Only when I sleep...

It's been a long time since he'd stopped dreaming. He couldn't remember when exactly, and he could never know why.

He related his inability to dream any more to what was going on everywhere around him. People literally had lost their dreams, and this got into him as well. No one was dreaming of a better tomorrow. No one was having a personal dream. They were just accepting reality as it is. He could see this in their eyes, their words, their attitude and behavior.

For him, dreams were important. They were like short movies that entertained him, inspired him and gave some excitement to his boring life. And just like movies he dreamed of everything. There was horror, war, comedy, documentaries, biography, romance and even porn.

In one of his favorite songs, "Ruby Tuesday" by The Rolling Stones, there was a certain sentence in particular that had always touched a deep point in his heart:

"Dying all the time, lose your dreams and you will lose your mind, ain't life unkind!".

He understood the full meaning of this sentence after he had lost the ability to dream. He thought it was a temporary phase that will quickly end, but it didn't.

He stopped dreaming and gave up hope on getting his dreams back. Even sometimes he woke up in the morning knowing that he had a dream but he couldn't remember anything about it.

Until one day after a long time, he met her. He couldn't remember anything except her beautiful wide eyes, her long dark hair, and her amazing smile, and he felt love. He could hear her smile. Have you ever seen a smile that talks? He could hear her smile talking to him, but before he could say anything, he woke up.

This dream turned his life upside down. He woke up so happy for no particular reason. For the first time in ages he felt how good his morning coffee tasted, how wonderful the sun rays felt when touching his face, how beautiful life is. On his way to work, he kept smiling at himself in the bus, trying to remember where he had seen that dream girl before. He noticed other passengers gazing at him suspiciously so he stopped smiling. He knew how much he missed that feeling. Falling in love at first sight. Being unable to see anyone else but her, everyday, all day long. It's been years since he felt that way. He was happy even if she was just an imagination.

A couple of days passed, and he forgot about the dream and the mystery girl, then she came back again. That time the short movie was a little longer. He could hear her smile, taste her perfume, and smell the background music. A thousand new feelings rushed into his blood at the same time. She approached him, smiling, in a beautiful white dress, and a red rose in her hair. Although he couldn't clearly see her face but he saw her smile, and he heard what that smile had told him. He knew that she was his destiny, his fate. He felt paralyzed as she came closer, and as her smile grew bigger, he was smiling too, but that time he felt that not only his face was smiling, but his heart as well. He knew it was a dream but he wished he never woke up.

She kept visiting him from time to time, always smiling but never talking, and he spent his days looking for her everywhere, trying to guess where exactly he could have seen that smile. He was worried that she was just an imagination, and he kept blaming himself for always choosing to fall in love with the impossible, the unattainable, whether it's a relative who is too much older, a neighbor with a different religion, a friend with too many family problems, or a co-worker who is too rich, too "connected" and too beautiful to be attracted to a regular guy like him, or a less-than-average as he used to call himself. He had always been like that, looking for a challenge, for the impossible dream knowing that he would eventually lose at the end.

He searched everywhere with no clue, inspecting faces in the street where he lived, in the bus, near the bus stop, in the building where his office was, and he almost gave up.

One rainy day he was late at work, it got dark and he hated the fact that he had to walk to the bus stop in the dark muddy street. When he left the office it was still raining and his glasses were covered with raindrops. He was in a hurry and he didn't even bother to stop and wipe his glasses. He heard a speeding car coming nearby, but he couldn't see it hitting him.

After a few seconds of darkness, he felt the pain all over his body, he felt himself on the wet ground, unable to move, with the rusty taste of blood in his mouth. He heard the car door open, and someone getting out crying and gasping for air. It was a woman. He felt paralyzed as she came closer. She knelt beside him weeping, her white dress stained with blood and mud. He finally found the one he had been looking for. He knew she was his destiny. Now he knew why he could never see her face clearly in dreams.

She felt his face with her trembling hand, and he was able to feel her tender fingers with his lips. And before she said anything he just smiled at her and closed his eyes. He had no reason to wake up again.

