Fear

Mice, bats, dogs, cats, snakes, rats, insects, reptiles and even the dark. Nothing of those frightens her like them. Her biggest fear is one thing; people she doesn't know.

Silence

When he hurts her she doesn't show it and she gives him the excuse of not knowing that she was hurt. She prefers to share part of the responsibility by hiding her pain deep inside. Like a mother protecting her sleeping child from the faintest sounds, she protects their love with her own silence.

Unfinished Paintings

She tends to see people as paintings. She believes in the ideal of a stagnant beauty hidden in every human being. And whenever she sees a fault in anyone she deals like an artist would do with an unfinished painting; she adds her own colors and brush strokes to make the painting complete… beautifully complete.

After some time and motored by her self confidence and strong belief that human beings are good natured by essence, she lives to believe that her completed paintings are in fact original ones. She forgets her own additions and erases the time and effort she spent completing the paintings from her memory. But life has never been kind enough to keep dreamy people in a state of endless dormancy, walking on an earth paved with velvet paths and scented with rose water. Every now and then life would snatch the brush from her hands, throw the palette filled with her favorite colors and wash away all her touches.

Only then she is forced to see the original painting, the real one that she hasn’t touched, washed from her addition and striking her weary eyes with its real colors. Only then she decides to give up painting and walk on the earth we are all walking on. But she is a painter by nature, and even if she doesn’t find brushes and colors, she would go around grasping a flock of her hair and carrying her own blood and sweat looking for unfinished paintings to paint them complete.

Slash

Like in a very long sentence, she puts a slash whenever someone leaves her life. She ended up having more slashes than words.

Train

Her life is like a train journey. People enter and spend some time, they stay for a while, talk, laugh, cry, share moments and feelings. They leave their remains, their smells, their foot prints. But they always leave, for no one stays forever in a train.

After The End

Years after it ended, all she could say about their relationship is that it made him ready for happiness and made her ready for loneliness.

A Thousand Eyes

Whenever I go to a beautiful place that makes me happy and whenever I see something that I love, I wish I had many pairs of eyes to give to the people that I love and make see what I see and feel the happiness. How many eyes do I need?

Cropped

She only looked her best in the photos he was with her in. Now whenever she uses any of these photos she crops-off the part he is in. Why don't hearts have a cropping option?

Uncried

Two glasses half full, left alone on a messy table. Condensed water drops rolling down the outer cold glass surface, like tears... Uncried.

A Nice Smile

She is famous for her nice smile. Her cheerful face hardly displays anything else even in the moments of stress or sadness. That famous smile became an inseparable feature of how she looks like. Everyone who sees her comments on how lovely and cheerful her smile is. Till that summer day, when she met that guy and went for a drink.

***

Him: can I ask you a question?

Her: Sure.

Him: What is the reason behind all this sadness?

Her: What sadness?

Him: That sadness you are trying hard to keep it inside.

Her: You know what's funny, you're the first one to link me with sadness.

Him: I know. I heard about your smile even before we met.

Her: And you still think that a person like me with this famous smile can have any sadness?

Him: I'm certain you do.

Her: May I ask why are you that certain?

Him: Clothes.

Her: Excuse me!

Him: You know, clothes can really change the way you look, completely.

Her: True.

Him: You can look young, old, beautiful, fat, cheerful, perfect... Practically, clothes can really make you look anything you want.

Her: Make up too, and hair style.

Him: Smart people can really look good all the time by careful selection of what to wear.

Her: Yes.

Him: People usually go for the looks, which comes from what you're wearing. But only a clothing expert will know the difference between people who are good looking and people who look good because of what they wear.

Her: And you think you're an expert in smiling, don't you?

Him: Not at all. But I'm an expert in sadness.

What Love Does

Isn’t this what Love does?

It strips off all the joys of life

When the lover is away

But when he is near

Every breath is scented with lilies

Every place is the Garden of Eden

And every word is a the Psalms of David

For this is what Love does

When you behold your beloved

You own the universe

And when you hear his voice

Your heart surrenders to the call of love

For this is what Love does

I behold thee my Love

And the moon meets the sun in your presence

I see spring and winter in your face

I see the rivers of Babylon

And the mountains of Zagros covered in green

I see the snows of the North

And the deserts of Arabia

For this is what Love does

I hold thy hands my Love

And I feel the softness of tulips

With the velvet touch of rose petals

And the caress of running waters

For this is what Love does

I hold thee in my arms

And I feel like an exiled man

Returning to his home land

I smell the scents of narcissus

And your presence drowns me

Like the floods of the Nile

I close my eyes, yet I can see

For this is what Love does

I look in thy eyes my Love

And I see the birds of Paradise

And the dove that landed

On the shoulder of Jesus

For this is what Love does

I kiss thy lips my love

And I taste the sweetness of honey

Flavored with cinnamon and pomegranate

I feel eternal and ancient

Like the Pyramids of Egypt

And I see the whole world

Colored in Saffron

For this is what Love does

I hold thee my Love

And I own the universe

I hear thy voice my love

And my heart surrenders to the call of Love

For this is what Love does

لا تتنحى

هو: بحبك بمنتهى التناحة هي: وأنا مش عايزاك تتنحى

Six Packs

He keeps going to the gym, trying to have a perfect body for her. He never asked her if she liked well built bodies!

