انا ما بقول عن حالي شاعرة ... معاذ الله Poetry قدر الشعر

Yahoo canceled yahoo 360. I had a private blog there that I shared with a few friends. I'll be reposting stuff from the old blog.


AUTHOR: DATE: 11/14/2006 14:18:09 -----STATUS: publish BODY:

i lost an entry i did this morning. a thought that i had when i first woke up. but no problem. i can think it again. maybe differently but the same still. so let me tell you... you? who are you??

oh now i remember some of the stuff i thought this morning, one of them was about why i use small 'i' instead of I when i talk about it.
By the way, this is not the main thought. the main thought was about poetry . or maybe i should say about ego.

I was thinking about people who with inflated ego who think they are poets or artists. They forget that a poet is a very deep word, poetry is not the chatter of someone's mind, or them venting , or them stringing together big words. poetry is something that you dont come up with . it comes up with you. it writes you...
هاليومين الكل شاعر.. كل ما حدا طلع كلمتين من تمه بيسميه شعر.. أغلب هالشعرا ما سمعو بمفهوم اسمه البلاغة.. و ما عندهم خبر كيف الفصاحة بيكون شكلها
يرحم أيامكم يا ربع عكاظ
انا ما بقول عن حالي شاعرة ... معاذ الله .. ولا بسمي اللي بكتبه شعر... في أسامي كتيرة الواحد ممكن يستعملها بدون ما يتعدا حدوده وحدود احترامه للغته
قولوا عني دقة قديمة.. مش مهم.. بفرقش عندي.. أحس ما أوهم نفسي وأتفرج على اللي عايشين في أوهام وقاعدين بيحطوا من قدر الشعر..
The divine nature of poetry . the sacredness of a poet. the poet ..the channel of the divine. the medium of god. not some kharabeet w khawater

على فكرة ... مره كنت عايشة فوق السحاب... سحاب صناعي.. أنا صنعته.. كنت كل ما بفكر فكرة بفكر حالي عبقرية بفكر حالي فيلسوفة ... مش اشي بحزن؟؟
It took me along time to realize how pathetic my situation was. and that i had no idea what I was doing , saying or thinking. I was just trapped in a little ego that has been domesticated in me. and that i had to assert for the longest time.
Fake clouds are very dangerous...
فن الأوهام
the art of self deceit


so...
the 'you' is whomever is watching me or my thoughts.. sometimes it feels like i am on a stage and there are these invisible beings watching me.. ghosts , angels, ancestors, the enlightened ones, etc..
there is God also of course . so I talk to YOU. Me also is another YOU .. my 'observer' . I am not sure if that is me or ME. i or I..

لمتى؟

لمتى حبك بَالحشا ساكن
وانتَ تِّمنع؟
لمتى روحي فؤادي فرحمتَك
وانتَ تِّدلع؟
يا قمر يالساكن بالسِما عالي
جيت اشتكيلك همّي والكدر
جيتك اشتكيلك وانِتْ أدرى بحالي
لوعتي عذابي بحُبَّك قَدَر
يا شامخٍ حِلْمُ وهيهاتِ تنطالي
يا بعد الحشا والروح والنظر
من يومٍ عرفتك سكنت بخيالي
إنسلِّ عودي وحالي تبدَّل
يا نجمةٍ تَلمع بالسما وتلالي
منك شحوبي ووضعي تِحَوَّل
أعياني سهدي وَالشوق يا سالي
بعد وجفا وصدود و ماقدر اتِّحَمل
مستوطنٍ بالذهن يا غالي
وما هقيت ذكري على بالك خطر
كيف انساك كيف انسى اللِيالي؟
كِلْ لحظةٍ في حضورك عُمُر
قربَك حياةْ وبعدك هلاكي
يا أغلى من اغلى الناس والبِشَر
أعياني الرّجا وذلّي وابتهالي
عْلامك قليبك اقسى من حجر؟
تسخر من تِشوف حرقتي ولا تبالي
وارجا قلبي الملتاع يصطبر
أضحيت الهدف وكل الآمال

