we were staying at the mayor’s house until the servants clean the
palace. The palace that my brother, Baron Edward Empain, had been
building for the past five years. Merriam, my niece, is telling me that
it looks similar to the one we used to live in back in Belgium, however
it seems absolutely unfamiliar to me. All the details are different; I
can barely relate to anything except to my pen. </i></b><br />
<b><i>Darling,
can you imagine that my brother had chosen the farthest chamber in the
palace to be mine? As if the thousand miles that already separate me
from you are not enough for him. But again, he does not know that I have
got my pen. We have been busy all week long in preparing ourselves and
the palace for the grand reception that Edward is holding tonight to
introduce us to the city’s most prominent figures; and of course by
prominent I mean the city’s most untrue and lame figures. </i></b><br />
<b><i> Edward
invited them all; the ambassadors, ministers, mayor, and others. In
fact, as I am writing to you now darling I hear Merriam echoing my name
against the walls of the palace to help her with the preparations.
Excuse me love, I’ll leave you for a while and come back to you with all
the boring stories from the party.</i></b><br />
<br />
<b><i>
Yours Helena,</i></b><br />
<b><i> 1911</i></b><br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Helena
lays down her pen on the desk with a heavy sigh and walks away towards
the door with her eye focused on the letter. She gets out of her chamber
and locks the door behind her. “I am coming!” she echoed back. The
sound of her echo actually scared her a little which made her walk
faster towards the staircase. Oh the staircase! Perhaps it’s what she
most fears in this palace. It is twisted in a way that makes it seem
endless, which reminds her with the possibility that her stay in this
palace may be infinite. She finally reaches the final step of the
staircase with a little relief that she landed safely. “The pink rose or
white rose?” rushed Merriam towards her holding a set of different
flowers. “Pink” answers Helena without even looking at the options.
“From where did you get the flowers any way?” asks Helena after
realizing that she had never seen a plant since she had arrived to this
bald land. “I thought you’d never ask.” replied Merriam with a cunning
smile “Come, I have a surprise for you” She grabs Helena from her wrist
and runs towards the Palace’s garden. “Look Helena! The gardeners have
been working since dawn in beautifying the garden. They had brought with
them the most famous and rare plants and flowers from around the world!
Papa had ordered them especially for tonight!” Helena was confused and
had mixed feelings of pitying her brother for faking a garden and of
feeling glad to have finally seen her most favorite flowers. Her
happiness shortly vanished after she remembered that in less than few
hours these flowers will be dead. “I too shall die soon flowers. I left
my roots in Belgium” Helena whispers to the flowers. <i>What kind of a
challenge is Edward having? And what point is he trying to prove? The
flowers look extra-ordinary contradictory among all the sand that
surrounds the palace</i>, Helena desperately thought to herself.
Suddenly, a very loud sound came out from the palace so Helena and
Merriam rushed back inside to see what happened. It was the clock that
had never worked since they had arrived. The clock that stood with pride
and refused to let time pass just for Helena, now, it breaks its
promise and loses to time. Now, the clock will remind her in the most
disturbing way with every hour, day and month that she spends away from
Paul. She stands still in front of the clock for a while silently
confronting it with its betrayal.</b><br />
<br />
<b>“Papa
is here!” screams Merriam in excitement. She ran towards him while
hiding the flowers behind her back to surprise him too that they are
finally here. Just before she shows him the flowers, he precedes and
places a flower in her hair with a genuine smile. “You didn’t believe me
Merriam when I promised you the flowers”. Merriam responded with a
tender hug to hide her embarrassment. Edward then headed towards Helena
who was standing still in front of the clock. He gently placed a white
flower in her hair as he stared at the clock in admiration. “Amazing
huh! It’s the only clock in the world that counts not only the hours,
but also the days and months. The only similar clock is found in
Buckingham Palace”. Helena pays attention to his presence, and to the
flower that is now in her hair. She gets it off and slowly walks away.</b><br />
<br />
<b>She
hasn’t spoken to her brother since the day he decided she is never to
see Paul again. Back in Belgium, Paul and Edward were business partners
and good friends for many years, which was an enough reason, or excuse,
for Paul to visit Edward's family every now and then. Helena and Paul’s
love story had a typical start of first encounter attraction that soon
developed to stolen gazes at dinner parties and secret meetings. Helena
believes that Edward knew about their secret love story all along but
he just found it inappropriate to speak about it and chose to remain
silent until the time is right. She also never doubted that her brother
may not approve of their love. In fact, she thought that this would be
delightful news to him. Series of events such as the death of Paul’s
mother followed by his sudden travel to his sister in Paris that lasted
for a year in order to settle inheritance issues had stopped Paul from
directly approaching Edward and revealing his hidden love for Helena.
Aside from Paul’s mother’s death, everything else seemed peaceful and
serene. Until one day, Paul and Edward had a huge dispute over how to
use a large piece of land that they both owned; Paul wanted to keep it
for future investments, while Edward wanted to sell it because he sought
a more prosperous opportunity in Egypt. The dispute shortly extended
till it reached Paul and Helena’s story when Edward decided to break his
silence and accused Paul for betraying their honorable friendship.
