A day to look forward too

I’m waiting for the day where those memories no longer hold their pain so true,

And all that remains is a story that can be retold.

For those moments remembered that make my whole body cringe at what I already know,

And the hate that grew out of an unforeseen moment bygone,

For as long as those emotions linger the anguish created in moments of ignorant innocence thrive,

And all that is left to look forward to is the chance to be free;


Free of what was left behind,

Of the ugliness born out of trust given blind,

To regain some faith of good to come,

And a bit of peace within my mind. 

Blood frenzy

From the looks of events that are going on, it just seems everyone is ready to kill the moment they get a chance, no matter the side, no matter the cause.

The anger we are surrounded with and living in is pure evil… and we are all soaking in blood we can’t seem to put a stop too.
where are we heading?

this is all mind boggling, its blaspheme to human kind, to any belief any of us has or doesn’t have. where is the respect of life, and where are the civilized men?

And does it ALWAYS have to be through blood, death, torture, and acts of horror that we reach a form of decent life, or gain our rights to live?

No God would stand with this mentality, and no man or woman either…

May all the stolen lives and tortured souls find the peace that we till now can not seem to find or hold on to.

..An angry frustrated women..

Holding off the Night Mares

I saw lightning in a far off darkness
surrounded with star studded skies

Ghosts of memories hover around
catch me off guard in moments of solitude

And when raving eyes try to escape the minds projected shadows
they accidentally glimpse the dark blanket above

And my soul becomes mesmerized with the pin prick lights,
with the all consuming vastness of whats beyond
And with it
A peace of mind

But a true moment of peace
Where fear is abolished
Where the Night Mares can’t come can’t be

And I hold on to the memory of wonder that consumed me
Stretch it and with it shield my mind for this one night –
that the Night Mares that sneak upon me, as I lay my head to rest, to lay their wicked dreams
may not approach this troubled soul,
So that they keep their horrid burdens for another unguarded sleep,

always waiting, always lurking

If only a single memory did not burn out in a night…

And all that Remains are the Salt Stains

Teardrop stains on my shoulder seeping through,

I wish i can take the pain away from you and patch up the wounds so they can cleanly heal,
so that tomorrow only faded memories remain.

i wish i could take this barbed agony and give it back to those whom have inflicted it,
for them to taste the despair caused of their doing,
to break them down as you are falling apart in my arms.

My shoulder is all that i can give you now, with my hugs, and hummed lullabies.

Forgive me for my shortcomings,
forgive me for my silence,
for what words of mine can comfort the burden of your pain…

Here I Come Sorrow

I feel it coming, i feel it consuming me
Starting in my chest and spreading out
Weighing my head and shoulders down
The prickly numbness spreads
My fingers heavy with it
Each breath a forced process
The only feeling left is that of the weight being lifted with each inhale
the pressure of it with every exhale

I hold my thoughts together
I hold myself together
I get ready for the darkness
I get ready for the pain
I get ready to feel it all again
The panic.

And I remember..

“I will come out the other side
It will come to an end,
For the ones who love me are around me”

I close my eyes and embrace it…

Empty Silence of a Chaotic Mind

In silence I sit
Memory replaying itself through me

Colors brushes breaths tears silence

Ones hands upon my back
Another’s lips drinking my own
And the latter trying to re awaken senses that only knew shame.

In darkness I sit
In the chaos of my mind
Trying to understand where I stand 
Fighting a battle that leaves no visible scars, just hovering shadows over eyes that burst with life,
With laughter, a smile, and a little madness.

My only wish is that my madness does not gain power over me, that I still may recognize it.

Tears frozen on eyelashes, 
sorrow without cause consuming.

I will continue to hope
I will find a way to heal. 

Midnight thoughts

It’s a strange strange feeling when knowledge is combined with the experience, for each on it’s own can not lead to awareness, it’s incomplete. But sometimes you take the steps even when you know the experience will lead to pain, loss, that it might break you down. And it’s all a reality as it happens, the pain is real, the loss is real, even the depression that follows. But to gain awareness of yourself and the world around through this experience is the reality you seek. We write our own stories with our choices, so the question at the end of the day is, what’s the life i want to remember that i lived, that I experienced, what’s the awareness of who I am did I gain. 

A Portrait in Blue

The softest of melodies through perfection of movement is caught,
A feast for eyes
A journey of emotions painted with the utmost precision
Sweeps, twirls, lifts, steps
The Blessing of Water heavy in the air, a dance in the sea
Solid ground beneath lithe feet, yet with every lift eternal suspension
Gentleness personified, intimacy shedding its veil, displaying its secrets to naked eyes, famished eyes devouring all they behold
A beauty forgotten
A portrait in blue rediscovering the light.

