IN ENGLISH

AN INTERLUDE CALLED MENTE // MAJID ALTURKI

– Overture –

Where it all begins
above the crud
and the unstable grounds.

– I –

It’s hidden,
but the pressure
is well noticed.
bits of filth
are on your legs.

– II –

Something seems different..
you probably wouldn’t know,
but you feel weaker,
bent a little.
your legs are stained.

– III –

It’s gloomier and darker now;
too late to change anything.
You’re trapped under the
force of your will.
you’ve lost sight of
your feet.

– IV –

All seems withered and
the air tastes a bit stale.
giving up seems like
all you can do now;
you close your eyes
waiting for what may
come. Your knees have
clamped, and you feel crushed.

– V –

No breathing is left;
all light has been consumed.
It’s cold and damp
and your skin is crawling.
people simply step over
and around the place
you stay in. Sight is barely
possible anymore;
you kneel in submission,
a victim to the world.

Is it time to buy time?

– VI –

Rest assured, there is no need
for further misfortunes.
now, you've been suffering
for a life time.
kneel down,
plead and dispute.

Live on.

HOPELESSLY ANXIOUS // ARMAN

In my mind, I’m chained to the bed.
The bed rests on the gallows pole.
The gallows pole adjacent to temples of merciful Gods. Gods nowhere to be seen, heard, or felt.
The senses numb and rust.
The rust dulls the chains, I break free.
I leap faithless off the gallows pole, uncertain of how high it sat on bigots’ lap.
I pass by the temples as I dive, no mercy to be found. Idolised figures, sanctified mortals and no sacred Gods.
I’m descending aimlessly.. No ground to be found. Until I feel that skinful ground, until I see the two starry skies and until I hear the heartbeats of mercy, I’m unable to land.

THOUGHTS & TALES / TALES & THOUGHTS // MAJID ALTURKI

Sometimes the dullness
of our minds
slips from between
ceaseless (senseless) lips
like buttered buns
or oiled thumbs
or maybe peeled
banana skins
before a dawdling
thought takes
a moment
to apprehend
the disproportional mass
of reckless words
escaping
into receiving
more space,
greased and creaking
viscid mud
then it’s suddenly
too late,
and i’m trapped
and falling
in my own waste-
d breath
and regret.
And I think
to myself;
I’m no longer the
ignition to
your thoughts.
Maybe all of
my words
played with
put together
torn apart
smothered around
blown away
held along
and laughed about
were nothing
but mere words
to guide
me back
to your restless soul.

FIFTY SHADES OF EARTH'S DEMISE // JOHARA ALMOGBEL

Her wide, beautiful, eyes, the color of an ancient mystic Chinese jade dragon, glittered in the dawning moonlight, drawing the strong and mysterious and black haired, very muscled, billionaire Jones closer and closer because there was this magnetic power pulling them together even though he just saw her like, five seconds ago and- 

The old lady stood, brushing commas off her pants as she did. It was getting quite a bit tedious, this business of badly written novels, she thought, picking her way through the scattered similes from the last dumpload. Not that it wasn’t good money. Or that she would ever judge a book based on content, oh no. It was not the way.

For she was the keeper of the words, and the keeper of the words would never commit such a blatant act of pretentiousness. Never.

Except…

Except. The place was starting to look like a thesaurus, really. Andeveryone knew a thesaurus was not a very healthy environment for well-bred wordians, not at all. It had the most peculiar effect on delicate sinuses. Which she had, of course.

Sniff.

It would, she reflected, be nice to get a decent story every now and then. With proper sentences and perhaps not with such an abundance of exclamation marks. Exclamation marks were quite the bother to clean up, what with the small dots always fluttering off to who-knows-where and clogging up her drains. And they were very hard to sell on the market.

Maybe a poem or two? Yes. Something with the air of a Poe would do quite nicely. Or perhaps a long-lost Orwellian tale! That would be such an excitement.  Oh, the old days had been much more enjoyable. The keeper of the words still remembered when Bram Stoker’s Dracula had come tumbling down the chute. Very lengthy, but a proper horror with very decent vocabulary. Not like nowadays, where they pranced about glittering and making triangles with werewolves and all other sorts of embarrassing things. She snorted. Vampires indeed.

The chute clanged about, indicating another load coming through.

I want you to become well acquainted , on first name terms, if you will, with my favorite and most cherished part of my-

Oh, bother. It was that one again. The keeper of the words put on her macintosh, donned on her surgical gloves, and waited.

 

That sort of literature was always bound to be sticky, after all.

INDECISO // MAJID ALTURKI

It’s horrible how fast
These raindrops
Run from one spectrum
To the other in a matter of
Nanoseconds.
In a nano, I catch one
Laying upon the warm cells,
Hoping to break free from the
Dark layers that cease
"Evaporation."
In the nano right after,
I catch one racing
Against the odds
Of this world
But with no success
Whatsoever
It falls off the flesh,

Dreamless
Hopeful

Hopeless
Dreamful.