Paul, then, had to sacrifice the land in order to prove to Edward, and
to Helena, that he never intended to misuse his love for her for
business purposes. For that reason she detested her brother. It was very
clear for her that he was the one who used her for business purposes.
At once, she lost the love of her life as well as her respect to her
older brother. As for Edward, he, very easily and without demonstrating
the least signs of shame or guilt, had sentenced her with lifetime
suffering and now he’s trying to make it up for her with that miserable
flower that will die soon!</b><br />
<br />
<b>She decided to
withdraw herself from all the madness happening in the palace and went
upstairs to get dressed; it was about time to get ready for the night
anyway. As she climbed the stairs, she contemplated the statues
surrounding the staircase. She once heard her brother telling the mayor
about his trip to India and his passion about Hinduism culture which
made him hire two Indian architects to design and build for him Indian
statues all over the palace. Despite her overall resentment of the
palace, Helena could not hide her admiration of the statues; she sensed
special holy aura around them.</b><br />
<b>Two hours later,
the clock stormed again announcing its eight o’clock. This time, Helena
was relieved that the clock broke its promise with her as she wanted
time to rapidly pass tonight. Shortly, Merriam, Helena and Edward met in
the hall and were all dressed elegantly. Guests slowly flooded to the
palace and soon the palace was crowded with strangers who do not even
speak her language. The few who could communicate with her only spoke
about how magnificent the palace is. She only found company with the
mayor’s daughters since she had spent with them her first days in Egypt;
and since she had told them about Paul. She needed to speak about Paul
since she was incapable of speaking to him. However, the mayor’s
daughters were also drunk on the palace’s radiance and found no interest
at all in trading the repetitive tours around the palace with a talk
about someone they do not know. Helena tried to discretely excuse
herself and to disappear for a while but her brother’s arm gently
grabbed her to join one of the ongoing conversations. “You know, Mayor,
if you honor my family with a visit during the morning, you will enjoy
the sun from every angle of the palace. As a matter of fact, the sun is
the reason that brought me and my family to Egypt or to Heliopolis as I
prefer to call it, which means the city of sun”. Food, music, tours
around the palace and finally the night was over. Helena impatiently
saluted the last guests as they leave and flew to her room. She fell
into Paul's arms as her hands hugged the pen tightly and drowned him
with kisses as the ink flooded on the papers...</b></div>
samar-speakinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12535711643341417714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-761150720540278541.post-67824106630147683332013-06-26T08:29:00.000-07:002013-06-26T08:29:02.460-07:00Your Love is Dry<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="mbl notesBlogText clearfix">
<span><div>
your love is aimless<br />
<br />
it didnt find me<br />
<br />
not because I was hard to find,<br />
<br />
but because you werent searching<br />
<br />
<br />
Your love is offensive<br />
<br />
you didnt seek me, you were just ready for love<br />
<br />
it doesnt make me feel special..<br />
<br />
in fact, it doesnt make me feel at all<br />
<br />
<br />
Your love is lazy,<br />
<br />
you arent willing to cross the extra mile<br />
<br />
You dont even know that you have to<br />
<br />
<br />
Your love is weak<br />
<br />
it doesnt choose<br />
<br />
neither does it surrender to fate<br />
<br />
<br />
Your love is grey<br />
<br />
wrinkled so soon<br />
<br />
After it had missed on all the right moments<br />
<br />
<br />
Your love is dry<br />
<br />
Your love is dry</div>
</span></div>
</div>
samar-speakinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12535711643341417714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-761150720540278541.post-70236944542500811822013-06-26T08:28:00.001-07:002013-06-26T08:28:22.660-07:00Look into my eyes<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="mbl notesBlogText clearfix">
<span><div>
I am your wife that you did not marry<br />
I feel your love that could have been<br />
Your unfinished kiss is almost craved on my skin<br />
The smell of my hair will remind you of your woman<br />
Your sleepless woman who is waiting for you to come back home<br />
Look into my eyes. I am your wife.<br />
<br />
<br />
I am your unborn child<br />
I nest your dreams and hopes for tomorrow<br />
I am your reflection..your shadow, following your steps<br />
I am the embryo you're patiently waiting for<br />
Slowly growing in your woman<br />
Look into my eyes. I am your child<br />
<br />
<br />
I am your childhood treehouse<br />
I am the witness of your mistakes and practical jokes<br />
I never told on you and never will I<br />
You fled your chores and preferred my company<br />
Just blow the dust that covers me and you'll see<br />
Look into my eyes. I am your childhood treehouse<br />
<br />
<br />
I am your noisy neighbor, your highschool crush, your bossy colleague<br />
I am the love of your life, your bestfriend, your ex-girlfriend<br />
I am your mother before she turned grey.<br />
<br />
<br />
I am many…but you refuse to see<br />
You choose to believe what they tell you about you and me<br />
They tell you we're enemies and blame it on history<br />
To them, bringing me down is your victory<br />
They did the same with our fathers and where are they now?<br />
Sharing the same cemetery<br />
<br />
Today, I play my final game with life<br />
I give away myself as a ransom<br />
And bet on your sight…your sincere sight<br />
Don’t let me down, my love, I beg you<br />
Just look into my eyes, and you will see.</div>
</span></div>
</div>