And from the car radio that was still turned on, the last thing he heard was the end of R.E.M's song "Losing My Religion":

But that was just a dream
That was just a dream
Just a dream

أدعوكم

أدعوكم أيها العقلاء
إلى تبادل الأنخاب
وشرب كؤوس الدماء
وإلقاء اللحم للكلاب
أدعوكم للاحتفال
والرقص والغناء
وإلقاء الأموال
على الأفخاذ والأثداء
فمهنتي هي الموت
ومهنتكم البغاء
وما الذي يضير
في رؤية الأشلاء
أتى العام الجديد
من دون أي عناء
فلتقيموا الأفراح
ولترفعوا عقيرتكم بالغناء
أدعوكم للنواح
واللطم والبكاء
ومضاجعة العدو
وذبح الأبرياء
فلتصدروا بيانات
الشجب والوعيد
إدانة واستنكار
كالخصيان والعبيد
فالذبح ليس مهماً
بجوار هدايا العيد
فلتملئوا الأقداح
نحن في عالم سعيد
وترحموا في صمت
على روح كل شهيد
فلتتبادلوا القبلات
وتعانقوا المومسات
لننس كل ما فات
وكل ما هو آت
فإن آخر رجل عربي
قد مات..

From the diaries of a serial killer

I'm the undertaker

I'm your heartbreaker

I'm the grim reaper

On your sorrows I feed

And make your soul bleed

As I go deeper

-

This is how I am

A heartless dirty thing

In the land of the damned

I am the only king

No matter how it hurts

-

I never get enough

I give nothing but pain

In exchange for your love

I wonder everyday

For how long it will last

And why you have to pay

For my crimes of the past

It's not your fault, I know

But it's all out of my hands

I'd better let you go

Though your roots are in my land

-

I'll set you free for good

You'll bleed as I set you free

But I'll do the thing I should

For what is meant to be will be

And quickly you should learn

-

As your wings will take you high

That there is no return

Once you're able to fly

You don't belong to me

Angels belong to the sky

أنا مين

أنا كلب بلدي نايم ع الرصيف في سلام

وقط شارع صايع ضايع وسط الزحام

وحمار حصاوي هربان من وجع اللجام

وكيس زبالة اترمى من الشباك والناس نيام

وأغنية أمريكاني ضد حرب فيتنام

وكتاب غلافه ملون بس من جوه كله كلام

وبندقية من غير ذخيرة لكن رافضة الاستسلام

أنا الفشل والاكتئاب وضياع كل الأحلام

وطفل على كتف أبوه منظره يجبرك على الابتسام

أنا دخان المعسل في الشتا والمشي ع الكورنيش مع المدام

وحبل الغسيل في البلكونة واقف عليه الحمام

وقميص مبهدل مبقع متشمر الأكمام

وطابور طويل قدام سفارة عايز يروح أرض الأوهام

أنا صديق البطل اللي مالوش لزمة في كل الأفلام

أنا تاكسي اسكندرية لوني أصفر ف أسود، وتذكرة الترام

أنا نكتة بايخة وخناقة تافهة على أي حاجة والسلام

الخوف

وقفنا طويلاً في شارع بورسعيد نتحدث، أو بالأحرى كانا يتحدثان وأنا أقف مطرقاً في صمت، أهز رأسي بين الحين والآخر مُظهراً اهتمامي بما يقولان، بينما كان اليأس والكآبة يتسربان إلى عروقي في بطء، وحين نفد صبري طلبت منهما التوقف قائلاً : طيب كفاية، نقفل الموضوع على كده بقى عشان أنا تعبت.

في لحظات تحولت كلماتي التي أكتبها وتُحلِّق بي حول العالم إلى سجن وتعذيب وخراب لا يلحق بي فقط، ولكن أيضاً بكل من حولي من قريب أو بعيد.

لم أنم جيداً في تلك الليلة، وكل الليالي التي استعدت فيها هذا الحديث بكل تفاصيله المؤلمة. هل جربت يوماً أن ينصحك أحد المقربين بأن تقتل الشيء الوحيد الذي له معنى في حياتك؟ أن تنهي العمل الوحيد الذي تجيده، قبل أن تبدأه؟

هل خوفنا هو الذي يقتلنا أم عدم الخوف؟ وأيهما على حق، من يسير بجوار الحائط أم الذي يصرخ في وجه كل ما يراه خطأ؟

"واحد مصري كندي دخل يصلي في الحسين مسكوه عشان بدقن، قعد أسبوعين في السجن وطلع أخد شنطته وقال أنا مش راجع البلد الوسخة دي تاني"، إذن يا صديقي الذي ينصحني بعدم الخوض فيما يُغضب الأسياد، أيرضيك أن ترى هذا الظلم وتصمت؟"

