A Series of Unfortunate Events

The body rised from the ground, facing down, the arms reclined in harmony with the shoulders and the hands assumed fist-position. The fresh scars sealed the skin perfectly woven as the face lift off from the curb. The fractured nose, the broken teeth, the dandling eye, all were flying back to where they parted. The feet were now straight, the back bent, and the pelvis clicked in mid-air announcing complete recovery.

The cars on the street all rolled opposite to where they were supposed to, facing the right way nonetheless. The body flew backwards, the shoes retouching the flying pieces of glass as if magically attracting the pieces into forming a complete shield. The windshield glass locked the body half inside and half out. As the body flew back, a cut was unmade on the abdomen and the thighs, the right arm and the left eye. The blood as if disappeared into the body's skin, recolouring the hair back to jet black without a hint of red.

The head pushed the neck back and the top of the shoulder hugged the seat. The hands gripped the wheel and the watch's steel casing unscratched from the wood on the dash. The hard smell of burnt rubber fainted, as the cars more slowly now rolled opposite to where they were supposed to.

The wheel turned to the left, rapidly, to the right, faster, and to the left. The wrist squeaked as it was thrusted right then left then right, as if breaking loose and scratching the watch against the dash. The tires let go of the earth and regained life and depth. The foot let go of the brake pedal, springing up and on its way kicked the thigh with the wheel.

The eyes noticed a flashy silver car flying backwards in mid-air returning to the other side of the road. The hands automatically unclutched the wheel, the curb unpainted the black skid of the tires as the car swerved from the middle lane to the right.

He woke up back into a conscious existence and saw it all happen laid out in front of him.


ملوك الكلام .. كلام الملوك

النفس تبكي على الدنيا وقد علمت * أن السعادة فيها ترك ما فيها
لا دار للمرء بعد الموت يسكنها * إلا التي كان قبل الموتِ بانيها
فإن بناها بالخير طاب مسكنه * وإن بناها بشر خاب بانيها

أموالنا لذوي الميراث نجمعها * ودورنا لخراب الدهر نبنيها
أين الملوك التي كانت مسلطنة * حتى سقاها بكأس الموت ساقيها
فكم مدائنِ في الافاق قد بنيت * أمست خراباً وأفنى الموت أهليها
لا تركنن الى الدنيا وما فيها * فالموت لا شك يُفنينا ويُفنيها

لكل نفس وان كان على وجل * من المنـِية امال تقويها
المرء يبسطها والدهر يقبضُها * والنفس تنشرها والموت يطويها

إنما المكارم أخلاق مطهرة * الدين أولها والعقل ثانيها
والعلم ثالثها والحلم رابعها * والجود خامسها والفضل سادسها
والبر سابعها والشكر ثامنها * والصبر تاسعها واللين باقيها

والنفس تعلم أني لا أصادقها * ولست أرشد إلا حين أعصيها

واعمل لدار ٍ غداً رضوان خازنها * والجار أحمد والرحمن ناشيها
قصورها ذهب والمسك طينتها * والزعفران حشيش نابت فيها
أنهارها لبن محض ومن عسل * والخمر يجري رحيقاً في مجاريها
والطير تجري على الأغصان عاكفةً * تسبح الله جهراً في مغانيها
من يشتري الدار في الفردوس يعمرها * بركعة في ظلام الليل يحييها
شعر للإمام أمير المؤمنين علي بن أبي طالب عليه السلام


جدث يطفو بالملايين وهي تدعو وا ضيعة الدين

تَفكّر في عليٍ قد ترى فيه الأبابيلَ
بسجيل غدت تُلقى وترمي الجيش والفيلَ
وتَلقى كبش إسماعيل على إبراهيمَ منزولا
وعرشاً جاء في لحظٍ لبلقيس كما قيلَ

نعم ذا حيدر وساقي الكوثر يد الجبارِ
وفي مسعاه وفي أضواه نجاة الساري
عجنا فيه وذبنا فيه بلا إجبارِ
فلا تصلينا به في المحشر جحيم النارِ