To All The Women of The World

With your intellect and power

With your soul, as beautiful as a flower

With your passion and creativity

With your intelligence and sensitivity

With your famous criticism

With your wonderful feminism

With your strength and dedication

With your admirable complication

With your vision that is always deep

With your ability to laugh and ability to weep

With your engulfing care and endless affection

With your amazing sense of direction

With your guiding intuition

With your revolutions and submission

A woman, a lady, a daughter, a mother

A boss, a colleague, a sister, a lover

With all the wonderful things in you

You make life beautiful to go through

Happy Women’s Day

من دفتر الثورة

دخان يا أمي

دخان يملأ شارعنا

يخنقنا خنقا

يملؤنا حنقا

يمنعنا أن نمضي

وتغيم الرؤية يا أمي

فلا أرى غير وجهك

والعينان

أصوات تملأ شارعنا

تربكنا وتصم الآذان

فتيات تصرخ

ورجال تهتف

وصغار تبكي

وامرأة تتلو القرآن

لا أسمع شيئا يا أمي

تتلاشى أصوات الصخب

يتلاشى صوت الأذان

تجذبني قبضة يد

أعرفها

يد صديقي يونان

يقول إنهض

إنهض إنهض يا عثمان

لن تسقط فأنا معك

ومعنا عبد الرحمن

وسنمضي رغم قنابلهم

ورصاص يطلقه جبان

علينا أن نمضي

وسنمضي حتى الميدان

وهناك سنصرخ وسنهتف

وهناك يكون البركان

سينام الظالم ملء عيونه

وكأنه مَلَك الزمان

وسيصحو من نوم هادئ

ليواجه أنباء الفيضان

وسيسأل من نحن؟ وماذا نريد؟

وجئنا من أي مكان؟

وسيسمع تحاليل الخبراء

وتقارير الوزراء

وما نقلته وكالات الأنباء

سيقولون له لا تقلق

أنت في أمان

سيقولون شباب ضائع

منحل يتحرش بالنسوان

غوغاء تخرب وتدمر

وتريد هلاك الأوطان

عملاء مأجورون

خونة مارقون

ومن ورائهم الإخوان

وعناصر جاءت من كل مكان

من حزب الله الحاقد

ومن الخليج الجاحد

من الهند وباكستان

وربما من بلد آخر

يقال إسمه كزخستان

تقبض دولارا أو يورو

تأكل وجبات ساخنة

وتعرقل سير الميدان

لا تقلق أبدا

سنقضي عليهم... الآن

لن يصل إلينا الأعداء

لا تقلق نحن في أمان

فالشرطة معك

والشعب معك

ومعك الجيش والأركان

تحميك وزارات الدولة

يحميك الدستور والبرلمان

سنلقنهم درسا لن ينسوه

سيعودوا من حيث أتوا

سنحارب إرهابا زرعوه

وسنحمي رمزا أهانوه

وسيبقى الولد وأبوه

ولن تشمت فينا إيران

هيا أنهض هيا يا أخي

فلدينا موعد

سنقابل هند وإيمان

حبيبتك وحبيبتي

تنتظران الشجعان

ستفرح هند حين ترانا

وستفرح أيضا إيمان

وستحمل إيمان المصحف

وستحمل هند الصلبان

وسننسى من منا المسلم

ومن المسيحي

وستقرأ معي تسابيحي

وسأقرأ معك القرآن

هيا إنهض هيا

يا رجل يا بطل

هيا إنهض معنا وبنا

لن تسقطك رصاصة

لن تسقطك قنابل

صنعها أمريكان

تتلاشى القبضة يا أمي

يبتعد الصوت

أين يونان؟

وحتى رائحة الدخان

أتحرر من سجن الجسد

أتحرر منه إلى الأبد

ما أثقل جسم الإنسان

وهناك بعيدا يا أمي

ضوء يجذبني فأنجذب

صوت يدعوني فأستجب

أقترب وأقترب

وأرى بستان

لا تبكي أبدا يا أمي

لم أجري منهم لم أهرب

سقطت كما سقط الشجعان

حرموني أن أحيا معكِ

حرموكي مني يا أمي

ما أقسى هذا الحرمان

لا تبكي أبدا يا أمي

إدعي لمن هم في الميدان

لا تنسيهم يا أمي

فالبشر سريعي النسيان

ثورتنا بدأت يا أمي

ولدت في كانون

وستنطق في شباط

وستكبر في نيسان

ستعود بلادي كما كانت

بلد أمن وأمان

وحنانكِ أنتِ يا أمي

سيكون لبلدي وليس لي

فهي أولى بالحنان

بالله بالله لا تبكي

فأنا من قلبي فرحان

قولي لهند أن تتزوج

وأن تنجب عثمان

وتقص عليه قصتنا

قصة شهداء الطغيان

وستبقى مصر يا أمي

أحلى الأوطان

Live from Iran/Yalda Night.

"Every day I see you is a Norooz and every night I don’t see you is the Yalda”

Iran, the land of history and civilization that enlightened the world for thousands of years. The land of ancient mythology and religions that are still surviving till this day in spite of the heavily religious government and the religious fanaticism of a large stratum of the society. A land of beauty and splendors that always keep me amazed whenever I visit this country. A land of great history that is well kept and preserved in the daily life of the people, in their names and faces, in their celebrations and culture and in their beliefs. A mighty nation with deep attachments to their roots and history in strong pride and admirable love for their land that outlived its invaders and that forced the world to respect it.