أنت يرضيك أهلك يتبهدلوا بسببك في السن دي؟ وأخوك يضيع مستقبله؟ أنت عارف بيعملوا إيه في أمهات المساجين ومراتاتهم وإخواتهم؟"، وماذا يضمن لكما ألا يحدث هذا لنا جميعاً دون أدنى سبب، أحدكما يقول لي "إحنا مش قد الناس دي" ومعه حق، ولكنه لم يقل لي من يحمينا من هؤلاء إذا قرروا البطش بنا دون أي سبب، ماذا يا صديقي لو أن زوجتك وهي تسير معك في الشارع أعجبت الباشا فقرر تلفيق قضية مخدرات لك حتى يحظى بامرأتك؟

"أنت مبهور ببتوع القاهرة اللي أنت ماشي وراهم وحيودوك في داهية، الكل عمال يطبل لك ويسقف لك على اللي بتكتبه، وماحدش خسران حاجة لو اتقبض عليك، مروة دي مسنودة وبتطلع في التلفزيون، لو حصل لها في يوم أي حاجة حتلاقي ألف واحد وراها".

"أنت ما دخلتش أقسام ولا نيابة قبل كده".

"ممكن يوقفوك عريان ملط ووشك للحيط كذا يوم، واللي معدي يضربك أو يـ....ك، وما بتدخلش الحمام، بتعمل على روحك وأنت واقف"

"أنت سمعت عن الأوضة اللي تحت الأرض؟"

"إبراهيم عيسي وعبد الحليم قنديل دول حمير وكدابين، كل اللي بتقراه في الجرايد ده كدب، أنت عارف البلد ماشية إزاي؟"

إذا كانا يكذبان يا صديقي، فمن أين أتيتما أنتما بكل هذه الوقائع التي يشيب لها الولدان، والتي جعلتني أفكر ليس فقط في التوقف عن الكتابة، بل التوقف عن الحياة أيضاً، عن قتل أي أحلام بداخلي، وإجهاض أي أمل في غد أفضل ولو بقليل، جعلتني أفكر في الرحيل النهائي وعدم العودة، أو التظاهر بالموت كي أحمي كل من أحبهم من البطش الأعمى الذي يطال الجميع.

تنصحانني وتتهمانني بالحماقة والجنون وكأنني أعيب في الذات الإلهية، أو كأنني أختلق ما لا أراه أمامي، مع أنني لا أفعل شيئاً سوى أن أسرد الواقع. من منا لا يرى أمامه الفساد والقهر؟ من منكم لا يقف عاجزاً أمام السلبيات التي طغت على واقع هذا المجتمع حتى أصبحت هي القاعدة وليست الاستثناء؟ أصبحنا نتعجب حين نرى أحداً لا يسرق ولا يرتشي ولا يستغل نفوذه ولا يمتص دماء من هم أقل منه.

كلنا نقول "وأنا مالي.. ده مش شغلي"، تقولان لي هذه الجملة ولكنكما لا تعطيانني الحل البديل، فأنا لا أستطيع أن أصمت، من يخاف هو على خطأ، فلماذا نخشى أن نقول للص "أنت لص" وأن نقول للفاسد "أنت فاسد" ولا يخشى هو من الناس؟ من الذي زرع فينا ثقافة الخوف هذه؟ وما هو الحل في رأيكما؟

أهو الصمت والرضا بالأمر الواقع؟ أم النفاق؟ أم الهروب؟ أم الانتحار؟ من يعرف الإجابة الصحيحة يخبرني، ولكنني للأسف لن أقدم طناً من الحديد كجائزة، قد تكون الجائزة مزيداً من الكلمات التي ستودي بي إلى الجحيم.

A darker shade of black

Not a very long time ago,
I used to know you Jack
And now I know you're back
Maybe older, maybe wiser but
With a darker shade of black

* * *

I'm Jack's sleepless nights
For no apparent reason
I'm Jack's endless fights
Between faithfulness and treason
I'm Jack's depressive words
That scare the girls away
Like useless chirping birds
In the dawn of a new day
I'm Jack's false high hopes
Of words written in vain
I'm everything he wrote
Causing nothing but pain
I'm Jack's tired eyes
Waiting for the tears of rain
And his stupid goodbyes
Before taking the train
I'm Jack's funny looks
And words that make you smile
Sitting between his books
Hidden behind a pile
I'm Jack's betraying heart
That never wants to learn
From the battles that start
And end in a bleeding burn
I'm Jack's few nightmares
And fewer happy dreams
And his long empty stares
At nothing as it seems
I'm Jack's eternal gaze
At the facts of hateful life
And his long walks in the maze
Explaining the word "strife"
I'm Jack's unborn child
That he will never see
Even though he's still convinced
That all is meant to be
I'm Jack's endless story
Of a heart with a broken man
With no blood and no glory
So forget me if you can

Heal Me

As weird as it might seem

For it just seemed so real

Last night I had a dream

A dream that I could feel

But still it was a dream..