samar-speakinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12535711643341417714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-761150720540278541.post-1969490269787735702013-04-05T07:29:00.002-07:002013-04-05T07:29:18.091-07:00متى نموت<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="mbl notesBlogText clearfix" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 20px; padding: 15px 15px 0px; word-wrap: break-word; zoom: 1;">
<div style="line-height: 1.5em;">
<strong>متى نموت</strong></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.5em;">
<strong><br /></strong></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.5em;">
</div>
<div style="line-height: 1.5em;">
<strong>حين ننتهي من تحقيق احلامنا؟</strong></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.5em;">
<strong>ام حين تنتهي منا الأحلام؟</strong></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.5em;">
<strong><br /></strong></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.5em;">
</div>
<div style="line-height: 1.5em;">
<strong>حين نصل لما نريد؟</strong></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.5em;">
<strong>ام حين تتشوه غايتنا ونضل الطريق ؟</strong></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.5em;">
<strong><br /></strong></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.5em;">
</div>
<div style="line-height: 1.5em;">
<strong>متى نفارق الحياة؟</strong></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.5em;">
<strong>حين نجد ما عشنا دوما نبحث عنه</strong></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.5em;">
<strong>ام عندما نكفر بوجوده؟</strong></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.5em;">
<strong><br /></strong></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.5em;">
</div>
<div style="line-height: 1.5em;">
<strong>ايأتي موعد الرحيل فجأة...ويجبرنا على خيانة كل الأمال المؤجلة؟</strong></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.5em;">
</div>
<div style="line-height: 1.5em;">
<strong>ام يستأذن قبل طرق الباب ليجدنا منتظرين...مستعدين للرحيل؟</strong></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.5em;">
<strong>محملين بزاد ينفعنا ويكفينا لرحلتنا الأخيرة؟</strong></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.5em;">
<strong><br /></strong></div>
<div style="line-height: 1.5em;">
</div>
<div style="line-height: 1.5em;">
<strong>اللهم ارزقنا حسن الختام</strong></div>
</div>
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samar-speakinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12535711643341417714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-761150720540278541.post-89049985967532097692013-04-05T07:28:00.001-07:002013-04-05T07:28:29.216-07:00How men perceive women in the workplace<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.800000190734863px; line-height: 19.5px;">
Ok. This is NOT an article about women who talk too much about their rights nor is it an attempt to advocate for feminism and crap. This is a mere sarcastic documentation of how 'some' men act around women in the workplace. Please do not try to philosophise it in an over rated way!</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.800000190734863px; line-height: 19.5px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.800000190734863px; line-height: 19.5px;">
The flirt:</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.800000190734863px; line-height: 19.5px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.800000190734863px; line-height: 19.5px;">
"Look at you! you look so beautiful today". Its nice to tell a woman that she looks nice but its weird if you say it everyday! This is a workplace for godsake!</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.800000190734863px; line-height: 19.5px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.800000190734863px; line-height: 19.5px;">
Mr. Please Sympathize:</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.800000190734863px; line-height: 19.5px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.800000190734863px; line-height: 19.5px;">
Some men think that since you are a woman you will be easily affected by his miserable stories. You ask him why didnt he send the report and he changes the subject to tell you about his broken heart or his sleepless nights. Give me the damn report because I couldnt care less about your drama!</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.800000190734863px; line-height: 19.5px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.800000190734863px; line-height: 19.5px;">
Mr. Cave man:</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.800000190734863px; line-height: 19.5px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.800000190734863px; line-height: 19.5px;">
Ok thats my favorite! you sit in a meeting with your female colleagues and one male colleauge. You can easily interpret his facial expressions and body language. His mouth says " i agree with you" but his body is saying "Shut up woman where is my food!" Such men have serious issues accepting a female to manage them or even becomes tete a tete with him and when you meet such man, you cant help but LOL.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.800000190734863px; line-height: 19.5px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.800000190734863px; line-height: 19.5px;">
Mr. Harrasser:</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.800000190734863px; line-height: 19.5px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.800000190734863px; line-height: 19.5px;">
Your eyes should be up up up MR! One more thing..My name is not "gamila"! Its not acceptable to compromise the quality of your deliverables in exchange to your sugar talking. Its disguisting!</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.800000190734863px; line-height: 19.5px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.800000190734863px; line-height: 19.5px;">
Women are challenged in general, and in workplaces in specific, to send the right messages and maintain the balance.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.800000190734863px; line-height: 19.5px;">
She should be firm without losing her femininity</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.800000190734863px; line-height: 19.5px;">
Nice but blocks any route that would allow a harrasser in</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.800000190734863px; line-height: 19.5px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.800000190734863px; line-height: 19.5px;">