In Iran being a Muslim does not mean you have to give away your ancient Persian identity for an Arabic one. You do not have to speak Arabic to be a Muslim and you do not have to forget thousands of years of a glorious history and convince yourself that you are an Arab to be as close as possible to the prophet and his followers. The Iranians were smart enough to capture Islam from the Arabs while keeping their own Persian identity. Persian language and culture with its habits and celebrations are integral parts of the Persian identity that the Iranians insist on keeping and saving from any wave that wants to deny them their great history and civilizations for many reasons. Among the many ancient Persian festivals and celebrations, the Yalda is one of the most important.

Long ago before the creation of man, the earth was in total darkness. For thousands of years the earth was an endless mass of dead land with no life until the birth of light. On Yalda night, Mithra, the sun God was born and with his birth came light, life, goodness and strength. Plants started to grow all over the earth, living organisms started to keep the earth busy with its endless cycles of life and regeneration. The earth was now ready to receive man, the most wonderful of all creatures.

Yalda is celebrated on the longest night of the year, its specific date varies each year but usually lies between 20-22 of December, it also coincides with the last day of the ninth month of the Iranian Calendar that is called Azar. Yalda is the night of the first day of the tenth month, Dey. Nowadays Yalda night is a big gathering for family and friends, lots of foods and drinks are prepared to celebrate this very special night that symbolizes life and strength for the next year. Red is the theme of the night and it symbolizes the crimson color of dawn, the color of life and the birth of light. Red colored foods and drinks are always consumes in plenty mainly Pomegranate, Watermelon and Red Wine(usually homemade).

Nuts and fruits are also there to give strength for the next year. People gather in houses, eat and drink happily and stay awake till dawn. The poetry of Hafez Shirazy, the great Persian poet (1325-1389) is of extreme significance where after midnight, people gather in groups, read the poetry and make wishes for the next year. It is the official celebration for winter, the last season of the Iranian year that starts with spring, another great festival called Norooz, or “new day”. Yalda is of extreme significance and importance in Persian culture. The great Persian poet Saadi said "The true morning will not come, until the Yalda Night is gone".

I was very lucky to be in Iran during the Yalda night which was on Tuesday December 21st. I was invited by Maryam, a beautiful friend of mine who took me to a Yalda party in one of her friend’s house. You can easily detect that modern life, a desperately religious government and many years of endless attempts to change the Persian identity of the Iranian people did not manage to affect their love for life and their deep attachment to their roots.

Arriving at the house I was surprised to find myself surrounded by gorgeous women dressed in amazing night gowns and in perfect beauty that they are forced to cover behind long sleeved blouses and semi-veiling scarves imposed on them by laws of the Islamic republic, to which they do not have the luxury to choose or reject. Rejection is the natural reaction to strict rules that do not respect human identity and while they are forced to cover themselves in the streets, they do the exact opposite in houses and gatherings ending up in extravagant parties, enclosed in houses and surviving in a sort of underground world.