March 28, 2010
(Inspired by a ballet i saw at Dar Al Opera)


Craving the comfort of a choice
rendered cheap – valueless.
A treasure for I,
incomprehensible to others.

In light stumbling, trails of blood
defaming ignorant walls,
seeping slowly painting trails,
mountains, rivers, oceans
bringing consciousness momentarily
to a soulless being.

The canvas expanding moving
with only pity for awakening the
walls with its red, it’s red of numb
sorrow, upon its bare being.

But continuing its
journey without pause, its
ongoing creation’s the sole
witness’s to the journey of I.


June 12, 2010

A Wake Up Call

About two months ago my dad comes home with last minute tickets to an opera concert, and we decide to go check it out.

It was a typical week day nothing out of the ordinary, just another day re-lived in routine. Woke up, went to work, came home, and had dinner. So the tickets came at the perfect time, something to break this silenced living. So we get dressed, and get in the car, arriving around half an hour early, get our tickets, and walk into the concert hall.

It was refreshing seeing all these people and I was surprised by the age groups there, most were very young, not what I was expecting. It felt good. We took our seats, chatted a bit, and the lights dimmed signaling the start.

The stage lights go on, illuminating the orchestra all sitting up straight with there instruments held in the ready, and four singers walk out. Two females and two males. All of whom sit down, except for one of the woman who stands in front of a mic, positioning the music folder she was carrying at an angle at which she can comfortable follow the music not hindering her performance. The music started, and she started singing. It was nice and different, she finishes her song, bows as she is applauded, turns then sits down in her seat.

Now the second woman stands up, and the music starts……but this time when she opens her mouth to sing and i hear her voice…for no reason I can explain, I felt my body ‘wake up’ and shudder… and as she continues to sing moving into a harmonized accapella, tears start forming in my eyes and falling. I could not control them, nor stop them. I silently sat there, with tears pouring down my face, sitting in between my parents, and quietly trying to calm myself down, slowly trying to wipe my tears away without letting anyone notice. Her voice was beautiful, and with every note she sang, the tears kept on coming.

I could not stay still for long, so in the dark with only the echoes of the stage lights, I took out my little black book, and started to write…
A possessed soul unaware of a numbness, so sly,
that has taken over what once was un-diminishing passion.

The music so unexpected,
A reaction unforeseen;
Streaming tears of an awakening.
A rush of emotions reclaiming what was thought to have been forgotten.
The ears barely able to collect the sounds; expanding, straining…then shivering with an
Unending anticipation.

The draining of a slow death that almost had its way…


February 9, 2008
Dar Al Opera – Damascus
8:45 PM

2har… Baddi yakoun tshoufoua…

T3bit min l naas, t3bit min yali hwalyeh.
Keef badkoun yani ma 2in2iher, keef badkoun yani ma 2t3ab o ma 2z3al, o ma 2bki.
Ana yalai dam3ty sarla sneen nshfaneh, sarla sneen mnsyeh, ana yali kanit bakity sarkha ma fi mina raha 2o fashit khl2.
Keef ma badkoun yani 2hki o fish albi, min 2aher ma 2lo hal, a3ma.
Ana mani 2awyeh, o dam3t 2m gharybeh btjrahni o btsrou2 l dam3 min 3youni.
Keef ma badkoun yani 2n2hr 3al 3am ymouto, 3ala ahalyoun yali raht rouh min 2dayon, nsara2 nafas bl ghaseb, o b lahzt ghadab, 2tlou ba3doun, o 3am y2tlou ba3doun, bala rafit rmish 2o lahza ta yfakrou bsho 3am y3mlo.
L 2atil mish hal, l 2atil ma hay zabit yali rah o yali 3am yseer. Ma hay raj3 rouh la jasad baarad, wala walad la hdn 2mo. Dammar, hayda hoy yali bykhla2o.
Ma ba3rif loum 2lah 3ala samto ama 2nsan 3ala ghaba2o.

Lk sho’l hal tywa2f l dam!


I lay here
surrendering to the pain caused by loneliness matured

My chest heavy with a weight old in being
Old of time which has passed
static in its existence in its unyielding nature

Time time time, continuous, infinite

when will this change
this horrid feeling of vulnerability be free of its self,
for a chance to shed the skins of sorrow scarred

Caged and ignored for so long
a cold monster created
unleashed without warning hurting those in sight
emptying out a tangle of frustrated emotions on victims innocent, unaware of the why behind the anger and bitterness expressed

The thirst to quench the desire of another
consuming my every fiber, my mind, and my soul

I need… I need…

…but for the fear I have of I
the fear of Myself
and what you can do to me…

And so here I am,
still where I’ve always been

May 2011

“Take My Breath Away” – a cliche craving with a flavoring of I

I want my breath to be stolen away
pulled with strength shattering the dry ice on my chest,
to be clutched in talons sharp that soar so high then without warning dive straight down where my heart forgets to beat,
where yesterday, tomorrow, & today are forgotten

I want my breath kept on the edge of release,
teasing my mind for the dizzying seconds of an end come without warning.

