Archive for the ‘ To Hell with Tyranny ’ Category

Poem on Syria: Putrefaction

of late

I’ve had this thought

that this country

has gone backwards

4 or 5 decades

and that all the

social advancement

the good feeling of

person toward

person

has been washed

away

and replaced by the same

old

bigotries

 

We have more than ever

the selfish wants of power

the disregard for the weak

the old

the impoverished

the helpless.

 

We are replacing want with war

salvation with slavery

we have wasted the gains

we have become rapidly

less

 

we have our Bomb

it is our fear

our damnation

and our

shame

 

now

something so sad

has hold of us

that

the breath

leaves

and we can’t even

cry

 

— Charles Bukowski, who rarely capitalized words.

We complain about fasting in Ramadan for half a day. They have been without food, and some have recently stopped taking water. They’re written their wells and are ready to die. They deserve to be heard. I wish I could do more, but social media is all I have at the moment. They’re only asking for basic rights. Enough is enough.

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For Syria

Listen to: Goldmund – Threnody

I weep the beloved country, for it celebrates martyrs that have gone too soon. It lets out a scream and although we all hear it, see it, and witness it, we cannot feel its loudness through exile. The boy who cried revolution lays untouched beneath ashes of his own home. Now, he is warm and wrapped in the embrace of heavens above. He looks down upon us in hope, while we look up in tears and pray.

It has been a year and I swear, I cannot fathom how for everyday throughout these 365 days a soul has left us due to injustice. Every asylum I seek for emotional comfort is closed for repairs. My country is dying. My people are starving. I am losing my sanity, one body at a time, one cry of help at a time.

Bless their souls, be they forgotten beneath rubble, or buried amidst gunshots. They are dead, but never gone. Their chants echo across a blind universe that is bound to wake up soon. And when it does, I will nurse you to sleep my fallen kingdom of hopes. I will shelter you within my dreams and I will save you for myself, all to me, because I am selfish when it comes to you. I am your child and you are my land, my holy red land that died while resting on my lap. I will bury you, just as I buried your different flags, your martyrs and my tears. Within my forsaken silence.. I will bury you.

I let my guard down and have failed you, my beloved country. I have failed your weeping children; I have failed your widowed wives and husbands; I have failed your unborn children that never saw the light of day and died in their mother’s womb. I have failed you. I am at loss of words, for silence has taken the best of me.

Nothingness; numbness; blank. Statistics; rivers of blood; cloudy skies; obscure future; Syria; the unknown. وهل للوطن بديل؟

In memory of those who died during the Hama Massacre.

In memory of those who died during the Hama Massacre. It saddens me to share a birthday with such a dreaded event that took away thousands of my people’s lives. Today, I celebrate courage and honor-ship of my people. Today is a reason to rise in pride, not wallow in tears.  

Listen to: No audio. To the sound of martyrs, for they whisper.

You, who stole my country’s bread,
You, who killed my people,
Come,
Take me instead,
Come,
For you I have scarified my neck,
You, who tore down my signs,
You, who filled my land with mines,
Come,
Come to me,
Endanger me,
Leave them and just come,

You, who laughs at the blood streams of martyrs,
You, who dismantles the bodies of the dead,
Let them rest in peace and just come,
Rip my heart instead,
Tear down my dreams and rest,
You, who stole my country in bed,
Would you like some tea with that?
Perhaps a lemon squeeze in jest,

You, who promised and lied,
Will you ever leave undone?
You, who thousands at his own hands died,
You never seem to come,
Yet behind children caskets you hide,

You, whose heart in stone is engraved,
Would you please not disturb their shallow graves?
Come if you choose to be late,
Control whoever you may,
Untouchable is fate.

On your knees, yet you stand,
posing behind a brave man,
Crimson stained hands,
Nationless land,
Must you not understand?

You have not come,
And I shall not bow,
As long as I live,
As ever as I am dead,
I will not bow
I will not bow

The Paradox of Our Age

Listen to: Autumn week 7 by Fabrizio Paterlini

Seldom do I find quotes that I can relate to. I share plenty of quotes on regular bases, yet only feel touched by quite a few. This, however, is not just a quote to me. It is a reminder. It is a throbbing piece of literature that drives me out of my comfort zone every time I take a little peak at it.

