دعنا ننطلق .. معاً

هل أتاك ذلك الشعور بأنك تدور في حياتك في حلقات فارغة مفرغة، و كلما حاولت الاقتراب من مركز أية دائرة من الدوائر العدة التائه بها كلما كان الابتعاد. فتظل تدور وتدور دون توقف و دون جدوى! وتدور دون حتى نقطة تلاق مع أي كائن من كان يمكنه أن يهون عليك مشقة الدوران أو حتى أن يشاركك. كأنك تعيش في عالم خاص منغلق مخيف لا يجرؤ أحد على الاقتراب منه أو على الأقل محاولة اختراق أسواره الهشة. كأنك تتحدث بلغة لا يفهمها أحد و لا يحاول أحد تحدثها أو التعامل بها أو معها ولو بالإشارة، ولم العناء! ابق في عالمك المغلق و سد فتحات كهوفك بالحجارة القاسية و أجج فوهات براكينك بالحمم الحامية و املأ حقولك الخضراء بأبابيل الطير الأسود الضارية و أغرق بحورك بالأمواج العاتية... ابق في مكانك و دعنا و شأننا، فأنت لا تستحق أن نتكبد من أجلك مخاطرة مواجهة المجهول وإن بدا حسن الطالع! اندمج مع العوالم المختلفة و تحدث بلغة غيرك و تخلى عن كهوفك و أخمد براكينك و آنس طيرك و حول بحورك أنهار وستجد نقطة التلاق، وعندها ستجدنا أول من يهون عليك أي عناء و يشاركك أي حدث! إفعل ذلك، ودعنا ننطلق .. معاً ....

At the Dark Alley of Life

At the dark alley of life, there they slither;
There is always a buyer for every commodity,
A dog barking at its own reflection.

A Message

Writing to you what I dare not say,
Saying to myself what I failed to portray;
Thoughts drift through seas of ink on piles of tidy paper,
Feelings flow insomuch that each word turns into a skyscraper,
But all are to wear out.
Paper boats sailing in seas of turbulent thoughts nestled,
Paper planes flying over skyscrapers of streaming emotions unsettled. 

Living in a Chessboard, or in a Painting

It is as living in a chessboard; every move counts, directly towards fate.
Every step needs serious planning, or else .. Checkmate!
But am I the player or just a wooden piece on the plate?

Like being in a picture surrounded by a frame so obtuse,
The frame is cracked, and the picture is broken loose,
But am I the painter or just a painted figure in recluse?

I am my own player, but sometimes others' wooden piece,

I paint my own life, but my whole existence is a masterpiece,

But whether a game or a work of art, my meditation is never to cease.

Who Am I?

Am I my father's likeness, or maybe my mother's resemblance?
Am I a human being, flesh and mind and soul?
Or maybe a mere container of maps of genes and cells?
My veins and arteries are roads and blood is its passengers.
My bones are the residence and the flesh and muscles are its inhabitants.
And my skin is the stretched coating, covering this whole city!
Am I the only conscious being in this world?
Can I feel what people feel, think about what people think about?
After all, do they feel or think at all?!
What does it take to feel alive? What is meant by 'life'?
Metabolism maybe? Growth? Adaptation? Response to stimuli? Or even reproduction?
So what about sharing, learning, loving, caring, thinking, dreaming, or even blaring?
Am I someone whose ancestors were long ago thrown in this world, a consequence for their sin?
Am I a sinner? Am I a repenter?
The flesh is weak, but the spirit is willing.
To err is human, but to err humble is divine!
Are my thoughts the outcome of my body functions or just a means for setting my life course?
My thoughts are my beliefs, my beliefs are my behavior, and my behavior is my attitude!
I am the son of my father and mother, a creation of my Almighty.
I am a conscious being, but not so conscious.
I am rational and emotional, yet relative and not absolute.
My life is a fruit, so fresh and beautiful: not so ripened, but not at all ripped.
Science means everything to me, but so is religion.
My ancestors are me; their sin is the gate to the sanctuary of my repentance.
I am who I am, what I am, and where I am.
Another breath on the wall. A body, mind, and soul.
I am a human being...

In the Operating Room

The Day of Surgery. It is 6:30 am. The loud ringing of the alarm clock is shattering the peace of such quiet morning, but seems that this peace has been already shattered for some time now as I have been already awake. Maybe I am letting my nervousness and worry from that day take control of my thoughts and senses. It is my first surgery ever, and, ironically enough, it is the only type of surgeries which makes me simply breathless whenever I watch it or hear someone talking about it! Now I have an hour before I head to the hospital, enough time to remind myself of the plan for the surgery: go through it, hang tough, get out of it standing tall. A plan so simple! As much as I hope that the Matrix's famous line "There is no spoon!" applies here, I am pretty sure that there will be not just a spoon, but a whole silverware! Where is Neo now when you need him?!! 

In the Hospital. It is 8:30 am. I checked in into the reception and went for the nursing department to do the final check-ups before the surgery, and then a long wait ... Waiting for my turn, for my name to be called. It is interesting how masterful I am in hiding all the nervousness and the shiver deep inside while appearing so calm and in control from the outside. The longer I wait, the colder it gets, the more I recall all the thoughts that prevented me from having a good night sleep the night before, the more the effort I exert to bury the shivers under the soil of my innerness. Then, the waiting is over.

In the Operating Room. It is 9:30 am. I am inside the operating reception room, all by myself: no companion, no support, even no clothes but that loose blue garment and that white baggy head cover. The wheel bed is set, the needle is in my vein, and the solution is in my blood. Being all set, there I am transported to this fully equipped room. There are the bright lights above my head, so bright like the day light. And there I get swallowed inside these lights, totally embraced by its chilly rays. The surgery begins...

Where am I? I remember that vast green meadow, with its tender sun, its delightful weather, and its evergreen trees and colorful flowers dancing happily in the fresh breeze. One of my oldest dreams. And there I am, a little child, running and running without getting tired, feeling so cheerful with that pure smile drawn on his innocent face. A scene so pleasant to the beholder.

Suddenly it gets dark, and there are a couple of surgeons performing a surgery to somebody. And the closer I get, the more amazed I become, for that 'somebody' is no one else but myself! Is this a dream? Or maybe a nightmare! and if so, will I ever wake up from it?? I can see the patient shaking, but so am I. I can feel the patient is semi-conscious, but so am I too. A trembling image of some kind of spectrum, longing to return to its flesh and blood form. Then a voice comes from nowhere: "Hang tough, it is almost over." It looks like the voice of salvation, and upon following it, the darkness gradually fades. The surgery is over.

Deliverance. I do not know what time it is. I am not sure where I am. I am sure of only one thing: it feels so cold in this place! So there I go, or I am helped to go, to the same operating reception room, and here I am, standing tall, taking careful steps towards the door of deliverance. The shiver is withering, the lights are glowing, warmth is finding its way inside my heart. Strangely enough, I see a picture of that same green vast meadow on my way outside. More strangely enough, I feel like that little boy, so happy and willing to run and run without getting wearied. The spectrum is liberated to join its fellow sun beams. I am free.