My sociophobia and fear of unknown people melted away in no time with the extreme generosity of the hosting party, I found myself talking nonstop for hours, delving into discussions about literature, art, history, religion, politics and human nature. Many people were fascinated by this Egyptian man in their party who is in love with their country and ancient history to the point of sharing with them a very intimate and special ancient celebration. I met a lot of nice people who were exceptionally interested in Egypt wishing they can get a chance to visit the amazing land of great civilization and history equal to their own. The deep fascination with Egypt and its history was running in parallel with deep detest to the Arabs and their invasion, many discussions were throwing a huge blame on the Arabic invasion of Iran that tried desperately to change their identity but they refused, kicked the Arabs away with their language and culture, kept the Islam and remained Persians. Bringing back the splendors of the ancient times and reviving their own native language.

Iranian foods with delicious taste were all over the place, pomegranates that I have never seen in my life, big, red, juicy, full of taste and very delicious. Watermelons were served in a very decorative way, nuts and fruits with all kinds of appetizers. With their appreciation of life, love for celebrations and deep appreciation of beauty, the Iranians know how to make any time I spend with them remarkably unforgettable. I couldn't help but notice the similarity between Yalda night and Christmas eve, with the family gatherings, gifts shared, special foods served and of course the red color.

It was a night to remember and a day to be added to my history of happy days and wonderful times I spent in this country that I deeply love and that does nothing but overwhelming me with loving me back.

One, two, three

When she met him for the first time in a wedding, he caught her eyes. When she met him for the second time in a party, she started having questions. And when she met him for the third time in a funeral, she knew she had to get him out of her mind.

Sanity

He: Are you seeing anyone?

She: no, not at all.

He: Why?

She: Trying to keep my sanity as long as possible.

He: Then don't make me your boyfriend.

She: Why not?

He: To keep your sanity.

She: And who said I want it.

He: You just did!

She: I need it only if I'm on my own, but with you I don't need it.

From Rimbaud

He would say,'How funny it will all seem, when I'm not here anymore, when you no longer feel my arms around your shoulders, nor my heart beneath you, nor this mouth on your eyes, because I will have to go away someday, far away...' And in an instant I could feel myself with him gone, dizzy with fear, sinking down into the most horrible blackness: into death.

Revelation

On her Sixtieth birthday and after forty years of marriage, two sons and a daughter, she realized that she has been a mother but she has never really been a wife. She has been a human being but she has nver really been a woman. She has been living but she has never really had a life...

Of The Human Heart!

In his great play, A Street Car Named Desire, Tennesee Wiliams questions the human heart and how straight it is by saying "What is straight? A line can be straight, or a street, but the human heart, oh, no, it's curved like a road through mountains"

I look in myself, I look around me, I hear stories, I come across people and I read books... All I can get out is that the human heart is nothing but complicated. Either it is your own experience or someone you know, a story shared by your friend or written in a gossip magazine, a plot of a movie, play or novel or even what we read and study in psychology text books, the human heart still is totally different than what they all say!

Doctors say that the human heart is a pump that distributes blood to all the organs, but the human heart is not an organ, and not merely a blood manager, it is a living organism that in turn controls the whole human being. And in doing so, it doesn't follow rules or logic, it doesn't usually work for the benefit of the person and in many cases it actually works against him. It is our manager! Without rules, without logic, without anything we can measure or regulate, we just surrender to that tyrant inside us and most of the times we are happy with this slavery.

An old wise saying says "Who would give a law to lovers? Love is unto itself a higher law" And obviously the heart follows its own law. A friend of mine is drawn irresistibly to a person when every sense says that they cannot be together, another is telling me she is deeply attracted to a person she doesn't even like, I know people who can't get over a person that hurt them beyond human tolerance and I saw how cruel people can be with the ones they loved the most. I saw how love can end a life and can start one, can build and destroy and can humiliate and honor.

Tell me about rules, let's talk logic forever, let's blame this and mock that, when you fall in love, when the heart really takes over, nothing else is heard...or seen.

في حب مصر وعاصمتها الساحرة

قاهرة أنت كما سماك القدماء

تقهرين أهلك لا الغرباء

جثة تتحلل تفيض قبحا

وتحيطني بأبغض الأشياء

أمقتك مقتا لا يعرفه البشر

أكرهك كره النار للماء

وحين أرحل عنك لن أنظر خلفي

فليس ينظر خلفه الا من يريد البقاء

Stolen Painting, Stolen Life!

The only van Gogh in Cairo is stolen!!! As simple as the 6-letter-word "stolen".

Cut from its frame by a knife, under the eyes of lazy staff, inefficient security system of non-functioning alarms, switched-off cameras and an invalid minister with pathetic declarations; just another small part of a highly retarded system in one of the lousiest governemnets of one of the most corrupted regions of the world!

It's not just a great work of European art of which very little is found in Egypt, it carries a part of my life in it.