ما اصدّق العيشة بعدك تستمر

I don't understand... you don't understand

I don't understand the laws of gravity on your planet
you don't understand why i don't understand
i don't understand why you cant understand why i don't understand

time and place failed,... an error happened
I was in my dimension
happy
an error happened
I turned into particles
and was transferred
here I am in your dimension
trying to figure out how your gravity works
here you can fall , in my planet you never fall
here it hurts when you fall , there you never fall

i don't understand why you laugh when you laugh
you don't understand why i cry when i cry
and i don't understand why you don't understand
and you don't understand why i don't understand why you don't understand
what make you laugh can make me cry
what makes me cry can make you laugh
and things fall..
i cant walk here, I'm not used to walking
there we float, we get to where we want to get by looking at it
here it takes time to get there
i cant understand the concept of something talking time
you don't understand why i cant understand
i don't understand how you understand what you understand

I cant hear your voice
i try to speak
my lips move and words come out
i cant hear them
you cant hear them
i see them floating
they are blown away by your wind
they spread over the universe .. and float
they are all over the place ... but invisible

an error happened
and I'm stuck in your dimension
and you don't understand why i cant cope with it
why i cant love it
you don't understand why i cant walk,
why i am so afraid of falling
why i cant hear you
you don't believe i cant understand your gravity
i don't understand why you cant believe
you don't understand that i cant understand
i cant understand why you cant understand

Coconut Girl and the Mirror

Once upon a time coconut girl ran into a child holding a rock,
The child’s eyes turned into a big mirror
Coconut girl saw the mirror for the first time in her life.
A moment of self-discovery
She didn’t like what she saw
She was scared
she smashed the mirror
100,000 pieces the mirror scattered
Each one has the same picture: Coconut girl
A l00, 000 coconut girls

The child died on the cross
Went to heaven
A whole generation passed
The 100,000 mirrors grew up mirror trees
Each with 100,000 more mirrors with brown girls on them
Mirrors speak; I am your identity, I am your grandmother El hajjeh, back in the old country
Look into my eyes; I’m your mirror
Erase me from your diary; you can’t erase me from your genes.
Brown on brown
She tore down grandmother’s picture but grandmother still existed
The more she avoided looking into the child’s brown eyes the more she was dissolving
Living in denial is the best cure
She turned off the history
She preached; I’m felicity, I am beige now.
I’m the saint of all saints,
I study people,
I’m above everyone
I’m exotic,
I am hummous,
I am tabbouleh.
I’m just another coconut girl
I tell people what is right and what is wrong
And in the meantime I uproot me

To be Arab and proud, what a combination
Is it logically feasible?
It scares me,
I see those pictures of my grandmothers that I burnt.
I apologize to the mirror and the children
It’s not about you

Grandma visits me in my dream, passes her gentle loving hand on my forehead and forgives me.

My self-hatred is blinding my vision; the cowboys taught me that I am brown because I am dirty,
They invented Clorox. I washed me with Clorox so that I can fit.
I don’t want to be dirty.

Grandma visits me in my dream, passes her gentle loving hand on my forehead and forgives me.

Brown bleached girl got pregnant
She gave birth to a brown little boy who was holding a rock

I’m a mere rusty brown link on the chain of “us’s” identity
I happened to be a prime number
A second generation ya grandmother
Don’t blame me

Brown Jesus visits me in my dream, passes his gentle loving hand on my forehead and forgives me.

Journal of a Hymen - Part 2

Virginity in my brain
Virginity between my legs
Hymen encapsulating my thoughts
Self-resentment
Mixed with fear
Mixed with guilt
Mixed with sexual frustration
Repressed emotions
Suppressed fantasies
Condemned dreams
That fucking Hymen
I hate it but keep it
I am not retarded
I am scared
I am not a sharmouta (a slut)
I wish I were
I am a virgin
I freeze when you touch me
I become an ice pole
Every muscle spasms
I am a big spasm
Spasm virgin
I wish I were Swedish
Enjoying my sexual freedom
I hate my parents for the hymen
I hate god for the hymen
I hate me for the hymen
Hymen between my legs
Hymen strangling my mind