Respected without compromising her womanhood. </div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.800000190734863px; line-height: 19.5px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.800000190734863px; line-height: 19.5px;">
You dont have to wear a man's suit in order to be respected, you should force others to respect as you are. Women should always be nice, sweet, beautiful and smart; and you should be respected as you are.</div>
</div>
samar-speakinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12535711643341417714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-761150720540278541.post-72852348293682945192013-03-09T04:51:00.005-08:002013-04-05T07:38:39.310-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div dir="rtl" style="text-align: right;">
</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 19.5px;">
<br />
<div style="font-size: 12.800000190734863px;">
<strong>وجدته يغازل بنات افكاري</strong></div>
<div style="font-size: 12.800000190734863px;">
<strong>ويسبح معهن في نهر قصائدي التي لم تكتب بعد</strong></div>
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<strong>ويضيئ قناديل احلامي النائمة</strong></div>
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<strong>بشمعة مفعمة بنور عينيه</strong></div>
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<strong>وجدته يحبو على صدري برفق حتى لا يوقظ جروح القلب</strong></div>
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<strong>يستمع لدقات قلبي ويدندن معها نشيد دقاته</strong></div>
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<strong>رأيته يبعثر ويرتب مشاعر مرصوصة</strong></div>
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<strong>كادت ان تفقد الوانها تحت تراب الحذر</strong></div>
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<strong>ايا حب عشت دهرا اهرب منه</strong></div>
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<strong>اراني اليوم اهرول تجاهه</strong></div>
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<strong>حب استفز جوارحي</strong></div>
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<strong>واثار فضول جميع حواسي</strong></div>
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samar-speakinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12535711643341417714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-761150720540278541.post-10016084112622915552012-05-19T02:05:00.001-07:002012-05-19T02:05:38.856-07:00The remains of a woman<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px;">It’s very quiet when she is not around. One can breathe slowly, walk slowly, and act slowly. When she enters a room, the papers run into their folders. The dust on the tables flies away to avoid her encounter. She walks very fast; it would be more logical for her to run. But she does not run, neither can one call that walking. She moves so fast, that you can almost hear her shadow crying to catch its breath. When she is talking to you, she never looks you in the eye because her mind is usually somewhere else. She doesn’t always mean to offend you, but she can’t help her nonstop brain. She never finishes a sentence and never leaves you to finish yours either. It's hard to identify her mood since mood swings require different moods. But with her, it’s a default mood. The rushing, on the run, furious mood. Her eyes are always wide open; they rarely blink. When she eats, she doesn’t taste the food. Her teeth attack whatever enters her mouth and tears it down into pieces. Enjoying a fine meal is not one of her hobbies. One wonders what kind of dreams she has at night. Does she even dream? What is it exactly that she is rushing to? What is it that she is after. Someone should save her. Someone should hug her and murmur “shhhh” to her ears. She must pause and take a deep breath or else one day her body will rebel against her; asking for its overdue lost rights.</span>
</div>samar-speakinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12535711643341417714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-761150720540278541.post-24801420295517305892012-05-19T02:04:00.003-07:002012-05-19T02:04:33.273-07:00وكأنك يا زيد ما غزيت<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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ايوة يا عيد.. انا اخوك عبيد</div>
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قبل ما تقفل السكة اسمع...جايز أفيد</div>
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والله ما نزلني الميدان الا ابنك زيد</div>
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اللي ضربه ابن الباشا بالشبشب والابابيب</div>
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فاكر يومها قلت ايه ولا نسيت؟</div>
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"والله لاجيب حقك يابني وعن قريب"</div>
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يومها حلفت لساندك ياخويا وأقف قدام اتخن تخين</div>
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جرينا عل عسكر يجيب حقنا ورجعنا افانا يقمر عيش</div>
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فاتت جمعة والتانية وفاتت سنة سنتين</div>
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وانا لسا عند كلمتي بس انت اتلهيت</div>
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وضحكت على نفسك وقلت المسامح كريم</div>
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يا عيد انت لا مسامح ولا انت كريم</div>
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انت خفت على فوت يومك والبهيمتين</div>
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وزيد ابنك هزيمتة بقيت هزيمتين</div>
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مبقاش فاهم ايه غلطة وايه اللي خلا منه بكره بقرشين</div>
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اياك يابن امي وابويا تصدق الكدبتين</div>
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اللي بيتقالو على الناس اللي في الميادين</div>
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لو نزلت وشفت يا عيد راح تلاقي 20 مليون زيد</div>
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لو انت اتخليت عني هيضيع حق احفاد وزيد</div>
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وتضيع البهيمتين ويضيع الغيط</div>
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وكأنك يا زيد ما غزيت</div>