هناك الأنبياء كانت بفضل الله في المحكم
بحرف لإسمه السامي لإعجاز غدت تُلهم
فمنهم أنعش الموتى ومن رب العلى كلّم
ولكن ربنا أعطى علياً اسمه الأعظم

هو الكرار هو الأذكار هو الممتازُ
هو الانذار هو الاعصار هو المجتازُ
هو الايمان هو التبيان هو الاعجازُ
هو المرجان هو الريحان هو الانجازُ

للشاعر البحريني عبدالله القرمزي


ردّ قلبي

He motioned the car through the narrow street paved by either side with cars sideway-ingly facing the walls to the houses of their owners. He mumbled, practicing his lines and changing the tone to test what way would be best if this were a sales pitch. But he knew it wasn't. Yet he still mumbled and practiced the lines, seeking one that sounded just right.
Picking up his phone from the spotless and never used for what it was intended car ashtray, he dialled in the number of his friend. Six digits through, he decided to knowingly choose to press a "7" instead of a "6" for the last digit before calling because he knew that she was now in possession of this number. He knew so because she was his best friend's younger sister.

Shfeeha 3ad, kelha 'alo ha gowa Wlayyid, alo? Aasif hatha mo ragam Waleed? Ee hala wala Arwa, ana Maitham refeej Waleed. La ma3endi shay daag 3ala hal ragam, bas abee atzawejich ya ekht el ..' he told himself.
The first time Maitham saw Arwa was when he made his way through the gates of Kuwait Airport's arrivals, coming back from Spain after a trip with Waleed. This was seven months ago. And he never saw her ever since.
He told himself that he was blowing her image out of proportion, that he just has this idea, not this girl, in his head because he only saw her once. So he never could be serious about what his head told him when he drove, in the shower, before going to bed, waking up, having dinner, and most importanly, when he spent time with his best friend. Waleed.

But since he spent time with Waleed - a lot of time - he was reassured that "Om Waleed's Household's Alumni" were all graduates of the highest standards. There was a reason why Waleed was Maitham's best friend. And now there was a reason why Maitham could not bear himself being Waleed's best friend.
The car rolled slowly to a stop. Maitham still had the "7" completing the phone number, and not Waleed's "6".
Maitham could swear this was the millionth time he had pressed this "7" in the past five months after knowing from Waleed that this number was now his sister's. Maitham could also swear this was the millionth time - and one - that he has come to his senses and decided not to call the "7" number, but the "6".

Walla o wala tadry 3an hawa daarik, lo betgolaha 'ana Maitham refeej Waleed' betgolek 'o khair ya 6air, taby awage3lek?' he told himself some more.

Maitham questioned the procedure of it all. What does one do when one wants to marry one's best friend's younger sister. Does one talk to one's best friend's mother? Does one let one's mother talks to one's best friend's mother? Does one talk to one's best friend?

Maitham figured that there were a lot of ones there. But he also came to this conclusion:
en kalamt el om, el esbay begolek 'laish ma kalamni ana, mo rayal eb 3aina?', o en kalamt el esbay, begolek 'o shako ent yayni ana, wain ahalek maykalmon ahalha - ely hom ahaly, wela ma tedil bait ahaly ya 7ath ahalek?'
He sometimes questioned if all this confusion was worth it. Banat eldeera ma ekhlesaw, but then again not all banat il deera grew up in the same environment as he knew his best friend did.

He deleted the "7" and inserted a "6" instead, calling the number straight away. Smiling to himself at the thought of actually blurting out a jokingly 'hala yal niseeb, ana ta7at', he looked over at his side view mirror to see the approaching car near his. Waleed picked up as Maitham turned his head to make sure the approaching car could pass between his and the sideway-ingly parked cars facing the walls of the houses of their owners.
"Hala Maithemo, wainek?", came the familiar sound.
"Ta7at," Maitham managed to say as he was stunned at the sight of Arwa in the approaching car, now in front of him waiting for their garage door to open, "enzil ebser3a, o shouf etha waaldetik belbait. Omy tabee etkalemha."
"Inzain ya 7abeeb omik. Dish eldowaneya en6erny 3ala ma anzil, bas latsakir 3ala bab el garage ekhty betrid mn el jaam3a ba3ad shway."