Let Me Become You, Indigenous!


Let me hug you, human, and be one being,
Let the stars shine and go for sightseeing,
Let us share smiles under the moon,
Let our children play together at noon,
Let us be storytellers of justice and truth,
Let our people join our energetic youth,
Let us stroll in mountains and the huge lands,
Let us harvest and mix our colourful hands,
Let our souls heal the wounds of the past,
Let our hearts share lovely dreams so vast,
Let me make a step forward and close the gap,
Let me start a new page and recreate the map,
Let our lands be neighbours of one community,
Let me raise my head, at last, for the unity,
Let the rain fill my eyes so I water my mind,
Let me make a statement that we were blind,
Let these words make an epic song so original,
Let me become you, oh beautiful aboriginal,
Let the indigenous of you paint my words,
Let us swim like fishes and fly like birds,
Let me give you what is yours and all of what is mine,
Let us plan our future and for our past build a shrine.
Monday, 26thof November 2012

Proud Emarati


Excuse me!
You are not meant to be here
In this share’
In this freej
In this dar
But… I bought a ticket
For me and for my dog
We belong here now
In this first class
Suburb
La la la
You must have been mistaken
This is no whiteman’s dar
Nor a zreeba for dogs
Hya emarati
So… now that I am here
With this one-way ticket
Grabbing a leashed Chihuahua
Investing in this fertile land
You wish me to leave?
Leave in the manner of your ancestors
If you wish
But do not become a tha’lab
And twist words to be baree’
For I have foreseen this yawm
Wait, but why can I see that white guy with you?
What is so different between him and I?
If what you claim is racial?
Or maybe arrogance?
Jealousy?
This guy connects with us
You do not
You wear indecent clothes
Tgool ‘eryan ma lego bait
Truly homeless
Now I get it
You are afraid of change
Afraid to lose your identity
Afraid to lose to your pleasures
Pleasures of this life
It is a pity that you look at it this way
The thing is, I am afraid
But of the consequences of indecency
Rapes and divorces, zbalat elgharb will come at us
And that is why ana yales aharbek
But I do come in peace
And I love your country
I want it to prosper
I want it to be a
Developed country
‘ebarat malha mtheel
Exactly, they are just ‘ebarat without any form of action
We love salam as we say it everyday
But we also love ‘adel
For I want blady to be truthful not under a useless qena’
Heh, have you seen your water?-
Let us stick to the subject and not deviate
You are not allowed in here ella etha ehteramt haweyyatna
And as for the water: have you seen your wayh?
Ryooli are cleaner than it, so go back to your dar
So that we can go back to tamr w ma’!
Thursday, 22ndof November 2012

To My People!


It is time for my people to go back to water and dates,
Their conversation was so deep that I had to write something.
My people.
My people.
My people.
They call themselves Arabs – in arrogance -!
Oh how much I hate that word.
My people do indeed go beyond the word Arab.
My people are Muslims!
My people once had an excuse to ignore the outsiders,
My people once had an excuse to help each other,
Not anymore!
My people used to never fake their smiles to the enemy,
Now they do it to themselves!
My people lost in Versace and D&G,
Lost in space, the space of their true face!
My people! You watch, you listen, you speak, you walk, and you act…
Different than what you used to!
My people, you used to watch the little kids grow into heroes,
My people, you used to listen to the Earth Whisperers giving a daily advice,
My people, you used to speak and roar the truth even if it hurts,
My people, you used to walk on the sikkak to gather the neighbours,
My people, you used to act by the Islam for the Islam,
Not anymore!
O my people, it is time for us to go back to water and dates,
Their conversation was so deep that this is what I wrote.
Wednesday, 14thof November 2012

Seeking the Truth


When I spoke my tongue twisted
Words into phrases of erudition,
An art project of lenses appeared
Behind the towers of Shaikh Zayed road,
I sat in a white convertible BMW
As I roamed across Dubai’s city lights,
And there I saw little boy and girl,
Similar to the ages of my cousins, but…
Next street was empty and silent,
The deadline was creeping near,
And after a U-turn kids were still there,
In a district known as Satwa,
The girl had a sweeping stick,
(I guess it was used to clean the sikka)
The boy dropped the ball and stood
As if guarding his beloved sister,
But I am no tyrant or a stranger…
Silence.
I took a picture and I saw the boy
Holding a brick to throw it at me,
Not realising that he was actually me.
Wednesday, 7thof November 2012