</div>samar-speakinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12535711643341417714noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-761150720540278541.post-40869628917469726262012-05-19T02:03:00.002-07:002012-05-19T02:03:20.973-07:00Sara and Khaled<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<strong> A toast for love</strong></div>
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<strong>Sara and Khaled</strong></div>
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<li><strong>The words that come out of you are full of life. I can hear them breathe. Your words are living beings that keep me company through lonely days.</strong></li>
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<li><strong>I love it when you win; I love it more because you let me play. You know I don’t seek triumph; I only want to know that I'm allowed to play.</strong></li>
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<li><strong>You see me and yet it doesn’t scare me. When I am with you, I find myself taking off the many layers I learnt to wear to protect me from the tricks of time and still I am as warm as a hot chocolate.</strong></li>
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<li><strong>Don’t worry about my love to you when you are away. I recall our moments -all kinds of moments -and I love you more.</strong></li>
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<li><strong>I am surprised...I solved your riddle and I still want to be around you. This doesnt happen to me a lot!</strong></li>
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<li><strong>You know my fears- the ones I know and the ones I don’t- and you show me how to beat the hell out of them. I know your fears- all of your fears- and I respect you more.</strong></li>
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<strong>You know my ugliest mistake</strong></div>
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<strong>You know my family crap</strong></div>
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<strong>You know my dull side</strong></div>
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<strong>You know the evil me</strong></div>
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<strong>And you're still here</strong></div>
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<li><strong>Your presence in my life just makes sense. The timing, the reasons, the impact; it just makes sense.</strong></li>
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<strong> </strong></div>
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<li><strong>You are the greatest risk I've ever taken. Thank you for not ruining that for me…</strong></li>
</ul>
</div>samar-speakinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12535711643341417714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-761150720540278541.post-46862406629739119102012-05-19T02:02:00.002-07:002012-05-19T02:02:32.951-07:00محمد الدرة والمسيخ الدجال وفتاة التحرير<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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ايوة يا ماما يعني إزاي بردو نبقى عارفين ان في واحد شرير اسمه المسيخ الدجال وان اللي هيسمع كلامه هيخش النار وبردو يبقى في ناس هتصدقه؟"</div>
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سألت هذا السؤال لأمي عندما حكت لي عن ما سيحدث قبل يوم القيامة وأنه سوف يأتي برجل يدعي النبوة ومن سيتبعه سيكون من الخاسرين. لم استطع تخيل ان هناك من البشر من سيتبع المسيخ الدجال مع اننا نسمع منذ الصغر انه "شرير".</div>
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ولم اكن من المؤمنين بفكرة الحزبين- الحزب الطيب والحزب الشرير. بمعنى أصح لم أكن أؤمن بالأبيض والاسود فقط ولكن منذ بداية ثورة يناير وأنا ارى الأحداث أبيض واسود. كيف يمكن لشخص مؤمن بالعدل والخير أن يدافع بحرقة عن نظام فاسد؟ ووقتها فقط فهمت ان من يدافع عن الظلم يخترع الحجج ويركز في تفاصيل تجعله ينسى الصورة الكبيرة وبهذا يكون قد أرضى ضميره.</div>
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المدافع عن الباطل لا يقول لنفسه انه يدافع عن الباطل...ولكنه يرهق تفكيره في تفاصيل هدّامة..مثله مثل المحامي الفاسد الذي يسعى فقط وراء الثغرات التي تخرج موكله من ورطته بغض النظر عن ما اذا كان قد ارتكب الجريمة بالفعل ام لا.</div>
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ومن هنا ادركت ان من سيتبع المسيخ الدجال سيجد مليون سبب يجعله من المؤمنين به</div>
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تذكرت ايضا منظر محمد الدرة وهو بين احضان ابيه يتوسل ببكائه للجندي الاسرائيلي بأن يرحمه ويتركه يعيش ولكن قتله الجندي بكل قسوة وانعدام الانسانية...وحينها تسائلنا جميعا كيف يمكن لإنسان ان يقتل طفل اعزل وهو بين احضان ابيه؟ لا أحد اكترث لمعرفة سبب وجود محمد في هذا المكان وما اذا كان ابوه قد تعدى على هذا الجندي مثلا مما افقده وعيه وجعله يصوب بسلاحة في صدر الطفل لينتقم من الأب....فالمشهد كان واضح وصريح..لم نكن نحتمل سماع اي مبررات او شرح للموقف...كان موقف قاسي وهذا يكفينا</div>
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وبعد ذلك يأتي مشهد فتاة التحرير المسحولة ونراها امام أعيننا تُسحل وتتعرى وتُضرب بقسوة...كيف تمكن البعض بأن يتجاهل هذا المنظر ويعبث وراء سبب وجودها في المكان او سبب عدم ارتدائها لطبقة داخلية من الملابس او حتى اختيارها للون حمالة الصدر التي ارتدتها تلك المسكينة.</div>
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لو حدثت تلك الواقعة في فلسطين لكنا وجدنا هؤلاء الكفيفين يدافعون بحرقة عن شرف الأمة الاسلامية والعربية وكنا سنجدهم</div>
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يتوعدون للأجناد الاسرائليين بالثأر لشرفهم</div>
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...وهذا لأن الكلام عن الفضيلة أسهل بكثير من تطبيقها</div>
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وهذا ايضا لأن ارتباطنا بالأديان ما هو الى قصص وروايات نقرأها ونفتخر بعظمة ادياننا وحين يأتي علينا الدور لإختيار حزب "الخير" ايأ كان شكله ننسي تلك الروايات والقصص في ثوان وكأن غرض تداولها بين الأجيال كان للتسلية او التفاخر فقط</div>
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وتلك المواقف هي التي تبين للإنسان ما اذا كان سيتبع المسيخ الدجال ام لا</div>
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أسأل الله ان يلهمنا البصيرة والقوة لرؤية الحق كما هو عليه.</div>