Conversation with self – Let go & live*

You’re infected with all the powers of dreams seen in times of consumed waiting
of time lost unending
Falling waves of storms creeping slowly consuming lives of souls confused
wills gone
Sculpted casts of bodies in prayer
faith not there but a set of rituals followed
playing a game a set game
following the path of the illusion of faith
Let go let go let go
let reason coerce its way with your will and dreams and life and see how fulfillment will take over
Throw away the detailed laws of cultures long mutated into ‘beings’ unrecognizable
Let go let go let go of anger at things out of hand
let your self move on
let your mind free
let it roam and explore the darkness in you
let it know its self
let it bask in its light and help its fears away
allow it the means to heal itself to know itself
Break your mind free of the physical tangible and Become free
Intoxicate your being with conscience awareness of yourself
Smile, laugh, cry, hurt, need another
Let go let go let go and live

*unedited stream of thoughts

For Syria, My Love

Death is maturing my love
Its greed for blood has grown
Silent it is not these days
Quiet no longer

Tags of sectarian labeling sought out
Simply death is not enough
Torture of bodies still in shock of the reality of the moment before the end
Disbelief of the situation reached

“I’m almost home dear” last words heard over space of a face dear to a heart
Of a soul still young
Of a dreamer seeking out his will in life
Cut short through hate blind for reason

“You’re home my dear, You’re home,
You’re safe my dear, You’re safe,
in Your grave my dear You’re safe”

“they can no longer hurt you my dear,
no more can they hurt you…”

We watch in horror as fears talked about in voices skeptical of a situation manifesting in reality take form

What can now quiet down a blood rage
Half of it mad with hate
The other mad for revenge

How can you steady an arm from killing those whom they have lived with all their lives

Death has matured my love
And tomorrow is no longer safe
for the blood rage is brewing
and the fighting is no longer against a common goal
it has shifted my love
it has turned fallen into the chaos of hate

I fear for you my love
I fear for you for the time you are living
For the madness you are witnessing
For the hope that is dwindling
And for the fear you will be living

Be safe my love, be safe
Be strong my love, be strong
For the days to come will only get harder

A Story My Own*

what rules, what laws, what principles do you play with
straight line boarders hallowed, imaginary is all they really are
in minds engraved, in beings branded

what lines do u follow, what straight path are you retreading,
worn down stones markers of previous travelers,
all confused, unsure of who they are or what they want
yet with fear of venturing alone, they walk the paths of those taken before,
dully comforted in the ennui of the journey.

some dare let there dreams build new paths, small diversions, side stops from the foretold
but when the eyes open and the mind reawakens to the reality of its being,
the comfort of the known milestones take over, and so they continue in a journey of an ending known
their lives merge in an overused story line worn out with cliches and expected expectations
a story retold over and over and over and over and over again…

A fear mastered, a key to life, a story yet to be told, a beginning scary yet exciting
to blindly walk, trembling with anticipation of the unknown, that’s the life craved to live

I’m no heroine on papers, but a girl with the will to live her curiosities and live a story uniquely her own
for the dream to be tested out in reality, the unknown the only constant
*there are certain triggers that get me writing, i don’t know why but i was listening to a piece of music shared by a friend and the above came together – http://soundcloud.com/fblsoundcards/fpc005-the-stars-that-fell The stars that fell over that night by Fabrizio Paterlini

Bittersweet Farewell

I can no longer be another statistic in your life
Another girl who’s fallen for you and who you have walked away from

Another name on a list of forgotten faces

You tell me your issues are too real too present too consuming
I tell you
you can have whatever you chose to want,
you can make your own choices regardless of the past

But you are not ready you say
I say you are not interested
I say you have used a situation for momentary comfort
I say you never asked me about my stories when I’ve heard all of yours

How dare you freak out about a first that is mine?
In this you have no right
For this is not your story to freak out about,
it’s my story
it’s my first
it’s my reaction that should count and not yours

I don’t want to be in the shadows and the grey areas anymore
I want you to be consumed by thoughts of me
I want the random calls and messages that are springed by your remembrance of me
I want your eyes to never get enough of looking at me, your hands never satisfied from touching me, and your thirst for my lips never quenched

This is what it should be like should you want me
Not a passing thought during the day
Or a stray craving for comfort

I want you possessed by my smell
And enchanted with my movement
And I need to feel it, know it, and never question it
To annihilate the confusion out of my mind and replace it with certainty

And for me to tell you this…
For me to spell out the state that we should be in…
Well love, that’s the biggest tell that what we have is not real for you
And that’s the sign for me to leave you now

O, there will be pain at memories relived
But with time it will mellow
And I’ll look back with a bitter sweet smile,
for I will deal and come through again

Goodbye love, and
Fare you well…

Life of Colors

I dream in colors
in story lines complete

I dream through feelings lived, emotions craved, and imagination free
Of laughter drama chaotic randomness that makes sense only to me.

