The Miracle of Genes


I inherited earthly Arab genes, both new and old,
And ancient ones, too, full of wisdom and royalty,
But elders have seen enough and grew inpatient,
Thus, conspiring against the young lost generation,
Observing their abnormal putrid talks and walks,
Denying it over the years without uttering a word.
And so, my ancient genes recreated themselves
Into an independent and different living being,
Detached from me: a twenty-year-old flesh,
 Placing forth relics and coins unknown to us,
Purchasing survival kits: only dates and water,
Basic nutritional needs, enough for decades,
Enough to send a message to the forlorn souls.
Simple logical symbols from his ancient tongue
Reach our ears to guide us into rediscovering
Our true vicious foe removing the blinding mist
That has masked my people’s eyes ceaselessly.
Once the long lost calligraphies have been delivered
He will start to dissociate back into ancient genes,
And reconnect with a twenty-first century sundial,
Noting events like an old well-renowned historian.
His disappearance will result, maybe too soon,
In forgetting this ancient song as they grab hold
Onto the relics and coins for millions in an auction,
Leaving the simple logical symbols in my genes.
Thursday, 24thof January 2013
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Invading the Forgotten


I played the game ‘invaders’ as a kid,
With one battleship against the aliens,
Even in the movies they show it to us,
One versus all and the one always wins,
But as a kid, I was taught otherwise,
Few may triumph over the many,
Never one person, always in a group,
Though, this is not my story today,
I speak here and now to reveal it,
Reveal those invaders; oppressors,
The ones who wore pure white
Disguising their darkened hearts,
With red stripes dripping of blood,
Ours’, but when they rule it is love,
Red is only a sign of love; grace,
And it does not stop here at all,
They create us into a class system,
Showing us the need for poverty,
How to rule citizens in oppression,
How to sell resources for money,
Replying: “not our fault this is a
Dog-eat-dog world, so play along”,
You see, what they really mean is:
Green notes gives you status, power,
For me, faith gives me status, power,
Blessing me with wisdom in my eyes,
And I will tell you what I truly saw,
Many paths, but ultimately only two,
Stairs that costs a lot with foolish taxes,
Each one step high you increase wealth,
More wealth means more control; status,
The other is a slight depressed land,
No cost but patience for the long walk,
So, what endings do those two have?
One has an edge which leads to suicide,
The other has gardens in its finish line,
Tell me, should I follow money or faith?
What do I need to amend the forgotten?
Monday, 21stof January 2013

Emotions on Paper


I have done no wrong and yet I am being treated like a criminal,
Who am I? Another person of you to recoil a bullet of pain?
You have been close to me all of my life even when I am afar,
But when I try to get near you sabotage the road as if a game,
Emotion is what I am giving you right now for you to spread,
And if you did have the courage to speak the truth and be just
Then let them hear your roar against our past and their future,
You are not them and they are but vultures scavenging on my innocence,
Are these words enough for me to convince you about who I am?
Who am I? I have talked enough, I guess, but will you ever act?
Emotions is what you sought, so here are mine to share, here!
Take them and make a sculpture out of them in your house,
Invite them to keep sucking my blood out of me like mosquitoes,
Though, I know you would not because you are a gorgeous lioness,
Who roars in her inner self against the oppressors in her cave,
So listen. Just listen. Whispers from Earth shouting symbols,
You spoke of contradictions and immediately I thought of them,
We love our grandfathers but you knew we hate them, so why?
Are you trying to prove a point or reveal a vulture’s identity?
Or sculpture me into a different being to keep me from you afar?
Treat me like you used to with that smile and that giggle,
Show me, O’ gorgeous lioness, your warm and caring nature,
Stand by my side for eternity and roar my innocence to them,
You listened and you read, and thus, write me a wonderful verse!
Sunday, 20thof January 2013