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<br class="Apple-interchange-newline" /></div>samar-speakinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12535711643341417714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-761150720540278541.post-56867475484176075882012-05-19T02:00:00.001-07:002012-05-19T02:00:43.733-07:00The Cigarette<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<strong>She holds her cigarette tightly between her tiny fingers. She notices how conscious she is to not let it fall from her hand. She looks around to make sure no one is watching her as she struggles to look like a normal smoker. She inhales the smoke of her cigarette and breathes it out gradually. She smiles out of gladness to not have coughed this time. Little by little, she gains confidence and loosen her hand.</strong></div>
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<strong>It had been 6 weeks since she had decided to start smoking. Actually she bought her first pack of cigarettes 6 weeks ago but she hadn’t opened it except recently; when she met her friends. She showed it to them on purpose and made it seem like an accident.</strong></div>
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<strong>"Would u please get me my mobile from my purse….oh yes that’s my cigarettes..Yes I smoke, don’t you know already?" This was her way to tell her friends that she smokes now. As if t was a piece of news that should be circulated and debated. She knew she was going to be judged because whether some may like it or not, female smokers are not very much welcomed in our society. She had practiced this moment tens of times and was eagerly waiting for it. She enjoyed the surprise look on her friends' faces when they knew that she is a smoker now. To her, it wasn’t merely about adding one more habit to her other ones; no this was a "challenge" that she is up to.</strong></div>
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<strong>At that particular moment she decided to open the pack and to smoke her first "public" cigarette in front of her friends. As she was lighting it, she crossed her fingers that the lighter wouldn’t let her down. Luckily, the cigarette was lit instantly. She smiled a bit and rested her back to the chair while her friends stared at her. She confidently breathed into the cigarette, while pretending to ignore her friends' stares; however, she started coughing heavily and loudly till tears came out of her eyes. Her friends burst out of laughter for some good minutes. Her real tears mixed up with her suffocating ones as she grabbed her bag and left them behind. </strong></div>
</div>samar-speakinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12535711643341417714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-761150720540278541.post-84330022564736577912012-05-19T01:59:00.001-07:002012-05-19T01:59:12.131-07:00So I ate the Apple<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px;">"I ought to be" she said to her naked self. She yearned to stand up but her legs refused to obey her commands. . As she was trying to stand up, she felt a huge burden weighing her back down. "You ought to be", her legs said. While every part of her body rebelled against her, she totally collapsed and let go of her will.</div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px;"><br />
</div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px;">"You! Naked self!" yelled the tree of a thousand eyes at her "Your time has arrived. You shall stand in front of all mortals. You will answer all of their questions. The thousand eyes stared at her; not one eye blinked and all of them carried the same judgmental look. Her gaze flew away out of fear and she laid her sight at her fragile feet. </div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px;"><br />
</div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px;">She gradually stood up like a lazy water fountain dancing for the first time. The earth was shaking under her as if monsters were racing. She immediately realized that earth is mad at her.</div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px;">"Hush!" the tree of a thousand eyes ordered the earth to stop shaking. "They are waiting for the naked self. For the last time in her existence, allow her to ride you". The earth obeyed and so she walked.</div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px;">It was night time. Her only source of light was the light coming out from the tree of a thousand eyes. She knew that the moon had refused to appear; she had heard him say "she ought to be". She sneaked a look around her to find emptiness. All mortals had travelled to the court arena to witness and participate in the First Trial. It was the greatest day since their existence. Whenever anyone had passed by the court arena, they were told that someday, a naked self will be trialed here. With every step she took, a part of her clothes fell down. She was about to be totally nude so she started to run to preserve the leftovers of her modesty.</div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px;">The tree of a thousand eyes looked at her in despise and ordered her to enter the arena. She covered her body with her hands and stepped inside. She heard a lot of screams and shouting. All voices were calling her the naked self. Out of a sudden, every mortal started to throw apples at her. "Taste it, taste it, taste it" they all shouted simultaneously.</div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px;">The tree of a thousand eyes looked at everyone in the eye and ordered them to be quiet. "The trial shall begin", it said. She was the convict and all mortals were the judge.</div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px;">Up until she had arrived to the arena, she had wished for nothing but to die. Shame was her new name. She couldn’t forgive herself for eating the forbidden apple. She detested her soul and believed that she wasn’t worth living. She ought to be what she was expected to be. All mortals, animals, plants, and even demons expected her to be the moral self. They served her and worshipped her as long as she had preserved her sanity. But now, every being hates her and disrespects her. She wais no longer the moral self.