It defines me; the chaos in me. It defines every one of us. I won’t deny I saw scatters of me laid through many of the comparisons in it. I’m not sure if part of how humans evolve is to reverse, but to me it seems that way.

I could not find the original copy of this online, so I took the time to type it down from a piece of paper I wrote back when I was 4thgrade. Ironically, my handwriting then was much more comprehendible than it is now. I guess that’s what university does to a person. As messy as it was then, it was at least cute. Now it’s messy with no excuse.

Anyway, this is my way of celebrating Eid. I read my old diaries and reminisce. I give myself time to discover who I was then, because really, I never knew who I was till my behavior changed into something entirely different. While people celebrate their sad enslaved lives, I celebrate my past. Here’s a reason to change, to be, to become, to break boundaries, to forget that invisible box everyone keeps talking about ever existed; here’s a mind dabble, something to think about over the break; here’s a paradox that forever haunted me, a paradox I could never break from.

The Paradox of Our Age

By Dr. Bob Moorehead

We have taller buildings but shorter tempers; wider freeways but narrower viewpoints; we spend more but have less; we buy more but enjoy it less; we have bigger houses and smaller families; more conveniences, yet less time; we have more degrees but less sense; more knowledge but less judgment; more experts, yet more problems; we have more gadgets but less satisfaction; more medicine, yet less wellness; we take more vitamins but see fewer results. We drink too much; smoke too much, spend too recklessly; laugh too little; drive too fast; get angry quickly; stay up too late; get up too tired; read too seldom; watch TV too much and pray too seldom.

We have multiplied our possessions, but reduced our values; we fly in faster planes to arrive there quicker, to do less and return sooner; we sign more contracts only to realize fewer profits; we talk too much; love too seldom and lie too often. We’ve learned how to make a living, but not a life; we’ve added years to life, not life to years. We’ve been all the way to the moon and back, but have trouble crossing the street to meet the new neighbor. We’ve conquered outer space, but not inner space; we’ve done larger things, but not better things; we’ve cleaned up the air, but polluted the soul we’ve split the atom, but not our prejudice; we write more, but learn less; plan more, but accomplish less; we make faster planes, but longer lines; we learned to rush, but not to wait; we have more weapons, but less peace; higher incomes, but lowers morals; more parties, but less fun; more food, but less appeasement; more acquaintances, but fewer friends; more effort, but less success. We build more computers to hold more information, to produce more copies than ever, but have less communication; drive smaller cars that have bigger problems; build larger factories that produce less. We’ve become long on quantity, but short on quality.

These are times of fast foods and slow digestion; tall men, but short character; steep in profits, but shallow in relationships. These are times of world peace, but domestic warfare; more leisure and less fun; higher postage, but slower mail; more kinds of food, but less nutrition. These are days of two incomes, but more divorces; these are times of fancier houses, but broken homes. These are days of quick trips, disposable diapers, cartridge living, throw-away morality, one-night stands, overweight bodies and pills that do everything from cheer, to prevent, quiet or kill. It is a time when there is much in the show window and nothing in the stock room. Indeed, these are the times!

Wishing those who celebrate Eid a blessed one, those performing a Haj a safe one, and those in turmoil a chance to sleep sound.

Destruction: Uncertain reality within folds of obscurity.

Listen to: Oltremare (Meaning, Overseas) – Ludovico Einaudi.

Once upon a time; no, not a time, once upon a winter, no, not sure if it was winter, once upon a March – no, it could not have started then.

Once upon the unknown lived her, with them, with those, with these, and all of them. Once upon a dream, she was happy. She was told the euphoria she felt was not temporary, and it was true happiness at last. Her sins have corrupted her to the extent that she feels no atonement, no remorse, no regret, nothing; zero, zilch, nada.

Part of being guilty is knowing when to stop, is believing deep down that no matter how bottomless it may be, she shall land gracefully when she submits her soul for acceptance, when she lets go of retaliation and live for the moment.

Everyone sins, you know. We are no angels or prophets. We are made of flesh and breakable bones. We are but a mere crack in a perfect portrait filled with insanity. We are not sane, no. We cannot be. Part of becoming a sinful being is understanding our actions and their impacts on his, and then doing them regardless of the consequences. That is what defines a sin from a deed and vice versa. What if, however, we are at haze and cannot define what from what. What if we do the wrong thing for the right reasons, or the right thing for the wrong reasons; which becomes which, and will we ever be judged for our mindless experimentations in this forsaken life?