I breath life, my five senses always alert.

I seek feelings in all it’s shades and shadows,
for I’m the prism from which light filters through.

Drunken Rambles

So it seems that love is not enough…. It’s never enough…. in the end it’s always the mold or cast u come from…
If u have the misfortune to click with that who is of a different cast then u will have to suffer the consiquence of this ill fated click…
nothing but numbness possess at this stage, the reality of the impossibility of the situation is chaining me to a tragedy unavoidable…. I taste it, feel it, drink it, and live it…
There is no escape for I dared to love outside my cast. And that that has condemned me to unhappiness of a choice that is stolen from me.
I can not love outside my cast.
And it was not even my choice…

Silent Witness

She lays in my arms,
her head resting upon my chest,
her eyes wandering back and forth between memories and thoughts.
Embracing her, relaxed, but with crossed hands holding arms with pressure felt.
Presence and silence is all I can offer to her troubled mind.
Her scars are deep, carved in flesh un-healing.

And there across the room another sits,
her tears silently falling from glazed eyes,
blinded by emotion of a mind uncomprehending a way out of darkness consuming.

Then there’s the warrior,
blazing fire, a goddess in her own right,
yet behind that wall of smoke thick,
a heart betrayed over and over again till it was locked away,
replaced with Hercules’s shield and Athena’s mask.

I watch, and I drain

I see them all around me,
the feminine consumed, betrayed, battered down, and hardened.

Simplicity is not an option,
openness a gamble left uncalled

Souls rich yet.
but who’s shine has been turned down, dimmed

and I, I walk upon crossroads of stories untold hidden uncovered in moments quick in disappearing
for I, I am their silent witness.

Curiously Patient

Ok, so this is hard to put up as it is, but i need to step beyond what i fear, and the written word is my way, so pls bare with me :] :S

I’m everything that you can’t imagine
the perfect match to your imperfection

There I will be until a passion awakens steals me away

you will be the edges that keep hacking away at my soul,
building scar tissue upon scar tissue
reshaping who i am into who i’ll be

us is a question mark drawn in imagination kept
fantasies drawn in the unknow of reality
Fleeting is all we’ll be

unless you step up,
unless you can accept the possibility of what can be,
unless you can accept what is and has been there

Can you, dare you believe that something amazing can be?

I stand before you ready, for the first time in my life
looking upon you curious to the meddling thoughts in your mind and heart

Will you reach out risk your barriers and walls,
reach out to me and take me in?

I stand intrigued to see
a silent smile on my face
curiously patient

Imperfection Am I

I’m imperfection in every sense of the word,
silent, random, chaotic, incomprehensible,
emotionally numbed by fear
easily drowned
and yet
a stray shaft of sunlight lost in the clutter of the everyday
a flame that dangerously bursts and burns so bright
Seen but unseen
Felt yet not acknowledged

On the sidelines I have placed myself

Unconditional passion seeps through without restrain
Trying to quench the thirst of those around,

The flow is strong but the stamina is weakening,
Time a question vital yet ignored

silence used as a tool, a barrier, a chasm to keep the distance

words of feelings un-proclaimed, torture drained on paper
for how should I dare put into sound that which i fear
and so live in the what if’s of possible scenarios of dreams unfulfilled
of courage dreamed

The imperfection of weakness
The curse of empathy and understanding
calling onto strength

A fleeting thought before sleep

To dance on roof tops under star lit skies
with a glass of chilled wine barely held between lazy fingers

Round and round and round
till feet are felt no more and thought silent
with only the sound of music and the silence of a city restless
Where time is forgotten
and a sleeping world slowly wakes
from slumber eagerly sought

And in those moments
where dreams and reality merge into incomprehension of the now
I spin around on numbed feet
and drooping shoulders stretched
in welcome of the momentary loss of reality
of a world awakening with the delusional ecstasy of fatigue


Tomorrow is coming, should i be afraid?
Should i worry about the endless possibilities of things going wrong,
prepare myself for the worst that could possibly happen, put my guard up, the walls back in place, re-enter that small room in the back of my mind, and lock myself up.

Dare i keep my smile, dismiss my thoughts leading to that dark place, and only flow through today, and tomorrow laugh and play without thought.