</div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px;">For some reason that she herself doesn’t know, her shame vanished away. She found herself looking up and facing them guiltlessly. For the first time since she had eaten the forbidden apple, she spoke.</div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px;">"So I ate the apple!" Yes I ate the apple! Who of you haven’t? Tell me judge! Haven’t you eaten it before? Haven’t your lips kissed its soft surface? Haven’t your teeth crafted on its many layers? Haven’t your juices swum with its juice? Yes I ate the apple. I never asked you to name me the moral self. You hung on me your disability to be a moral self and expected me to fulfill your lazy dream. And now, because I ate an apple you call me naked? I refuse your judgment".</div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px;">As her eyes challenged theirs, she realized that they are all naked. She remembered that they had always been naked. Animals, plants and demons don’t cover their bodies. As a matter of fact they don’t do anything at all. They don’t feel sad or mad or happy. They don’t love or hate. They don’t sing or scream. They don’t learn or teach.</div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; line-height: 16px;">This thought scared her to the bottom. <em>"If this is the price of sanity, then I give it up"</em> she murmured to herself. "If this is the price of sanity, then I give it up!!" she repeated her words loudly and firmly. "I ought to be what I already am and what I want to be".</div></div>samar-speakinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12535711643341417714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-761150720540278541.post-86625109490917851882011-03-28T13:50:00.000-07:002011-03-30T08:26:09.743-07:00Pilgrimage<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">I will finally visit her; the tree of voices, the messanger of Eywa. I dreamt of our encounter for years. My soul is longing for her songs. I need her to answer my questions and give meaning to my journey. My fathers told me about her wisdom; they promised me to find whatever I am searching for there...under her steady leaves.<br />
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Will she accept me? will I be one of the very few chosen ones? will she kiss my forehead like she did with my blessed fathers? When I meet her, I will shut my mouth and grasp whatever she has to say to me. She will guide me, comfort me, and show me the way. My fathers once said, he who is lost is to seek her.<br />
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Now, I am standing infront of her. I am very aware of myself and of her; infact the degree of my consciousness annoys me. I am supposed to be drunk on her magical wine. My thoughts are scaterred on insignificient matters. <em>She is old indeed, but wise? I am not certain</em>. How could such a thought enter my mind? "How dare you!", I say to myself ,"I am ought to be thankful and not at all doubtful". Pardon me Eywa for doubting the tree of voices. I force my mind to only focus on her greatness. I wait for her to borrow my soul but she doesnt. Have I angered her? was she testing my faith by keeping me wait? My fathers told me that he who fails any of her tests is to offer the tree of voices a part of his body. I cut a piece of my long hair and spread it on her angry leaves. I waited for some more time and now I am slightly bored. Why didnt she sweep me off my feet and take my breath away? Most importantly, why didnt her charming voice spellbound my spirit? I cant understand the language of her songs. It is definetly not my language. <br />
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My pilgrimage to the Tree of Voices only gave me more doubts and unanswered questions. Forgive me Ewya, I couldnt find you where I was told I will. I promise you though, to not settle down till my soul melts in yours...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SwaFEOzrBzI/TZJSkzS_vEI/AAAAAAAAAAs/48Yck1Dm9G0/s1600/girl-praying.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="232" r6="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SwaFEOzrBzI/TZJSkzS_vEI/AAAAAAAAAAs/48Yck1Dm9G0/s320/girl-praying.gif" width="320" /></a></div></div>samar-speakinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12535711643341417714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-761150720540278541.post-36886685412197110252011-03-15T14:05:00.000-07:002011-03-15T14:05:39.803-07:00song<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">I am becoming the same old song. <br />
Differently chanted every now and then<br />
A different singer, different stage, different audience...<br />
But I remain the same old song<br />
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***************</div>samar-speakinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12535711643341417714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-761150720540278541.post-22787946028423544942011-03-15T13:55:00.001-07:002011-03-15T13:55:45.909-07:00One Last Sip...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">I shall take one last sip<br />
from the empty glass of wine<br />
<br />
A drop fell on my lip<br />
burning my skin one more time<br />
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Feel I the pain? no more I feel<br />
For once I felt and swam with fear<br />
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I welcome the scar and guide her home<br />
"sleep with your sisters till the glass dries<br />
I see not your tears and hear not your cries"<br />
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I drank too many and yet it seems not to end<br />
"i love you" the glass whispers; that I can hear<br />
"and you love me", it says, and that I believe<br />
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I shall take one last sip<br />
from the empty glass of wine</div>samar-speakinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12535711643341417714noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-761150720540278541.post-16052075564548861812011-03-15T13:54:00.003-07:002011-03-15T13:54:29.265-07:00Well,you Lose<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">chapeau my friend<br />
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I have to admit, I admire your ways.<br />