I won't vent out my anger here and curse the fact that I am still living in this country, I stopped doing this long ago. I'm seeing in this story something more than the scandalous incident.

The painting is gone but the frame is still there, the same young boy who had this unplanned, hurricane-like and life-turning encounter is gone, but his frame is still there. The path that was taken on that day is still there, and will always be there, with or without the painting. the painting was stolen, but no one can steal a life. And even if lives can be stolen, memories cannot!

Confusion (2)

Nothing gets on her nerves like his presence. But she misses him when he's not around!

Confusion!

After realizing that she was choosing a man who doesn't love her back over a man who does, she really doesn't know if "love" exists...

A Letter from A Woman in Love!

In reply to Mermaid's post:

My Love,

I also saw some white hairs in your hair few days ago and I thought the same. I only had one question on my mind; why do I love you that much, where does all this love come from? Why do I always love you more?

Yes, my love we are growing old together, growing closer, and each time I think I've reached the end of my capacity for loving you I just discover another horizon, another territory that I haven't stepped in yet, and I just fly like a butterfly attracted by your light and I vanish into your existence, and I love you more...

It seems that it will never end and I will never stop loving you. Yes, they say that it dies by time, that the passion disappears with the repeated existence and that time makes the love fades away like the early morning mist fades away with the powerful sun rays, but no, it doesn't, and I keep wondering why? An unsolved riddle that logic and previous experience stand so small against, and I love you more...

I watch you reading the newspaper, with a frown on your face and rays of concentration radiating from your eyes. I come from behind you and bury my face in your coarse hair. You turn around and look at me, telling you a piece of news with a furious face and angry tone, newspapers always make you angry and you never stop reading them! I try to participate but you don't even give me the chance, you get back to your reading and I feel stupid, but I love you more...

You get out of the shower wrapped in a towel, dripping all the way to the bedroom, I dry the drops of water wishing I can keep them with me, they have been on your body and fell on the floor, they should have fallen into my heart, into my soul, watering that mysterious tree that I don't even know where it exists, I just know it is there, and I love you more...

You leave the bathroom drowned in water, the basin is full of your hairs and the shaving foam, your clothes thrown carelessly on the floor, I clean everything wondering why is it difficult for you to allow some more water in the basin to wash away the hairs, and why you never put the clothes in the laundry basket. I pick them up and hold them close to my face inhaling that peculiar smell left by your body on them, I'm glad you didn't put them in the basket, I love your smell and I love you more...

I wake up at night and you're not beside me, I know you will be working on your laptop and I am jealous. I go to you and my sleepy face, my undone hair, my needy look and the semi transparent night dress works perfectly, I know how to drive you crazy and take you from the deepest absorption, and I love you more...

And when there is a football match you are someone else, you sit on the floor very close to the TV. You neither recognize me, your phone, the loud noise of the AC or the door bell. I keep waiting for the goal to have your squeezing hug, you're strong, you squeeze me and kiss me passionately as if I were the player who got the goal, and I love you more...

And in the supermarket, you grow impatient, and you insist on coming with me, you get angry when I pass by the same shelf many times, you keep telling me "honey it is just Yogurt, they are all the same don't believe TV ads, yogurt is just yogurt", you get mad when I spend time reading the labels, and making sure of the expiry date "I can't believe you, it's Metro, they will never sell expired products!", I love your self confidence and extreme trust in yourself and your choices, and I love you more...

We drive in the traffic, you get nervous, you're tense, you keep teaching people what to do and not to do, you try to be gentle with women and pedestrians, women's driving gets on your nerves but you hold your curses, you know I won't like that, and I love you more...

We go to this restaurant and the waiter doesn't take his eyes off me, even when you're ordering he looks at me, you get mad, you're rude to him and after he leaves you tell me in a harsh tone "Could you please not talk to him and tell me when you want something, I will order it for you, I will knock him down if he looks at you again" I smile, and I love you more...

I love you for your jealousy, for your arrogance, for your criticism and your protection, for making me feel silly and naive and for making me strong and proud, for driving me crazy with your stubbornness and your chaos, for your fights with me and the way we make it up, for your angry look that scares me and your smile that lights my world, for making fun of my cooking and admiring my plans, for the look of desire in your eyes and your naughty comments in my ears, for loving me, for being mine. And for being yourself, I love you more...

Now I know, I know that the riddle and the answer is you...

Yours

M

The Pearls Are Just A Mile Away!

"it was someone who knew me well. Well, but not just knew me; it’s someone who truly cared! Someone who went the extra mile to make me happy, who actually gave it some thought and exerted effort to get me this gift..."

Quoted from Mermaid, my dearest friend, describing an anonymous birthday gift from me.

