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Bedoor Bluemoon

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reading

She looked up from her book as she heard a person calling , “miss, do you need this chair?”  Her eyes needed a few seconds to readjust and she couldn’t find her voice fast enough so she nodded.  “Thank you,” he said with a quick smile.  He was a handsome man.  She looked at him walking towards his group of friends and tried to figure him out.  What was a person like him doing in a cafe like this at this time?

It was barely 8 a.m. and Beth was used to taking her coffee in the cafe situated at the corner of her flat.  She liked the view and the airiness of the place, in addition to the hospitality of the middle aged owner and her daughter.  It was usually a quiet place, a place where people would walk in, grab a coffee and a bite to go, and leave.  The two tables that were set for dine in guests were seldom busy and it was very odd that this morning the second chair on her table was needed to accommodate a group of four men.

She tried to resume her reading but felt like someone was watching her.  She looked up and she was right: he was watching her from a few feet away and smiled.  She smiled back and unconsciously rubbed her left hand before looking back down at her book blushing.

The words were getting fuzzy, she closed her eyes for a few seconds and tried to refocus.  This was her sanctuary and she wasn’t going to allow anything or anyone to ruin it for her.  She took a sip of her latte and glanced up.  He had a cup in his hand and nodded in her direction.  This is ridiculous, she thought to herself.  He’s just being friendly.

She managed to believe herself and went back to reading.  Time passed by and she could hear the group saying their farewells.  She looked up and saw that he was putting on his suit jacket.  Probably off to work, she thought to herself.

In her mind, she imagined him seated behind a big desk with his grey hair glistening in the sunlight behind him.  His forearms bulging beneath his black suit as he walks across to welcome her into his lair.  Towering over her, she smiles coyly as he puts his arms around her and ushers her in.

“Thank you,” he says pulling her away from her fantasy.  “I read that book, it’s good,” he remarks. “How are you liking it so far?”

“I’m enjoying it very much.” She whispers.

“mind if I join you?  I don’t need to be at work till after lunch.” He asks

She looked at him quietly and sighs, recalling the heartbreak that is yet to heal and the pain her ex-husband caused her.

“I’m sorry, I’m fully booked for this year with myself.  Maybe next year we can catch up.”

5

Confess

Confess

sunset-beach-wedding

Confess yourself:

let my eyes see what they long to see

and my ears hear your innermost desires.

Open your soul to me

watch closely as I tread into the folds of your being

and pick memory after memory to read.

 

Confess yourself:

let my being merge with yours

and my hands touch your unfulfilled dreams.

Allow my entrance

into the make-believe life you created

and water the flowers on your bed.

 

Confess yourself:

let me understand your deepest thoughts

and my soul drink from the lips of your eternity.

Allow my intrusion

for I have lost everything I am

when I found you.

 

1

The Frog Princess- Truth

via Image Writing Prompt #39

‘Are you a frog or a prince?’

‘A princess actually.’

‘I was just kidding I didn’t expect you to talk.’

‘Why not?’

‘This is not real!’

‘Define real’

‘Anything that is tangible. Anything we can use our senses to identify’

‘I beg to differ. There are intangible things that are real too. Things we know in our minds which cannot be clearly conceptualized’

‘Such as?’

’The truth’

‘Is the truth real?’

‘It depends. Is it my truth or your truth?’

‘My truth, of course.’

‘Your truth is real for you but that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s real for me’

‘Give me an example’

‘Flies, to me, taste good. This is the truth I reached have used my sense of taste. I don’t think you would prefer flies over whatever you had for breakfast this morning’

‘Why isn’t there one truth for us all?’

‘Because that means we have to conceptualize things the same way, but we don’t have the same senses nor do we share the same thoughts.’

‘How is it that we need to use our limited and subjective senses to conceptualize and define our personal intangible truth, and then hold onto it without questioning the lack of logic behind our theories? If we need to define the truth with our senses does it mean that our senses are superior to the truth?’

‘It means we are blessed with the tools to think but what we do with these tools are entirely up to us. Some people use these tools to live their days and some use these tools to find out more about what we are doing on this world and the truth we all seek.’

‘Do all living creatures seek the truth?’

‘Some already found their truths and are living happily’

‘What truth should we be looking for?’

‘A good truth to start searching for is why you stopped to talk to a frog? What truth are you coming from?’

‘Ah but that is not the question here, princess. The question is why do you consider yourself a princess where I can clearly see you as a frog’

‘Is that true?’

‘It’s true for me’

‘If I see myself as a princess then that’s my truth regardless of what you see’

‘You are a frog’

‘And you think so because you see that using your subjective biased and limited sight?’