Let the preacher preach about purity and clarity while he climaxes with his mistress, let politicians lie their way into and out of corruption, let the saint listen through the confessional as those blind followers confess to their seemingly sinful actions as he robs yet another charity, let the elite spend the money of the poor on plastic surgeries and resorts abroad, yes, yes let them. Let them tie strings around us and move us as puppets as they please. Yes, yes, let them. Let governments promise citizens overdue reforms as they kill those who demand them.

Condemn the clerk for making us pay a few pounds extra, so his children will dream of bread once a week. Condemn the child who wipes our car windows under the sun, so his tears clean his face as he walks home. Condemn the gardener for overwatering the plants, so he learns that flowers and mud are more important than his children’s future. Condemn activists who dared to defy the stereotype, so we throw them in jail and pay for their torture with our taxes. Yes, yes, condemn.

Condemn protesters in your country, yes, condemn them, how dare they scream out freedom? How dare they endanger their lives for this absurd myth? How dare they get shot by the police? How dare they get beaten to death by uniforms? Condemn them, throw them in jail, torture them, sing for the rich, and kill the poor.

Pay for executions, pay for the loss of our privacy, pay, yes, pay, we sold our soul to them the moment we hushed when they ordered us to hush, the moment we nodded when they forced our heads to nod, the moment we believed a poorly painted picture over the disgusting reality they burned, yes, pay them, we owe them everything.

A sin is to be silent when speaking is costly. A sin is to stand firm when moving is the only way out, the only way out.

Zombie nation: The revolution of silence.

Listen to: Dustin O’Halloran – Open Letters.

She sways to the moon in steady motion. Its gravity pulls her towards the skies, and pushes her away – gently. Her eyes speak a thousand words between every blink and the other. The repetition of nightmares has been keeping her sleepless for days. She craves sleep like a lover’s first kiss. Her raw emotion walks her miles and miles to the sea as her thirst grows more and more.

At times – she sat on the edges of eternity and imagined the moon could speak. What wonders will it say; she wonders. The temptation to hear a heaving moon’s cry persists to return whenever lurid nightmares waken her with fright. Tree branches knock timidly on her window, as the music of birds chirping stable her heartbeat.

The sins we commit sometimes take the best of us. We assume we know best, when in fact, we do not. As we attempt to forgive ourselves, we overlook minuet details that help in the self-destruction route we unintentionally take. Our behavior affects those near us most. If only one would take the time to consider, appreciate, and understand – the world might be in peace, or at least, peace would not be a myth heard through mosque pulpits on Friday prayers, or from a church choir on a Sunday evening.

Perhaps if we assume that we do not actually live in a world where the mythological ‘peace’ exists then we would at least realize the sins we’ve committed in quest of it. Or maybe we could at least stop pretending that we believe in this peace puppet show we are lead to believe by propaganda and government ‘not’ owned media.

When the industrial revolution begun, everyone was rushing to educate themselves, to read, to learn about enslavement, tyranny, to fight back – now, we are at a seemingly similar situation, trying to liberate ourselves from the iron fist clutched at the throat of the Middle East, we turn on the television, rest on our potato couches and ask to be fed lies after lies. Then, when we can barely keep our eyes open, we walk as zombies to sleep as others are detained and murdered for demanding their rights.

After all, politicians do what they do best: lie. It is not new, but our ignorance, our profanity in silence and submission has reached new lows. We are not as helpless as they make us believe. Alas, we are to blame for our own stupidity.

We fear fear itself, not detention, not death, but fear. How weak we have become sickens me at times, more than I can tolerate. I wonder at times if screaming out the window of a car, or painting a bold ‘wake up’ statement on a state building in some fancy city would feed anything but my artistic needs. We are but in denial of our own stupidity and refuse to believe how costly our silence truly is. And I wonder – If our silence was that loud, how would our voices be when united?

She wakes up from yet another nightmare. The moon has not yet spoken, the trees no longer knock on her window, and the birds have gone silent at dawn. How ironic it is to see everything clearly amidst complete darkness, when blind in presence of brightest of lights.