In the rain I saw you stand,

Smiling in the rain

I ran and held your hand

You took away my pain

I couldn't understand..

The only thing I knew

That I could really feel

The magic that you do

By touches that can heal,

I'm healed because of you..

You let me take your hand

And everything felt fine

Your skin was my own land

I'm yours and you are mine

A garden grew from sand..

My music was your voice

Your smile was my sunshine

My heaven was your eyes,

Your lips my only wine

We reached a thousand skies..

I was in paradise

Yet still it was a dream..

Where the broken heart is...

“The same place that used to gather us
is the place of farewell where love was lost”.

“Nafs El Makan” which is Arabic for “The Same Place” is a song by Amr Diab, written by Medhat El Adl, released in 1996.

You always loved this song for no particular reason, since you heard it for the first time when you were 19 or so, but you didn’t really understand what it meant until recently.

It always touched you, although at that green age you didn’t have a lost love. You just imagined a million love stories, a million fairy tales that never went beyond your mind. You have been anticipating something to happen, always looking for a challenge, for a love that you can never have, you always wanted the impossible. Always fell for the wrong ones, and you always blamed everyone around you. Have you ever blamed yourself? Maybe!

You never listened to any advice, you always listened to yourself only, and here you are now. How does it feel?

I told you never to fall in love with someone who lives nearby. Now that it’s over, every stone in the street has a memory, every stray cat tells a story, and every corner had witnessed a scene.

Now you’re afraid to go out, you’re scared to walk in the same street where you used to fly of happiness. Your feet at that time weren’t even touching the ground. You felt like running and laughing all the time. Now you drag the same feet as if they were made of iron. Your stooped back and the frown on your face make you look like a 70 year old man. When I saw your shadow today, and your slow heavy steps, I knew how pathetic you are.

You keep reminding yourself. This shop, where she was looking at the scarves and waiting for you, for the first time ever. And the café above, where you had your first cappuccino together.

And don’t forget the other café at the northern end of the street near the sea, where you had spent most of the time, holding hands, talking, just staring at each other’s eyes, and usually fighting and crying.

Everywhere there is a memory. You can’t help it! The supermarket, where you went everyday together to buy phone cards. The garage beside the supermarket, where the white dog is always pregnant. The wall of the Catholic school. After a big fight she was walking beside this wall, and when she saw you coming she turned around, and walked in the opposite direction.

Even under your building, where you stood waiting in the corner, the intersection of the two streets, a few hours before your flight. She came running holding something in her hand. She looked at you with her wide hazel eyes that were shining with tears. She held the tears back and gave you that small copy of the Quran that you still have until now. She ran to buy it for you.

Even when you try now to cross the main road, going southwards means getting closer to her home. The other side of the road, where there is your favorite hangout. It used to be your favorite place, now you hate it when you go there. I saw you tonight sitting there with your friends. You were totally lost; it seemed as if you were choking, waiting for the right moment to flee. So you don’t want anyone to remind you of that? For how long are you going to stay this way? I don’t know. You tell me. Sorry, I can’t help you! You can never get rid of that as long as you live here.

They always say that home is where the heart is, but now you have learned a valuable lesson, that home can also be where the heartbreak is. So the next time be careful, never fall in love with someone who lives nearby. Pick someone who lives miles away. Somewhere that you hate, or a place where you have never been to. Or take my advice, and never fall in love again.

Butterflies

I apologize
For being unable
To read those letters
I saw in your eyes
I apologize
For breaking all the rules
Ignoring all the signs
For deliberately refusing
To realize
That I am just another one
Of "these guys"
Who gather, who get closer
Then burn in your fire
Like butterflies
Was it a dream?
I don't know
If it was so
It would have been
A dream that grew
By feeding on mere lies
A fantasy
That brought me back to life
That gave me a thousand souls
Sent me to a thousand skies
Even though it was a lie
That came in a gigantic size
And I don't regret
Being left in the dark
With nothing but my scars
I don't regret being called
The man who always cries
And I won't forget
The hope that blinked
For only a few moments
Like a shooting star
Just before it dies
Once again, I apologize

On The Table

They all gathered on the table..

I wished to join, but I was unable.

There sat the queen of queens,

and I stood behind the scenes.

She is my favorite queen,

for her I'm still unseen.

What if I raised the stakes?

And if that what it takes,

A thousand wars will start

to make me win her heart.

The four kings I will fight

to show her I'm her knight.

Four jacks I have to face,

just to become an ace.

My life is a game of poker.

Alas! I'm the joker.