‘Yes’

‘And you are basing your theory on your subjective, biased, and limited senses?’

‘Yes’

‘Then, my dear child، you have learned nothing’

0

Self Perception

Elegance

model-clipart-womens-7

With the bombardment of young, skinny, and tall girl pictures on every conceivable media, we normal people start questioning ourselves.  The idea that these images are photoshopped just helps us sleep at night as we try to ignore the gorgeous girls we meet face to face in reality.  Well, guess what?  It doesn’t matter how these women look, it matters how you perceive yourself.

Right?  Isn’t this what we are told to teach our daughters?  Aren’t we supposed to show them that inner beauty is all that matters even though snapchat filters are great for your pride?  Images of 14 year old girls then vs. 14 year old now are hilarious and yet, so not hilarious because of what they represent. Maybe she’s born with it?  Maybe it’s makeup or maybe it’s plastic surgery.

In my brainwashed mind, I’ve come to perceive tall and skinny as beautiful and elegant.  When a tall and skinny lady wears a dress, it looks good.  It basically falls on her with so much grace that the short and stubby will never have because when she wants to wear a long dress she needs to have it first altered to be her length and then she needs to buy grandiose heels to compensate for the lack of height.  She also needs a corset or a ridiculous diet for a few years in advance.

Also, tall girls have longer legs.  Do you understand that?  They have more “leg”.  They also have more “arm” and more “torso”.  So their weight gets divided around and the 150 pound tall girl looks great but when it comes to the 150 pound short girl she “needs to lay off the carbs.”

Well, in my mind, I am tall and skinny.  I will always love to eat my carbs and I will always have less “leg, arms, and torso” to distribute my weight.  Because of my predisposition towards elegance being for the tall and skinny, I think I have altered my self perception to that of a model because I don’t hate myself.  I actually like myself very much and don’t mind the extra pounds around.

Yes, in my mind I’m tall, skinny and elegant.  #grateful

2

Relocate

Relocate

 

tree

The world is vast and the opportunities endless.  It is our perception of values that keep us planted into areas we no longer wish to be.  Roots that no longer exist in this age where every person watches out for himself.  Gone are the days where neighbors cared to watch over your children as you get yourself a haircut and gone are the days where you can expect people to care about you.

Family ties are weakening.  It is the naive who think otherwise and who hold onto the hope that Sunday family dinners make a difference.  What difference when we are distracted by the outside on the tips of our fingers?  Children stopped visiting their mothers and don’t ask about their fathers anymore.  Days go by, weeks pass, and months turn into years if we let them because we think that we can easily relocate into somewhere with less responsibilities.  Yes, the world is vast and the opportunities endless, but where would you relocate?  And if you choose to relocate, would it really make a difference where you go?

Humans are social creatures and the lone wolf cannot survive without a pack, one way or the other.  We are not sole survivors nor can we delete all roots that connect us to our past.  We can relocate our bodies but can we relocate who we are in the midst of the hazy lines between cultures, races, and countries?  Are we turning into global citizens or are the homogeneous clusters we see around a representation of the roots we ignore?  Can we really merge or will we always have our differences?

Are we ready to relocate our minds before our bodies or is breaking new ground the hip thing to do?  Yes, we are not trees and we can move but we must move our perceptions to understand that sometimes relocating does not necessarily mean forgetting who we are.

0

Rain

From Dreams of a Blue Moon

rain

Walking on the street

under the pouring rain

nothing seems sane

all are insane.

 

Walking on the street

under the pouring rain

people with hearts

people with brains.

 

Walking on the street

under the pouring rain

people in hugs

people in chains.

 

Walking on the street

under the pouring rain

people who lose

people who gain.

 

Walking on the street

under the pouring rain

people in pain

people in pain.

 

0

انتظرني

man-on-train-station-mateja-hrvacic

انتظرني

عندما تصل إلى نهاية الطريق

وتلقى نفسك وحيدا

اعلم بأنني سآتي

سأكون معك دوما

انتظرني

لأن وصولي قد يتأخر قليلا… أو كثيرا

فلا تلمني على ذلك

ولم الدنيا التي باعدتني عنك

وباعدتك عني

 