This is Never Us


Part A: This is not Us
I am still discovering Dubai,
And I am a local, an Emirati,
So I enter one of the districts
The security officer stopped me,
 “Sorry sir, but you cannot enter,
This is a private community,
Only residents are allowed,
Even if you just want to pass thru.”
I am still discovering Dubai,
And I am a local, an Emirati,
So I enter one of the malls,
I see indecent men and women,
So I go to the security officer,
 “Sorry sir, but I cannot do that,
Even if they go against the law,
Even if there are posters showing
What is decent and what is not.”
I am still discovering Dubai,
And I am a local, an Emirati,
So on my way to meet my cousin
I pass by Jumeirah road at night,
And I see some of my people,
Altered into beings of indecency,
This is not the Emirati identity,
Nor is it from the pure culture.
Part B: This is still not Us
And so I hold this local pen
To share these discoveries,
To ask myself and you,
Where are we heading?
I cannot understand why-
Why is it illegal to walk
On my beautiful land?
What crime did I do to be
Treated like an outlaw?
And when, at last, the law
Is there it cannot be implemented,
Such as the indecent couple,
Or that lady who forgot
That Dubai is a Muslim city,
That there are culture and
Tradition and our identity,
And then you see from our sons,
Transform into ludicrous puppets,
Following the known junks,
And though, I am still discov-
Ering Dubai, and I am a local,
An Emirati, I still believe that
As an Emirati, this is not us.
Friday, 18th of January 2013

A Girl at the Gate


Waiting for the gate to open,
Bags next to me ready to board,
I open one to extract a poet,
To understand her imaginative literature,
And next I see a young girl and her mom,
Very active! Maybe very excited to travel,
Maybe someone awaits her at the other side,
Or it could even be an adventure,
She started drumming the chair, ever-so-slightly,
Then wiggling her legs,
Now moving herself in her seat back and fro,
I observe all of that as I continue reading,
Maybe too much sweets or chocolates?
I try to ignore her, not that she is disturbing me,
But I thought she might be interesting
Enough to write a poem, I guess,
And here I am scribbling these words,
To show you the innocence of a young kid,
Who still lives in her own little world,
And as she takes a peek at the poems I am reading,
I remembered myself doing the same,
Curious as to the contents of the reader,
So, even in her colourful world
She glances over into reality,
Soon after there was an announcement,
First and business classes may enter,
And they go to the gate,
Now, I wake up from my little fantasy,
Wishing I was at their seats,
But, let us go back to reality,
Are we still in love with this classing system?
Reminds me of Titanic,
To be honest I wish all classes were only first,
Such that humanity comes first,
And so we start thinking about our needs,
And them, too:
The lost and found, but forgotten too.
Friday, 18th of January 2013

Resurrect Muslims


To resurrect a Muslim is to guide him,
Both in words and actions, back to the salaf,
In case I have been misunderstood,
Read the Qur’an and the Hadeeth,
Then judge me accordingly.
There are many analysts out there,
Each with different mentality,
But all agree that world events
Have a religious component.
We can communicate in English for eternity,
But change comes from Arabic,
Tall trees may fall but deep roots stay together,
In unity we may be fruitful!
There was a time when we were heroes!
There was a time when you had an excuse to follow us!
Tuesday, 8thof January 2013

I Wrote You a Draft

And I started reading a poem,
In a starry and a gloomy night,
Like an old person who retired,
Like that in the literary art,
But a young lady who has spoken,
Like the pure voice of a singing bird,
Sending letters to her gentleman,
Saying why she loves the melody,
And why would she not give it away,
Why then would I see her move further?
Is it that she is driving faster?
Or am I going in a circle?
Round, like a circle in a spiral,
Like a wheel within another wheel,
Racing through the traffic together,
Like the beats of my passionate heart,
When I see her dancing through the night,
When sand turns into a pretty pearl,
Like alchemists turn things into gold,
That is when she and I drop the pen,
How fancy does our story seem?
Will it sparkle through the seven seas?
I wrote her into a gorgeous draft,
And I await her to send letters,
And paint me an infamous portrait,
Until I finish this epic ode,
Like a carousel that is turning,
Holds her breath and smiles for a picture,
Like when I keep squiggling the period,
But then I erase it from these lines,
And I keep on talking about her,
And if anyone ever finds her,
Here, there, or another universe,
I will scamper to get her that ring,
I will ring bells of the universe,
And I will never drop this blue pen,
Until I embrace her my whole life,
And sing her this everlasting ode
“My love,
I wrote you a draft”
Saturday, 5thof January 2013