These drops desire the sky
And the shelter of the clouds,
Losing it
And spilling what's
Left of the mad-house
Hoping, dreaming
Only to find solace
Within the torn
Cells of its
Raw, organic molecules..
Killing each and every drop,
Never to rise again.

Under the surface, the raindrops are happy. The raindrops feel lonely. The raindrops are free. The raindrops can not make up their minds, for they have always felt this way.

UNTITLED // ARMAN

According to the laws of he who had no essence of the Message he has conveyed, and those who followed with no perceiving, you shall be living in a cell.
You shall inherit the basic rights of thoughtless beings of A mind and hearts, and there are none.
Your goals rest in a shell.
Your thoughts are blasphemous, your love is plain lecherous.
Your Family revolves you, live Your life portraying their professed perfect image.
By their beliefs you shall be mislead, through the labyrinth of the lost ones.
I shall and will deceive, I won’t be clinched to their bare-self creeds.

SIRENS & CAVEMEN // SAEED RASHED

In the darkest ocean I saw a light shining its way through the waves

Like fingertips tracing my spine electrifying my skin
My heart beats faster than the speed of sound

Fire in my eyes blizzard in my soul
My eyes ache and kneel for the beautiful undisclosed unknown
Something surreal it overcomes divine
Waves crashing against the shore grinding upon my shame..she is
As if it were her favorite art

There’s passion to her nails when dug onto my skin
Stealing layers trapped in between the claws and fingertips of she

We are the people of the world, we are the gods in this space

So take me for a ride in the tides to the wildest utopian grounds

My breath is an orphan.. You could be the end of me, the birth of heaven’s tamed treasoner

All I desire in this blasphemous occasion is for our bones to entangle
For our souls to commune
For our stars to clash

Tomorrow is an illusion, yesterday’s flown away with the ashes
We’re left with nothing but the pleasure and the pain, the sole beauty of the bittersweet
Observe me as I weep for the utmost
Take me in..
Ascend me to the end of time
To the roof of your mouth, to the heights of life..
Until we have broken through ordinary, the dead land of ordinary
And mercilessly drop me upon the burning core

There’s life in our dreams this night, glorified by our creation of madness..
‘Forever’ is the burden we could not endure
Endless libido pumping t’is impure

I needn’t an eternal force nor do I need the purity of heavens

I need you wholly solely instantly desperately this split of a moment
To quench your thirst
To fulfill your fantasies
To ease your fears and to dominate my weakness.
So destroy my well being and conquer my territory
To prey on my heart
This heart of a caveman

From this moon out, without your possession..I am of no worth
Needless of your ghosts
I love you now, adore me then
Taste my pain I’ll embrace yours

For may our bodies collide

YOU’RE ALWAYS WELCOME // SARAH

“Who taught you to hate yourself?” is perhaps the single most revolutionary sentence I have ever read, and I have read a lot in my lifetime. 

Life is hard for most, if not absolutely all, of us. As a result, I don’t think there’s nothing wrong with accepting another person’s love, essentially their offer to lighten our burden, even if only momentarily. There is no weakness in being open to healthy and sincere affection from another. Most of what we will struggle with in life will be out of our hands, and so our individual journeys will be tough. If another person wants to give you the gift of a love that is kind and thoughtful, why reject it?

I like to think of my heart as an open door, maybe even a revolving door. Throughout the years, I have loved and I’ve lost, not unlike pretty much every other person on this planet. What has me swimming upstream is that I don’t seal myself off from how I feel about people because of things that may have happened in the past. Where is the sense in punishing future loves for cruelty experienced in the past, and at the hands of another?

It’s not only rude, but also selfish.

Often times, loving another person is what inspires some of us to be the best we can be. There are people in my life I will forever love because to me, they are the earliest memories I have of myself. In them, I see them person I hope to be, the woman I try to be. To lose them would be to lose myself, and so I keep them close.

With love like that out there, it can be said that there really is absolutely nothing brave, poetic, artistic, or even tortured about rejecting healthy and understanding love. The kind of love that helps us get out of bed in the morning, helps up get through pained nights, and makes us cry during the better moments because it endured and it is still there, shared by two people who chose to care.

Who you are now, who you see in the mirror today, that’s who you are. Maybe you the yourself, but just accept that person, and realize that you are more than yet another a reflection that walks past you on every shiny surface you pass. Don’t feel shame about who you were or who you are because that’s pointless. We allow people to be mean to us on a daily basis, accepting it as fact and part of life. Why not do the same with love?

It’s not up to you to decide on behalf of someone else whether or not you are worth their affection. That is something that it simply not your war to fight, and certainly not yours to lose. Let yourself be loved, and maybe someday as a result of that, you’ll be able to repay the kindness with love all your own.