انتظرني عندما تحن النهاية

وتضطر ارواحنا إلى الفراق

فهذه دنيا الفناء

وأوقاتنا محدودة

فنعيش

ونعشق

ونبكي

ونندم

ونعود للعشق مرة اخرى

فانتظرني

لأنني اشتاق إلى الرحيل

انتظرني

عند مفترق الطرق

عند بداية الخلود ونهاية الدنيا

انتظرني ومعك باقة من الورد

فأتوق لتلك الوردة البيضاء من يدك

انتظرني

وابتسامتك تعلو وجهك الجميل

فحياتي بدونك صعبة

وعيني لا ترى أي شيئ جميل

سواك

انتظرني عندما يكتمل العمر

ونلقى بأنفسنا في تلك الحفرة الظلماء

انتظرني

عندما تتعب أرواحنا من الاستمرار

والبحث

وتستسلم قلوبنا

من كل شيئ

ونتحول إلى اللا شيئ

عندها

سأكون معك

فانتظرني

0

Eyes

via Writing Prompt #381

eyes

Crumpled paper covers every flat surface of his room, he can’t get the eyes right.  He is usually very good at sketching portraits but the eyes were haunting him.  It all started one day in his dream.  He dreamed he was sitting next to the lake hand in hand with a lady dressed in a light blue dress.  She had her head covered by an over-sized hat and her delicate fingers wrapped in pink lace gloves.  Her brown hair did not move.  It was propped and primped into soft waves that cascaded around her face and framed her small features.  She was looking down at her hands and her long thick lashes set themselves ever so gently on her cheekbones.

He wondered who the lady may be but didn’t know how ask.  He was afraid to speak lest the calmness be disturbed by his voice.  He wanted to whisper her name, but what was her name?  He studied her face and the bridge of her nose while her eyelashes fluttered with the breeze.  She was exquisitely beautiful, perfect in every way imaginable to man and he wondered what she was doing with him.

He coughed gently, trying to get her attention and to feast his eyes upon her face.  He saw her cheeks rise in a smile and the glisten of her teeth between her rosy lips as she raised her face to look at his.  That’s when he saw her eyes.

He tried to sketch them again and again but nothing comes close to the captivating spell of her lashes.  Nothing comes close to the arch of her eyebrow, nothing comes close to the glimmer reflecting in her iris, and no shade of blue comes close to the depth of her inner sea.  He was mesmerized at that moment, captured in her jail and transferred to eternal salvation.  Or is it damnation?  He knew that it was then that he lost all sanity and no longer became a free man.  He knew that it was she who held the key to his heart forever.

Crumpled papers turned to canvases and walls filled with pencil sketches, oil paints, water colors, chalks, and markers.  Nothing of the ordinary seemed valuable to him anymore as he continued his search for the perfect eye.  He looked forward to sleep every night just to see her again but sleep became scarce and hope disintegrated into madness.  Madness that consumed his soul and he was left with nothing but crumpled papers and a dream.

5

Choices

via Writing Prompt #377

burka

He looked from one covered face to the next, trying to understand how this is all happening to him, why he is expected to choose his future wife in such a bizarre way.  His mother stood still eyeing the girls and clicking her tongue in disapproval whenever one of them looks up.  It was so sudden for Hamza, he expected to at least unpack his bags before setting off to his uncle’s house.  But no, his parents were waiting for him in the car and were determined to marry him by the end of the week.

Hamza just finished his engineering degree in Frankfurt and was having a great time when his parents called and asked him to come back home.  So soon? he asked.  You got your degree, there’s no excuse to stay.  He knew that being the perfect Muslim son meant following your parent’s wishes and so reluctantly packed his bags to go home.

But home wasn’t the same.  He didn’t know of his parent’s plan nor did he wish to indulge them into imagining that he would marry based on nothing.  He stared into the faces and thought that they were all the same.  Some of the girls were shorter, others were chubbier, yet their eyes remained set down.  He tried to think what would make a difference in a marriage and his mind took him to his cycling days on the main river where he saw old couples holding hands and walking.  He would like that, he thought to himself.  He would very much like to grow old with someone he understands and who understands him.  The problem is how can he make sure that behind burka number #1 is the right person or maybe behind burka #4 is a better fit.

His father was standing outside with his uncle chatting and laughing, not realizing that Hamza was being sent to a slaughterhouse.  His mother was tired of waiting and came over to whisper,

“my boy, choose any of the girls, they are all good Muslims.”

“but mom, how would I know if I will be happy with her?”

“you won’t know, my son.  Just choose and let us get this over with.  Your uncle thinks you should marry one of his daughters and keep the money within the family which is true.  Why marry someone poor when you can get richer as a bargain.”

Richer as a bargain, he scoffed and looked at the girls one more time.  They didn’t seem to release any hints, none looked him in the eye, and none twitched.  He sighed, here goes nothing.

He chooses quickly without understanding what his choice means, without caring that this gamble of a marriage is as successful as any.  He doesn’t care what goes on in his life after this, his society may have enforced the face covers on his cousins but his heart is forced to be covered too.  It doesn’t matter who he marries, as long as the money stays within the family.

 

0

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