This is home, this is my family, this is my land, those are my people
and yet I’m scared, I’m terrified.

If i ignore those worries, this feeling, the thoughts of tomorrow, protect my sanity for now…
can i reclaim the life beat i had

Ma ba3rif… i don’t know… my answer to everything these days…

But i’m still wishing, praying, and demanding the best outcome…
Ya rab kheir…

انتزع مني بطاقتي الشخصية قصيدة بقلم الشاعرة الليبية ردينة الفيلا

انتزع مني بطاقتي الشخصية
ليتأكد أني عربية
وبدأ يفتش حقيبتي وكأني أحمل قنبلة ذرية

وقف يتأملني بصمت … سمراء وملامحي ثورية
فتعجبت لمطلبه وسؤاله عن الهوية

كيف لم يعرف من عيوني أني عربيه
أم أنه فضل أن أكون أعجمية لأدخل بلاده دون إبراز الهوية

وطال انتظاري وكأني لست في بلاد عربية
أخبرته أن عروبتي لا تحتاج لبطاقة شخصية فلم انتظر على هذه الحدود الوهمية؟

وتذكرت مديح جدي لأيام الجاهلية
عندما كان العربي يجوب المدن العربية
لا يحمل معه سوى زاده ولغته العربية

وبدأ يسألني عن أسمي … جنسيتي
وسر زيارتي الفجائية

فأجبته أن اسمي وحدة
جنسيتي عربية … سر زيارتي تاريخية

سألني عن مهنتي وإن كان لي سوابق جنائية
فأجبته أني إنسانة عادية
لكني كنت شاهدا على اغتيال القومية

سأل عن يوم ميلادي وفي أي سنة هجرية
فأجبته أني ولدت يوم ولدت البشرية
سألني إن كنت أحمل أي أمراض وبائية

فأجبته أني أصبت بذبحة صدرية
عندما سألني ابني عن معنى الوحدة العربية

فسألني أي ديانة أتبع الإسلام أم المسيحية
فأجبته بأني مسلمة أعبد ربي و أحترم كل الأديان السماوية

فأعاد لي أوراقي حقيبتي وبطاقتي الشخصية
وقال عودي من حيث أتيت
فبلادي لا تستقبل الحرية

Silently Crave

i silently crave the burning sensation of cigarette smoke creeping into my eyes
forcefully shedding long forgotten tears hidden away in shame and anger.
Falling in public I hurriedly whisk them away with sarcastic giggles, hands wiping away the blasphemous liquid
but privately, in silence welcomed, birthing sporadic tremors as they chillingly glide down.

I silently crave closing my eyes in blaring sun as a play of color and shapes take form in spotlights of reds, yellows, & oranges
Leaving me in a dazed ecstasy rushed every time I reopen my eyes
Blinking furiously trying to captivate the ever-so-rapidly disappearing images

I silently crave the smell of fresh green rushing up my head, teasing me awake from monotony, slyly playing on nerve ends, tickling, energizing.

I silently crave open horizons, where pupils audibly pop into function, expanding, contracting, taking all in.

I silently crave the drowning out of a world of noise with a single song, blasted high, vibrations with every beat, numbing ear drums into a single beat.

I silently crave the accidental smiles of stranger on the road, of heads held high, and strides of confidence, of a slight jump to every step, a lightness of being.

I silently crave the surprise twist in a song, of a beat started low, cautious, smartly built up into a pumping beat, making your soul jump out of place and fall back again shaken

I silently crave the anticipation of something new, the nervous tingle of the unknown, as with fearful intrigue it’s being explored

I silently crave the birth of hope, the warmth that radiates inside out, warming u, cuddling your dreams, and pushing u on

I silently crave your comforting words, and ease of self I feel when i’m with you, the smile that takes over my face, and the laughter that fills up the world

I silently crave……….

For the Blood of My Countrymen Stains

I sit here behind my desk, staring into a harsh lit screen, my mind in a million different places all at once…
the world I know slowly crumbling, unknown factors evolving, surprises unraveling within every second.

I sit here in the buzz of eerie silence while out there people scream… my priorities muddled, unclear.