UNTITLED // MAGDA MAGDY

1.

Sing.. Sing..
Of the insipid misfortune that has befallen us
Silent tongues
Must be fed ardently.

No more complaints
No more pleas

All inept wishes answered.

2.

Remnants of blood-shot victims
Falling before panic-stricken faces,
Eyes swooshed out of place,
Walking on empty fire bullets canopy.

Their story will be told,
They’ll adopt unanimous tongues,
Well-rounded-
And evade into the otherworld.

Chanting in unison against the regime,
"The revolution will not be televised"
But must go on..

Political prisoners
Dwell in their cells
waiting,
anticipating,
for the infallible

Stepping on cold stone,
Bare feet.
Hunched down

Sing.. Sing..
Of the insipid misfortune that has befallen us
Silent tongues must be fed ardently
To continue the fight.

MOTHER AND CHILD // DANA AL RASHID

-1-

The mother gives birth to her beautiful child. She already loves and knows it very well, for not too long ago, they were one. As it is helpless and vulnerable, she devotes the whole lot of her time in caring for it in its first few years. It becomes the source of her happiness, and “occasional” pain, exactly the way she becomes to it. She loves her dear child so much that she wants to protect it from this cold harsh world, back into her womb, but she knows better. The child makes silly mistakes out of impulse, but mother knows that it is still a child, who needs patience and tolerance to grow lovingly.

-2-

The child grows into youth, and yearns to experience life through its natural way of trial and error. Mother knows best, and so she warns and advises him about the dangers of the outside world. Youth feels controlled and smothered. He is no longer a child, and he is able to think and decide for himself. However, he is still making silly mistakes out of impulse and naivety. And so, he sets out to experience the world, mother knows best, and so she lets him go, even though it is very painful. She knows that if she shelters him -out of love- he will not grow, and he will grow resentful of her. She is hurt that he didn’t listen to her, despite all the years of continuous love and care she gave, but she knows better. She knows that her love is unconditional, and so she cannot own him, nor can she expect him to be as she pleases as an exchange for her love. She also knows that in order to grow, hearts must be split wide open with the axe of life. Or is it the harvesting sickle of death?

-3-

The youth sets out in his adventures; some are filled with success, which make him happy and proud. Others, not so much. His heart breaks, and part of him dies, he remembers his mother’s advice. He is in great pain that he has no experience in dealing with, for he, like Persephone, has been raped by life.

He realizes that the things and people he once wanted and chased so much were not as reliable or beautiful as they seemed in his eyes, in fact, they were hurtful and sinister. And so, he goes back to his mother to be soothed, completing a full cycle and becoming one with her once again. The mother welcomes him with arms wide open. She is forgiving beyond her rage that he left her, for she knew this day would come.

He is not remorseful for his experience, for he sees many of his peers still tied to their mothers by the umbilical cord well into adulthood, embittered yet too bound and comfortable to grow up.

-4-

Both mother and -former- child learn a great deal from this experience. Mother learns to let go without expectation, and to polish her love to be as unconditional as it can be. In releasing, her son was growing to come back to her with more riches. In her solitude, she learnt to channel her creative gifts in different and productive ways, rather than having her life revolve around another person, no matter how dear.

Youth learns to deeply appreciate the reliable and loving anchor that his mother is. He realizes that there is wisdom in her advice, and perhaps he shouldn’t act on impulse all the time to save himself some pain, because things are not what they seem, especially to young eyes. He learns to give back love and care to her out of gratitude, not guilt. For we see all too many mothers emotionally blackmailing their children into doing as they please, and children either serve long years with resentment, or backfire into ruthlessness and never coming back. They can “leave” mentally even if they are in the same house.

The youth once again sets out into his adventures, but this time with much greater insight from both parties, into an upward spiral of development. In fact, there are two adventures, that of the youth (exterior masculine) and that of the mother (internal feminine), but we often overlook the roots which keep the tree alive.

-End-

Mother and child is the first and most intimate relationship humans -amongst other creatures- experience. It is of extreme importance because our survival was once entirely dependent on the mother. The bond of mother and child is so sacred there’s an entire religion that revolves around it! And so, it shapes the face of our future relationships and more; it shapes our psyche. We duplicate this very relationship pattern in our friendships, love interests and marriage, especially if not aware.

After reading the little eternal tale above, ask yourself which role you normally play; are you usually mother or child? of course, We may switch from mother to child in our relationships,but there’s usually a dominant role we like to take. Patterns you have learnt from your own personal mother-child tale will inevitably show up, but it makes a world of difference to be aware and know where they came from.

It’s also worth mentioning that mother and child is another module or name -if you may call it- for the yin and yang duality. Therefore, within each mother is her child, and within each child is his mother.

This is the tale of all tales, and not only does it symbolize our relationship patterns. On a wider spectrum, it symbolizes our journey from life to death, with all of our little adventures unfolding  within.