The Sin of Forgetting

"وَلا تَكُونُوا كَالَّذِينَ نَسُوا اللَّهَ فَأَنسَاهُمْ أَنفُسَهُمْ أُوْلَئِكَ هُمُ الفَاسِقُونَ"

"نَسُواْ اللَّهَ فَنَسِيَهُمْ إِنَّ الْمُنَافِقِينَ هُمُ الْفَاسِقُونَ"

Between two painful punishments: forgetting oneself and being forgotten (ignored? for lack of a better translation) by Him.

Dear Narcissus Boy

Narcissus was a youth that knelt daily beside a lake to contemplate his own beauty. He was so fascinated by himself that, one morning, he fell into the lake and drowned. At the spot where he fell, a flower was born, which was called the Narcissus.

But this is not how the author of the story ended it…

The author goes on to say that when Narcissus dies, the goddess of the forest appeared and found the lake, which had been fresh water, transformed into a lake of salty tears.

"Why do you weep?" the goddess asked.

"I weep for Narcissus," the lake replied.

"Ah, it is no surprise that you weep for Narcissus," they said, "for though we always pursued him in the forest, you alone could contemplate his beauty close at hand."

"But… was Narcissus beautiful?" the lake asked.

"Who better than you to know that?" the goddesses said in wonder. "After all, it was by your banks that he knelt each day to contemplate himself!"

The lake was silent for some time. Finally it said:

"I weep for Narcissus, but I never noticed that Narcissus was beautiful. I weep because, each time he knelt beside my banks, I could see, in the depths of his eyes, my own beauty reflected."

~ Quoted from Paulo Coelho

And so, dear Narcissus, I hope you understand..

La Gitane

أحتاجُ أن أبكي
نعم!
أنا البنتُ
التي تخلطُ في الشوارعِ
وتخطئُ في العدِّ والحسابْ
البنتُ التي تضحكُ طيلةَ الوقتْ
وتبتلعُ ابتساماتِ المارّة
حين لا تعرفُ أسخريةٌ
أم إشفاقْ
تحملُ قِطّتَها فوق صدرِها
تجوبُ طرقاتِ البلدةِ بجلبابِها الرثِّ وشعرها المنفوش
ومن جيبِها الممزوق
يسقطُ قشرُ الفول
وكِسَرُ خبزٍ جافْ
أسنانُها سقطتْ من فرط الضحكْ
فابتلعَتها
لأنْ ليس لها أمٌّ علّمتها طقسَ الشمسْ
"يا شمس يا شموسة..."
ولأن عجوزًا تجلس عند باب الخَلْق
علّمتها أن ابتلاعَ الضِّرس
يُنبتُ غيرَه
لهذا لم تتخلص من الكِسَرِ اليابسة
وأجّلتْ قرضَ أظفارِها الصفراءِ
انتظارًا لموسمِ الأسنانْ.
وحيدةٌ متوحّدةٌ
لا أهلَ لها
لا أصدقاءْ
وأخفقَ الناسُ في حبِّها
تغنّي
رغم اللثغةِ
ورغم انعدام السِّين والشِّين والثَّاء والصَّاد
صَلَبَها رجلٌ على ساقيةِ البلدة
واستولدها طفلةً
أطعمتْها من خبزِها الناشف
فماتتْ
لا أهلَ لها ولماذا الناسُ يخفقون في حبِّها؟
فكّرَتْ في الأخير أن تبكي
نعم
عبيطةُ القريةِ تحتاجُ الآن أن تبكي
على كتفِكَ أنتْ
أنتَ الذي لا ينهرُها
حين تخطئُ في عدِّ أصابعِها
ولا يتلصّصُ على فخذِها
حين ينحسرُ الثوبُ
أمام وهج الفرن

عبيطة القرية - فاطمة ناعوت

enfelat amni

Every single time I am coming back from Maadi at night in a cab, I am scared like crazy.

Letters to Dead Men

لا شك أنني أحتاج عاماً من الهلوسة ولابد أن أقول لأبي إن الرجل الوحيد الذي فتتني من الرغبة فيه كان يشبهه تماماً

وأن أخبر أصدقائي: عندي صور مكتملة لوجهي، كلها حقيقي، وكلها يخصني، وسأوزعها عليكم تباعاً

لابد أن أقول لحبيبي: أشكر خياناتي المباركة، لولاها.. ما انتظرت كل هذا الوقت لأكتشف فضاء استثنائياً في ضحكتك أما بالنسبة لي، فأكاد أجزم أنني أفضح نفسي لأختبئ وراءها
- إيمان مرسال

Dear Man-

I miss your stories.. both real and made-up.. mostly made-up, mostly real.

I seek you -or little parts of you- in others.

I do not need lecturing about my daddy issues. The daddy issue is a daddy issue, and is deceased. But the other is only dead in soul.

I do not need lecturing about letting go.

Also, free falling is not for me.

The borders get blurred and all (both? all?) men merge into one. And he is dead. And you are dead.

And I walk.

some Neruda love

L.A.M.E

my lame-o-meter has become very sensitive lately.. almost everything and everyone is lame most of the time, including myself..

I wrote many words and deleted them, no point.. Even the posts I share are lame.

Double Standards

I didn’t really get it today when he looked at me and said some comment about how R’s appearance have changed.. I didn’t actually get whether the question/comment was satirical or real (because I don’t really see her changed that much).. So I nodded and mumbled in agreement and decided to let it pass.. but later in the coffee break I reflected on it when I saw them standing and joking together, and I understood (or so I think). It just takes me by surprise every time how appearances can deceive a person (both me about him, and him about R).

I always used to get pissed off by his double standards. My first recalled memory of that was our discussion about kissing hellos. I don’t see it an issue (to kiss or not to kiss the other gender hello), but I respect the norms of the society on this matter. He didn’t, and thought that it is weird that people as close as we are (were?) would refrain from doing it just because “someone might say something”. I remember telling him that in his so-called freedom lies the worst judgment of all: that people who are different, who reject this, are prudes! I remember telling him he’s an extremist in his liberalism..

I have double standards worse than anyone. But I don’t deny them.. I have actually told my friend recently that one would think that my experiences have changed me, taught me a lesson and made me wiser re judging people, and they have but I still judge. I just do it with more awareness now, premeditated judgment! And I know that I am judged too, so yeah whatever.

And why on earth did Edith Piaf start playing now?! Non, rien de rien.. non, je ne regrette rien..

on muses, by a man.

muses don't do housekeeping
they don't raise children
they don't argue over financials
and don't want to change the color of the dining room
muses recite poems
and care about their beauty
and the happiness of the partner
ONLY
and this is exactly why
muses cannot be wives
***************************

Men can be such brainless romantics sometimes! :)
Why do we really have to choose?