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so you really wished I mess up to prove your lame theory?<br />
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Your theory that has no profound ground other than the possibility of my failure.<br />
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Well, you lose.<br />
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You tried shaking my faith because your faith rejected you?<br />
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You tried misleading me because you got lost in your way?<br />
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You tried breaking my will because you got bored in the middle of your journey?<br />
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I refuse to pay for your unwise choices.<br />
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You recite to yourself everynight before you sleep the dream words you wish someday to say to me : "I told you so"<br />
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Well, you lose.</div>samar-speakinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12535711643341417714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-761150720540278541.post-12848355387466361042011-03-15T13:53:00.000-07:002011-03-15T13:53:11.445-07:00Run<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div><strong>Run</strong><br />
my feet are chained<br />
<strong>Here's the key unchain yourself</strong><br />
My legs are warm under the chain<br />
<strong>your legs are dead under the chain</strong><br />
Its cold out there<br />
<strong>its cold in here</strong><br />
its dangerous out there<br />
<strong>is it safe in here? </strong><br />
<strong>RUN</strong><br />
I dont know how to run<br />
<strong>you dont learn how to run..you just run</strong><br />
tomorrow<br />
<strong>today..tomorrow doesnt exist</strong><br />
tomorrow will come..the sun will rise<br />
<strong>the sun has no hands to unchain your legs..the sun is mad at you</strong><br />
The sun abandoned me<br />
<strong>Im confused now...do you want to run?</strong><br />
.............<br />
<strong>Here is the key, there is the road. You may run or you may take another nap. </strong><br />
</div></div>samar-speakinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12535711643341417714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-761150720540278541.post-45008954252556413802011-03-15T13:51:00.001-07:002011-03-15T13:51:55.844-07:00written on 13th of Jan. 2011<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div dir="rtl" style="text-align: right;"> اه يا بلد عايزة ولد</div><div dir="rtl" style="text-align: right;">اي ولد</div><div dir="rtl" style="text-align: right;"></div><div dir="rtl" style="text-align: right;"></div><div dir="rtl" style="text-align: right;">لا يكون مسلم ولا مسيحي</div><div dir="rtl" style="text-align: right;"></div><div dir="rtl" style="text-align: right;"></div><div dir="rtl" style="text-align: right;">ولا لابس عمة الكاو بوي ولا لابس شال الخليجي</div><div dir="rtl" style="text-align: right;"></div><div dir="rtl" style="text-align: right;"></div><div dir="rtl" style="text-align: right;">مش لازم يبقى فيلسوف ولا قاري ميت كتاب ونصوص</div><div dir="rtl" style="text-align: right;">ولا حاجز كرسي في كل صالون ثقافي وعارف من الذي قتل علي بيك الكبير</div><div dir="rtl" style="text-align: right;">ولا سافر بلاد برة ووبيتكلم لغات كتير</div><div dir="rtl" style="text-align: right;">مش محتاج يكون عبقري ولا حتى ذكي</div><div dir="rtl" style="text-align: right;">عايزة ولد بيحس وبيشوف ومش بيفكر كتير</div><div dir="rtl" style="text-align: right;">مش بيرمي بلاه على الشيخ والقسيس وحكم الملعب وبني اسرائيل</div><div dir="rtl" style="text-align: right;">اه يا بلد عايزة ولد</div><div dir="rtl" style="text-align: right;"></div></div>samar-speakinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12535711643341417714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-761150720540278541.post-89717094552621073312011-03-15T13:49:00.000-07:002011-03-15T13:49:50.395-07:00المرأه<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div>احتار فيكي الادباء والشعراء. منهم من رفع الراية البيضاء واعترف بفشله في تحليلك ومنهم من ادعى عدائك لعجزه عن فهمك. كيف تلوميهم وانت تعرفين مدى تعقيد لغزك. لغزك في تناقضك. فأنت رقيقة قاسية. حكيمة جاهلة. عنيدة طيبة.حساسة صارمة. فكيف لهم ان يفهموك؟ <br />
منهم من يقول انك ملكة واخرين يقولون انك جنية والبعض يقول انك جارية. الحقيقة انك كل هذا. <br />
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فأنت ملكة تتخذين اصعب القرارات وتتحملين مسؤوليات يفر منها معظم الرجال. عزتك بكرامتك تجبر الفرسان ان ينحنوا لك.<br />
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ونجدك في اوقات اخره..في ظروف اخرة جارية. عابدة لعشيقك..همساته صلاتك وحضنه معبدك. ناكرة لذاتك. تضحياتك لا يصدقها عقل. همك رضاه ومرادك سعادته.<br />
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ونجدك في اوقات اخرة جنية ماكرة. تدفعين أي ثمن مقابل الوصول الى مرادك حتى ولو كان الثمن قلب رجل احبك بجنون. تأثيرك أقوى من السحر. نجد احكم الحكماء يقع في فخك. تتصرفين بطيش كأنك تعيشيين وحدك في هذه الدنيا. <br />
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جاهل هو من بحاول حصرك في قالب واحد. فأنت ملكة عندما تغدر بك الدنيا وتضع هما على ظهرك. تواجهين الأمر الواقع سريعا وتحاربين الظروف بقوة . لا يلفت انتباهك غزل الرجال التافهة. واذا احببتي فتحبي بوعي وارادة. فأنت تحبي لمجرد الحب وليس لسبب اخر.<br />
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وفي احيانا اخره, عندما تجدين الرجل الذي يأسر قلبك..تتخلي عن عرشك في سبيله . لا لضعفك ولكن لتقديرك لهذا الحب. تتنازلين وتضحين لأن التضحية تملأ روحك وتشبعه بسعادة غامرة. <br />
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وعندما تسري الحياه في مدار مخالف لما تريدين..تتحولين الى جنية. تنقلبين وتثورين على وضعك..تخططين وتنفذين وكأنك محارب متهور في ارض المعركة. تلقين بسيفك في صدر من يأتي امامك دون التحقق من اذا كان عدو ام حبيب.<br />
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اشكوكي للسماء...اشكوكي للسماء...كيف استطعتي كيف ان تختصري جميع من في الأرض من نساء - نذار قباني</div><div align="right" dir="rtl" style="text-align: right;"></div></div>samar-speakinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12535711643341417714noreply@blogger.com0