This is the best thing that touched me positively in months, after a considerable time of depression and feeling really down for all kinds of reasons, making one of the dearest persons to my heart, a real woman that I admire and look up to and cherish our friendship so much, making her that happy was itself a blessing :)

Happy Birthday my dearest Mermaid, the precious pearl-like tears that I made you shed mean the world to me (pearls were believed to be the tears of Mermaids in the ancient legend),and your beautiful heart that saw some happiness from my "simple" gesture deserves much more.

May we always stay that close and may I always be a source of your happiness :)

Tribute to Saramago

A young boy was spending his summer vacation at his grandfather’s house far away from the capital. Suddenly his grandfather fell sick and had to be transferred to the hospital, but before he was taken he did something very strange:

"He went into the yard of his house, where there were a few trees, fig trees, olive trees. And he went one by one, embracing the trees and crying, saying good-bye to them because he knew he would not return. To see this, to live this, if that doesn't mark you for the rest of your life, you have no feeling."

But it did mark the young Jose Saramago for the rest of his life, made him a writer, a political activist and the finest Portuguese writer of his generation.

Jose Saramago (1922-2010) was born in Azinagha, a small village in Portugal and although he was a clever pupil his parents were not able to afford his education and he had to work as a car mechanic at the age of 12, a period that made him close to the laboring community and shaped his political inclination towards communism, he joined the Portuguese Communist Party in 1969 and gave away his religious believes to be an atheist.

Noticing his intellectual talent, he worked as a journalist and translator and started wring and publishing novels in 1947, but his recognition did not come until the year 1982 when his novel Memorial Del Convento won the PEN club award Portuguese and started to attract attention to his style. The novel is a love story set in one of the major tourist attraction in Portugal, the Convent of Mafra, where the two lovers interact with each other and with famous historical figures.

In 1991, he published a very controversial novel titled O Evangelho Segundo Jesus Cristo or The Gospel according to Jesus Christ, in which he portrays Jesus Christ as a human being with flaws, passions, and doubts, including a love affair with Mary Magdalene. The book gained public success and was immediately translated to many languages while provoking the rage of the Roman Catholic Church that accused Saramago of having anti-religion views.

Magical Realism became the most prevailing theme in Saramago’s works, in addition to his characteristic language, very long sentences (sometimes more than one page long) and surrealistic plots which continued in his novels like The Stone Raft, where the Iberian Peninsula breaks off Europe and sails on its own across the Atlantic, Death At Intervals, which tells the story of a village where no one dies, and Blindness which tells the story of a story where a mysterious blinding disease strikes its people.

In 1998 Saramgo won the Nobel prize in Literature for his body of works, he was genuinely shocked announcing that:”I was not born for all this glory”

Saramago was an avid critic of the European Union and the state of Israel. In 2002 he visited Ramallah, where he compared the Palestinians to the Holocaust victims, a statement that resulted in him being condemned by many intellectuals and he was accused of Anti-Semitism. In one of his newspaper articles he wrote:

"Intoxicated mentally by the messianic dream of a Greater Israel which will finally achieve the expansionist dreams of the most radical Zionism; contaminated by the monstrous and rooted 'certitude' that in this catastrophic and absurd world there exists a people chosen by God and that, consequently, all the actions of an obsessive, psychological and pathologically exclusivist racism are justified; educated and trained in the idea that any suffering that has been inflicted, or is being inflicted, or will be inflicted on everyone else, especially the Palestinians, will always be inferior to that which they themselves suffered in the Holocaust, the Jews endlessly scratch their own wound to keep it bleeding, to make it incurable, and they show it to the world as if it were a banner."

On another occasion he pointed out that:

"The Jews are unworthy of any more sympathy for their sufferings during the second World War. Living under the shadows of the Holocaust and expecting to be forgiven for anything they do on behalf of what they have suffered seems abusive to me. They didn’t learn anything from the suffering of their parents and grandparents”

Yesterday in Lisbon, Saramago’s funeral took place; he died last Friday and 20,000 people participated in his funeral but with the absence of the right-winged Portuguese president who was vacationing very close to the capital. Many of Saramago’s works are banned in Portugal.