Numb no more can I be, for I’ve been numb for too long, constantly bouncing the outside world off of silent shields,

too close to home things have hit, the vibrations running through, confusion, and apprehension all that’s left in its wake

how can I sit still, quite, when thugs of inconsequence rip apart the only part of my muddled identity that I know, I ask
and yet, crippled I sit here, watching, while the only constant of my life implodes

blood of innocence covers the hands of my countrymen,
blood of innocence seeps into the ground of my country

children are turned into prisoners, cheers of love turn to screams of fear,
suspicion, and wary demeanors everywhere I look,
hushed voices whispering afraid to voice immediate concerns,
contingency plans unannounced, set in motion
Adults turn into children calling in parents, the anger in their voice traveling across borders and seas,
Unclear answers mumbled ending the rain of inquiries entangled within comforting words
“Patience, time, give it time
Hope still pulses strong in all those around”

Fear is there, apprehensive hope yes, and normalization barely stepping through the threshold

But the anger is strong oh so strong, burning, consuming the lies sprouting out of foul mouths
Blood boils within, radiating the Will of a people proud, stubborn, and determined
Uprooting & annihilating all those who sow discontent, to see this madness come to a satisfying end

Cold Tears

i wake up with a heavy heart
hope, lightly clutched within trembling fingers, as it struggles to fly away
news left then right, screams then cheers
explosions unknown gunshots from fireworks

events broad casted on silver screens, mirrored but unseen
words tweeted, clashing in tone of voice and hesitant fear
the yes’s and no’s merging into one unidentifiable word
confused, grieved, and dreading the yet to come
will recent history again repeat itself…

a call to peace, hardly heard
tears making way on cold skin
leaving only trails of salt

and i worry about tomorrow…
barely hanging on to hope
as i dare to dream of a different path from chaos…

Dare i Dream…

End of Another Day

i walk in with heavy eyelids fluttering trying to shut down the restlessness of thoughts and plans overcrowding each other, a place where comprehension is lost to noise

i walk through a familiar path, with each clickity clack moving closer towards that place of simple pleasures, of promised ease
my head hanging, neck straining with the weight of the fishbowl lolling in locked place

finally there i look up, stretch, reach up to my hair and finally release it from daily constraints
locks of weight finally free, a quite shock of electricity spreads through my scalp, a small upward tilt of lips with closed eyes enjoying the seconds of life seeping through again

then outside i step, beyond the four walls of everyday, look up and see the sky, my eyes not comprehending the space beyond, take time to adjust… space, distance, lights, colors, smells, sounds, silence

oh how i’ve missed u

Glimpse – Some old pieces – 2008

here are a couple of old pieces, spilling some angry beans of frustration due to all the drama that was taking place in Lebanon 2005-2008:
hot white tears,

Burning down, sliding, scratching,
A ripping scream silenced, pressure,
Pain, mind shattering need for release.

Unyielding the comfort,
Feeding the anguish,
Feeding the creeping madness,
Rapidly taking over the sanity,

The sound of screeching desperation to hold on to shreds of common sense of reason,
more and more panic, a rising need to regain control of those sudden emotions.

Fluttering cold chills rippling through the body, unexpected,
An empty, devastating silence.


Frustration eating away at nerves transforming to anger moving to rage.
Eyesight frozen by restrained hot tears,
a dulling of emotions,
a radiation of neagtivity.
Sighs unyielding comfort
muscles hardened unmoving
a heaviness on the shoulders
a fluttering fire in the chest
energy rocking every muscle.

Cascading anguish drowning everything else,
a sad pain.


That which should have been so familiar and natural, could not have been more alien. Confusion, a misplacement of a kind, a strange confusing state. what now?


Fear of unfulfilling the promise, made on our behalf. Masses to pay for the faults of few. Justice in an undefined time. Blood, limbs, minds spilled, scattered, shattered. No one to answer the call for all. Minor compensation for later satisfaction. The whole to pay, the whole to bleed, the whole to grieve, hell in the now. Time passing, the pain increasing, the wounds deepening, embedding in the memory of history. A wound infected, manifesting, slowly poisoning, sickening, but not killing. cries of frustration, seeking a way to release the building tension and unbelief at what the eyes can see, the ears can hear, and the body can feel.



It’s Wednesday, and knowing that tomorrow is the last day of the week has set me on edge.

I’m impatient to hit the road to the mountains, to get there as soon as I can. There is something about that place that just gets under my skin and fills me with energy, keeping me in a high mood, a consistent buzz.

What is special about that place? It’s the only place I can honestly call home, the only constant in my entire life of continuous change.

The ride there from Damascus takes about 3 hours, you start out heading towards Homs, before you enter the city you turn and head towards Tartous, and from there just follow the Kafroun, Mashta L Helo signs.

The road to Homs is bland, a highway in a desert of monotonous scenery. But the moment you pass Homs, man! the whole landscape changes, green invades the land, trees, mountains, grass, and lakes. The color green, what a vibrant color of life. The change is a full force attack on the senses (especially in spring & early summer), the transition from desert to the coastal terrain and the farm lands, beautiful.

I used to get car sick every time we were on the road, and so I trained my self to fall asleep the moment I leave Damascus till I get to Homs, and then I’m all awake, lol, the moment we cross Homs it’s like I already got to my village, I start singing and dancing in my seat driving my parents crazy (yes I still do this till today hahaha).

