Monthly Archives: November 2012

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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
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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
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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
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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
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To My Children


And the figure walks in the woods all alone,
Casting shadows over the dim crescent,
And while looking down at earth the mouth sways
Smiling with an opposite curve towards the absent sun,
Tears fill the eyes as blessed as a nomad’s filled wells,
And creatures approach shielding behind tall canopies,
The owl evolves into a bat. Sting. Cut. Bark.
Ogres and goblins do not exist though unicorns do,
And lifeless objects with dented armour still hiding,
Strategising their attack on the shadow casting figure
Trembling in fear of what happened and what to become,
But far off from these rotten rats and cockroaches,
Though unaware of their presence he hugs himself in coldness,
Stretching his arms warming up his muscles to prepare a ceremony
For the inevitable tomb created for the same creature on that sled,
And so the wolves howl whilst the lions are yet to roar,
And still with the sun hidden in the unearthed graveless pits
That same slim figure starts digging through the earth, a grave.
And they watch as they did in ancient times under many emperors,
Now, the armour removed and their huge body resemble a monsoon,
Full of scars and agony, but strong and robust, soon to expire as did the sun,
And yet their faceless heads bow in sadness joining the figure’s rituals
Encircling that digging figure chanting symbolic calligraphies,
Painting the creature’s soul in hope and lightness,
And the approaching dawn fights off the parasitic shadows,
Uniting their lively souls as they mourn for the dead,
Now the creatures uncurve their vertebrates,
Returning to their glorious ancestors with hopeful stories,
Enjoining the good and sharing the wounds they are tending to,
The elders’ voices silenced as they continue to farm the land,
The shadow of the dusk might revisit but not now. Not to us.
And the figure walks in the woods all by himself,
Casting joyful souls over the bright yellow sun.
Wednesday, 7thof November 2012
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Lost in Your Eyes


I got lost in your dreamy vivid eyes,
The world cries and the time flies,
But captivated by you I so prize,
I let my arms hold yours in surprise,
And ascend into the wonderful skies,
Allowing your eyes to giggle and rise,
But I keep getting lost in your eyes,
Mesmerising, brilliant, gorgeous, wise,
Nobody knows your name as it cries,
Nobody saw your eyes as they arise,
Except me, a person, lost in your eyes.
Monday, 5thof November 2012