أم خالد

خالد...انت هنا يا حبيبي... انت ما متش... لا... انت لسة عايش... أنا أكيد بحلم... أيوة انت لسة عايش وهتدخل علي كمان شوية... وهتيجي... وهشوفك تاني... هبوسك واحضنك وأسمع صوتك وأشوف وشك... وشك؟ يابني... يا حبيبي... ازاي عملوا فيك كدة؟ ازاي جالهم قلب؟ ازاي ما صعبتش عليهم؟ عملتلهم ايه؟ ليه موتوك؟ ليه؟ طب... كانوا عملوا أي حاجة تانية وسابوك ما هما قادرين على كل حاجة. ازاي جالهم قلب؟ ما عندهمش ولاد؟ ما عندهمش اخوات؟ ما عندهمش قلب؟ ازاي جالهم قلب يمدوا ايدهم عليك؟ دمك وهو في ايديهم ما هزهمش؟ وصوتك وانت بتصرخ ما وقفهمش؟ و وشك... وشك اللي زي القمر ازاي عملوا فيه كدة؟ هيناموا بالليل ازاي؟ هياكلوا ويشربوا ازاي؟هيعيشوا ازاي؟ طب كانوا سابوك تعيش كانوا عملوا أي حاجة وسابوك تعيش يحرموني منك ليه؟ يا حبيبي يا ترى حسيت بايه؟ ندهت علي؟ ندهت على أمك؟ أكيد ندهت علي زي ما كنت بتنده علي لما الموجة تيجي عليك وانت صغير... أكيد ندهت علي وما لقتنيش... ما لقتش حد. يا ريتني كنت معاك... يا ريتني كنت بدالك... ياريتني أنا اللي اتضربت واتقتلت بس انت لا... يا ريتني كنت معاك... كنت حوشتهم عنك... كنت ما خلتهمش يلمسوا شعرة منك...كنت موتهم بايدي قبل ما يلمسوك. يا رب.. ليه أنا؟ ليه ابني أنا؟ ما الدنيا مليانة والبلد مليانة اشمعنى أنا؟ اشمعنى ابني أنا؟ وليه ولادهم يعيشوا وأنا ابني يموت؟ يا رب دة ظلم وانت مش ظالم... انت مش ظالم صح؟ طب لما انت مش ظالم سايبهم ليه؟ وسبتهم يعملوا كدة ليه؟ طب فهمني وأنا هسكت... والله هسكت ومش هتكلم ولا هعترض... بس فهمني ايه اللي بيحصل. طب رجعهولي تاني... والنبي رجعهولي تاني... مش انت قادر على كل شيء؟ طب رجعهولي وخدني بعد كدة بس أشوفه تاني.. أخده في حضني تاني... احضنه ولو خمس دقايق... طب دقيقة واحدة... دقيقة واحدة والله ...أشوفه بس... أشوف وشه قبل اللي عملوه. والله ماكنت اعرف انه هيحصله كل دة... والله لو كنت أعرف ما كنتش سيبته ثانية واحدة... ما كنتش أعرف انك هتسيبهم يعملوا فيه كدة... أنا ياما دعيتلك تحفظهولي وتباركلي فيه ماسمعتش ليه؟ سبتهم ليه؟ سبتهم يعملوا فيه كدة ليه؟ ما منعتهمش ليه؟ وسايبهم يقولوا عليه كدة ليه؟ وكله ظلم وانت عارف انه ظلم. أنا مش عارفة أعمل ايه... أكره مين؟ أكره البلد اللي سايبة ولادها تتبهدل؟ ولا أكره الناس اللي ما حدش منهم حاش عنه؟ ولا أكره الزمن اللي الناس بتتقتل فيه في الشوارع في عز الضهر؟ ولا أكره نفسي عشان ما كنتش معاه؟ أروح فين؟ أمشي ازاي في الشارع اللي اتقتل فيه؟ أخطي ازاي على دمه؟ أدوس ازاي علي التراب اللي اداس فيه؟ أنا مش عايزة أعيش... خدني زي ما خدته يا اما تجيبلي حقي من اللي قتلوه... وريني فيهم وفي ولادهم اللي عملوه في ابني. يا رب... انت فين؟ انت فين بقى؟؟؟

Oscar Wilde And The Love That Dare Not Speak Its Name!