There are two roads from which you can get to Kafroun after Homs, one that is close to the Tripoly Syrian border, and the other which goes through Dahr l 2sayer, Sheen and Barsheen. Both are nice, but the Dahr l 2sayer road is that much more beautiful. The road passes through small villages and a preserved chestnut forest, over mountain ranges, and apple orchards. You even get the most beautiful view of the Lebanese mountains on a clear day.

There are a couple more roads, each with its own feel, each revealing its own beauty, each a journey of discovery of its own.

And the biggest love of mine there is the Saydeh Mountain.

The Kafareen (there are 7) are in the bowl of one big hill and two mountains: Sayeh and Saydeh (The Virgin’s mountain). They are side by side sharing the same valley. The Sayeh has a Muslim shrine on its peak and the Saydeh holds a shrine for the Virgin on its peak.

The Saydeh mountain is actually a dead volcano, with some myths circulating about a castle once being on its peaks.

On this mountain there is a small local cafeteria with an amazing view of the Kafareen and surrounding areas. The cafeteria is simple, with plastic chairs and tables, a small kitchen, drinks, and water pipes, with Fairouz singing in the background and I would not trade it for any other place in the world. It’s perfect in its simplicity. People from the area and visitors sitting, chatting, smoking, gossiping, playing cards, and watching games. For me, sitting there, in the farthest corner with my water pipe, coffee and friends is worth the world. Nothing can compare or even come close to it.

All my mother’s family is there, and we have our own area in the village as we all live next to each other, making a village within a village. The family gatherings are difficult now a days because of the number, we manage but the chaos! haha, there is nothing like it, it can get really messy, but it’s always good (if no fights break out). Having a big family is great but hard at the same time. Nothing is simple but everything is pure and true and it makes it worth it.

I thought writing about Kafroun would get rid of some of the impatience, but it seems to have increased it, and I can’t wait for the day to end, and for tomorrow to come.

See you on Saydeh 😉

Mashrou’ Leila

A group to keep your eye on:   http://www.youtube.com/user/Mashrou3Leila

“Mashrouʼ Leila is not a bandʼs name. It is not a proper noun per se; Mashrouʼ Leila is Arabic for ʻan overnight projectʼ lusting out a microphone, a violin, a bass, two guitars, drums and keyboards. It started out as a music workshop at the American University of Beirut in 2008, an open platform for students of architecture and design, somewhere to experiment with sounds and make things audible. Haig Papazian, Carl Gerges, Hamed Sinno, Omaya Malaeb, Andre Chedid, Firas Abou Fakher and Ibrahim Badr have enjoyed this sound fetish savoring its façade of nonchalance and feeding on its lack of genre sustaining their collective as Mashrouʼ Leila, an experiment.

You can hear Leila, cascading melts of masculine vocals only suspended with thrusts of violin, beats and bass attacked by neurotic melody that means no harm sometimes tender, even sometimes on pause. Through the music, you can smell where Leila has been, in bed sheets, on sidewalks, jasmines in rifles and spilled coffee on dresses as she made you play with aubergines, dancing her dance. Music has constantly been their place to play with things, to match and mis-match, a project.

In the various performances, Mashrouʼ Leila is a constant attempt to taste and produce, more than happy to harvest anyone from the audience as a guest in their encores. They have performed around Lebanon since 2008, playing in various venues in Beirut, taking over supposed public piazzas as well as clubs, pubs, hybrids and the such they also played in Zahle, Sour, Jounieh, Saida and Deir el Qamar, each of which pushed forward their thinking about how to go about their music, lyrics and performance. It is only when Mashrouʼ Leila goes live, that you can actually catch a glimpse of Leila. As it talks to you of Beirut, the city that tastes of the absurd, the product of its day-to-day experiences, its stubborn security and lack of the latter, its musical bombshells, incoherent sexuality and thrusting pleasurenarcotic pain as it brings forward hints of Arabic Tarab, rock, to folk pop, electro, you can see Leila in every man and woman in the silent- come-raving audience. In this trajectory, they participated in music workshops and concerts in Amman and Cairo to maneuver their way into a pan-Arab music scene, to know and to announce, more importantly to grow, musically.

In March 2009, Mashrouʼ Leila won the Lebanese Modern Music Contest jury prize and public vote organized by Radio Liban in partnership with CCF, Incognito and the Basement. They are currently recording their debut album with B-root Productions, to be released in December 2009. The music in the album is a reclamation of the aftertaste; sequel-ing a dose of Beirut.

written by Raafat Majzoub”

Black Velvet*

Tired of words unsaid,
Of living lost,
Of time wasted,
Of settling for what’s available instead of satisfyingly right,
Of no’s, cant’s, never, impossible, and not now’s.