The glorious nineteenth century was about to say a smooth farewell to the world, but on the spring of the year 1895 in England, the high class society was on fire, the cultured society was biting its nails in anticipation and the secret underground societies were forced to get back into their dark hidden places. On April 26th 1895, an Irish man who belonged to the high class and the cultured society was being prosecuted for committing one of the most obnoxious crimes in England… at that age. Although the man had one of the most renowned lawyers defending his case at that time, Sir Edward George Clarke, when the judge asked a question referring to something mentioned in one of the man’s letters and was augmenting the charge against him, he asked to answer the question himself. Let’s see how this part of the trial went: Judge: In your letter you mentioned the love that dare not speak its name. What is “the love that dare not speak its name”? Man: "The love that dare not speak its name" in this century is such a great affection of an elder for a younger man as there was between David and Jonathan, such as Plato made the very basis of his philosophy, and such as you find in the work of Michelangelo and the sonnets of Shakespeare. It is that deep spiritual affection that is as pure as it is perfect. It dictates and pervades great works of art, like those of Shakespeare and Michelangelo, and those two letters of mine, such as they are. It is in this century misunderstood, so much misunderstood that it may be described as "the love that dare not speak its name," and on that account of it I am placed where I am now. It is beautiful, it is fine, it is the noblest form of affection. There is nothing unnatural about it. It is intellectual, and it repeatedly exists between an older and a younger man, when the older man has intellect, and the younger man has all the joy, hope and glamour of life before him. That it should be so, the world does not understand. The world mocks at it, and sometimes puts one in the pillory for it." The eloquent speech and the biblical, historical and artistic references he used did not help to clear his charge and a month later, Oscar Wilde (1854-1900), one of the great authors in the history of English literature and the author of great plays that mock the British aristocracy like An Ideal Husband and The Importance of Being Earnest, in addition to one brilliant novel that is considered a masterpiece of English literature, The Picture of Dorian Gray, was sentenced for two years of imprisonment with hard labor for the charge of gross indecency. His secret love affair with Lord Alfred Douglas (1870-1945) that was discovered, exposed and submitted to court by Lord Douglas’ father was the cause of his imprisonment for homosexuality. At that time, Wilde was married and had two sons. While in prison, Wilde wrote a letter in 50 000 words for his lover describing his suffering in the prison, reflecting on his own life and what lead him from the luxury of the aristocracy to the darkness and loneliness of a shameful imprisonment. He starts his very long letter with the following words: Suffering is one very long moment. We cannot divide it by seasons. We can only record its moods, and chronicle their return. With us time itself does not progress. It revolves. It seems to circle round one centre of pain…For us there is only one season, the season of sorrow. The very sun and moon seem taken from us. Outside, the day may be blue and gold, but the light that creeps down through the thickly-muffled glass of the small iron-barred window beneath which one sits is grey and niggard. It is always twilight in one's cell, as it is always twilight in one's heart. And in the sphere of thought, no less than in the sphere of time, motion is no more. The thing that you personally have long ago forgotten, or can easily forget, is happening to me now, and will happen to me again tomorrow. Remember this, and you will be able to understand a little of why I am writing, and in this manner writing. . . . He then starts to blame himself in a very touchy piece where he says: I must say to myself that I ruined myself, and that nobody great or small can be ruined except by his own hand. I am quite ready to say so. I am trying to say so, though they may not think it at the present moment. This pitiless indictment I bring without pity against myself. Terrible as was what the world did to me, what I did to myself was far more terrible still… I used to live entirely for pleasure. I shunned suffering and sorrow of every kind. I hated both. I resolved to ignore them as far as possible: to treat them, that is to say, as modes of imperfection. They were not part of my scheme of life. They had no place in my philosophy. He ends his letter by facing the fact that he is to be banished from society for ever. Society, as we have constituted it, will have no place for me, has none to offer; but Nature, whose sweet rains fall on unjust and just alike, will have clefts in the rocks where I may hide, and secret valleys in whose silence I may weep undisturbed. She will hang the night with stars so that I may walk abroad in the darkness without stumbling, and send the wind over my footprints so that none may track me to my hurt: she will cleanse me in great waters, and with bitter herbs make me whole. Wilde was not allowed to send the letter but he took it with him and after his release in 1897, he submitted it to publishing under the title De Profundis (Latin for “From the Depth”) After his release, he had a religious awakening and he asked for the membership of a catholic community but was refused, something that devastated what remained sane in him and he decided to live incognito and in a chosen exile in France where he stopped writing and only produced a poem titled The Ballad of Reading Goal (the prison where he was kept) which was published under a pseudonym, among its very memorable lines: Some love too little, some too long, Some sell, and others buy; Some do the deed with many tears, And some without a sigh: For each man kills the thing he loves, Yet each man does not die. Wilde died of meningitis* in 1900 after being united with his lover against the wish of friends, families and community. On the epitaph of his grave in Pere La Chaise cemetery in Paris, the following lines from his last poem are written: And alien tears will fill for him Pity's long-broken urn, For his mourners will be outcast men, And outcasts always mourn. The following are very useful links about Wilde and the full texts of both works mentioned above. http://www.online-literature.com/wilde/ http://www.gutenberg.org/etext/921 http://www.emotionalliteracyeducation.com/classic_books_online/rgaol10.htm *Meningitis is an inflammation of the membranes surrounding the brain and spinal cord, it is caused by many factors like some kind of bacteria, overuse of some drugs and migraine, but sometimes it occurs without a specific reason.