Chocked by the weight of fatigue,
Crippled by settling,
And bond by the expected; by the role to play.

Tired of my own dark thoughts, of the self inflicting misery.

Struggling to keep my head up searching for that spark of light,
Trying to pull myself out
Creating meaning
Forcing my eyes to look around to See, to Notice
Trying to re-awaken the child of unquenched curiosity and simple pleasures.

Digging with bare hands nails breaking and skin ripping, mere wounds to those in the mind that need to be healed, a sacrifice willingly paid for clarity of self.

How far will my Will hold?
How long will I last without the safety net of conforming?
Can I withstand the storm to come?

Words, questions, thoughts,

Black velvet over my eyes,

I remember to breath.

*Feb 17,2010

هذي دمشقُ

A great poem by a great poet – Nizar Qabbani:

هذي دمشقُ.. وهذي الكأسُ والرّاحُ إنّي أحبُّ… وبعـضُ الحـبِّ ذبّاحُ
أنا الدمشقيُّ.. لو شرحتمُ جسدي لسـالَ منهُ عناقيـدٌ.. وتفـّاحُ
و لو فتحـتُم شراييني بمديتكـم سمعتمُ في دمي أصواتَ من راحوا
زراعةُ القلبِ.. تشفي بعضَ من عشقوا وما لقلـبي –إذا أحببـتُ- جـرّاحُ
مآذنُ الشّـامِ تبكـي إذ تعانقـني و للمـآذنِ.. كالأشجارِ.. أرواحُ
للياسمـينِ حقـوقٌ في منازلنـا.. وقطّةُ البيتِ تغفو حيثُ ترتـاحُ
طاحونةُ البنِّ جزءٌ من طفولتنـا فكيفَ أنسى؟ وعطرُ الهيلِ فوّاحُ
هذا مكانُ “أبي المعتزِّ”.. منتظرٌ ووجهُ “فائزةٍ” حلوٌ و لمـاحُ
هنا جذوري.. هنا قلبي… هنا لغـتي فكيفَ أوضحُ؟ هل في العشقِ إيضاحُ؟
كم من دمشقيةٍ باعـت أسـاورَها حتّى أغازلها… والشعـرُ مفتـاحُ
أتيتُ يا شجرَ الصفصافِ معتذراً فهل تسامحُ هيفاءٌ ..ووضّـاحُ؟
خمسونَ عاماً.. وأجزائي مبعثرةٌ.. فوقَ المحيطِ.. وما في الأفقِ مصباحُ
تقاذفتني بحـارٌ لا ضفـافَ لها.. وطاردتني شيـاطينٌ وأشبـاحُ
أقاتلُ القبحَ في شعري وفي أدبي حتى يفتّـحَ نوّارٌ… وقـدّاحُ
ما للعروبـةِ تبدو مثلَ أرملةٍ؟ أليسَ في كتبِ التاريخِ أفراحُ؟
والشعرُ.. ماذا سيبقى من أصالتهِ؟ إذا تولاهُ نصَّـابٌ … ومـدّاحُ؟
وكيفَ نكتبُ والأقفالُ في فمنا؟ وكلُّ ثانيـةٍ يأتيـك سـفّاحُ؟
حملت شعري على ظهري فأتعبني ماذا من الشعرِ يبقى حينَ يرتاحُ؟

There is something about Arabic poetry, for its more than just the meanings behind the words, there is music in the words themselves that seem to take you to a different level. Reading this poem leaves a taste of wonder in my mouth, a journey of sound and imagery of beauty and intrigue.


Here are a couple of blogs that are worth checking out:

If you are from the middle east or lived there (more specifically Beirut), you will love this blog: http://mayazankoul.com/

A great creative project that is worth keeping track of: newminnichi.wordpress.com

If you enjoy reading contemporary poetry you need to check out the blog of Sarah Snowneil Ali, and if you like what you read she has a chapbook you can get your hands on (you can contact her for details):  http://atelierpoetica.wordpress.com/

Books currently reading:

– Eat, Pray, Love (light read)

– letters from Underground (hilarious dark humor and loving it)

Photo: Maktab Anbar – Old Damascus


A Beginning

A while ago Emirates Airlines ran a TV campaign that really struck a nerve with me, the message simply was:

“When was the last time you did something for the first time?”

When was the last time I did something for the first time? The answer scared me, for I could not remember.

Since then I stopped letting the comfort of the norm bind me and slowly started venturing away from what i knew, for nothing could compare to the feeling of doing something for the first time, the feeling of discovery; You always remember your firsts.

So here is a new first, where is this heading, I’m not sure.

Thoughts, questions, dreams, rants, art, poetry, it will all be here. Of that I’m sure 🙂