Autumn's Love Elixir on stage

so she dances for the blind, he directs her dance with only the rustling of her dress...
the blind's compassionate devotion for the directing of a dance with nature is hard to comprehend..he can't "see" what the dance has to offer the lord of creativeness...
the coral sings in mystic Latin talking about the beauty of prince autumn whilst her rhythmic dance continues..the dancer's sweat drops to the theater's wooden floor kissing the sound of the music playing...the blind is now so pleased, as her hair rustles near his ear in nothing but homogeneous moves...the sound grows in the awe of the crescendo of that sad season :Autumn..she moves faster to the crescendo rushing through her own blood..

the music then starts falling into the abyss as it approaches the end of autumn ...fades then stops..the coral sings no more...the blind stands...the dancer descends from the stage..he takes the dancer's hand & as they walk together to the door of the theater, the members of the coral know there won't be any words spoken, for she was a deaf dancer working with a blind director, creating a vision of nature in a dance with a Latin scent.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MgL8lR8XvzE

مهمة انتحارية من نوع اخر.

طيّارٌ انتحارىٌ أنا ومهمتى محددة...حياتى لا قيمة لها فى الصورة الكبيرة ..هل أنا أقلُ من الطيارين اليابانيين وهم يخترقون حاملات الطائرات الأمريكية بطائراتهم الزيرو غير عابئين الا بتدميرها ؟! هل أنا أقلُ ممن أقتحموا بُرجَيْ التجارة العالمية بطائراتهم البوينج تاركين حياتهم على الأرض وهم فى السماء؟!..

كلانا لا يرى سوى ما سيظهر فى الصورة الكبيرة...كلانا سيموت فى سبيل تحقيق أهداف تمسُّ كياننا ذاته, بغض النظر عن انحياز تلك الأهداف الى أىٍ من الصواب أو الخطأ..

لم تقُل لى بعْدُ : هل أنا أقلُ منهم؟... هل أنا أكثرْ؟

على عكسهم, فى مهمتى الانتحارية لن أترك أسفلتاً يشتعل, لا أمٌ تصرخ, لا طفلٌ يموت, لا رجلٌ يحترق, لا أسرةٌ تتشرد...فى مهمتى الانتحارية سأعيش حياتى كاملة غير منقوصة...
الحياة تقتل ببطء شديد, اما أن تجلس لتشاهدها وهى تقتلك وهذا يعد انتحارا واما ان تركب طائرتك وتغدو طيارا انتحاريا...اصطدم بها فى الصميم وانفتح عليها, وهى مهمة انتحارية من نوع اخر.

عبثياتٌ أولى على ورق: الصبيَّة والحيطان

تعرفوا ايه عن شعور الصبية وهى بتميل عالحيطان
عشان تكلمها وتناجيها؟
مجنونة عشان فى حضرة الحيطان الصُحبة بتلاقيها؟
ولا مجنون اللى قالّها أن الحيطان ليها ودان؟
ولا مجنون الدهر عشان عن قسوة البشر يعلمها؛
فيوم لعب بيها؟

الحيطان لما سمعت سرها اتأثرت؛
قررت تحتضنها؛
فمالت الحيطان عالصبيَّة
ومع سرها تحت أنقاض البيت دفنتها
صدق اللى قال أن البيت كان فيه روح

قولولى تعرفوا ايه عن شعور الصبيَّة
اللى مالت عليها الحيطان؟ 

عبثياتٌ أولى على ورق: الراحلون أنواع

الراحلون أنواع...

راحل مش راجع مُجبرالعمر كله يتنفى,
جعلوه فانجعل..

وراحل مشى ...كان عايز ينسى ويتنسى,
والنسيان ابن التعود عمره ما جه بالبعاد

وواحد لما بص وراه مفكَّرش كتير
يمكن راجع تانى ويمكن مش خسران حاجة...
وعكسه اللى فكّر عمره كله وخد قرار أخير
أصلهم قالوله ما بيجيش بعد التفكير الا الحكمة
والحكمة بنت الخبرة عمرها ما جت بالتفكير

وراحل قالك: طب ما هناك أحسن من هنا
ولما وصل لمبتغاه اتقلبت هِناه لهِناكُه
واتقلبت معاها رغبته فالرحيل
والرغبة بنت الحس
والحس ميزورش غير انسان أصيل

وراحل ماكنش عنده استعداد يبيع حريته
خلع وسابلك مسئوليته
قله يا راحل : أنت لسه معرفتش
ان الحرية بنت المجدعة عمرها ما جت بالهروب؟

وراحل صبر فترة ومقدرش يكمل
كره المكان
اتقِ شر الحليم اذا غَضِب
واتقِ شر الصبور ان رأى أن رحيله وجَب

وراحل سافر
قالك: أنا طموحى كبير ونجاحى مش هنا
قالها لما فقد العزيمة أنه يغيَّر واقع مكانه
متسرع ولا عندوش هِنا ارادة,
والنجاح مش ابن الطموح بس
ولا عمره جه بالتسرع ولا بالهوادة

وراحل أبدى حان أجله
لبس الأكفان وقررتله الأقدار
يا ترى يا راحل عملت لدنيتك ولا لأخرتك؟

الراحلون أنواع..والراحل الأخير
يرحل ولا يتخلّاش
حكمته فانه بيتعلم ولا ينساش
يرحل من هنا لهناك
بس لا يبقى هنا عالطول
وهناك نفس الشئ ميبقاش
بيسجل حضوره فالاتنين
باقى لحد مالدنيا تقوله:
جه دورك وصار لازم ترحل..
فاهم كويس ان الدنيا متستحملش غير رحيل واحد كبير

Stop defrauding thyself, and step into a new Awakening.

Camouflage, a french word meaning either "Fraud" or "Deceiving". Both with the same meaning, which is manipulating the truths, but let me explain "Fraud" in my own definition.
I remember that wonderful quote of Dr.Ahmed K. Tawfik-- a famous Arabic author-- that says :
"I wish both of us were born in the times when the TV and internet didn't exist to know whether our love is true or fraud"
That "F"

 word annoys me even much more than the F*** word.
How do we become a fraud? shadows of our own existence? It's always this way : If you always "Receive" and never develop on your own to "Reply" back, then your mind is fraud. That's why the Arabic author was wondering whether his vision of love was true or not, because he always received those visions from TV and the web, for instance, so he was not sure anymore whether that vision is his or not. He stepped into the dominant fraud.
We always mix between fraud and normality. You look everywhere around you, you see huge mass of people with same visions of life-related subjects, so you call them normal, well, you're mistaken. Those are abnormal. They are defrauding their own selves. They assume they are thinking while they are puppets of the Dominance. That's a camouflage one builds around his mind, when he's assuming that he thinks while he's merely repeating believes that are old and dominant as humanity itself. Shadows of minds. Slaves of receiving thoughts. You are merely using a very tiny, minimal, percentage of your power of mind anyway, at least use this percentage until the last bit. Get a habit of reacting towards the outside thoughts that get into your mind, like you've read a book, discuss it on paper with it's author intellectually, as the author is with you through his written thoughts. Underline the parts that you didn't approve of, & the ones that had positive impact on you, and write your reasons why. Went through a life experiment? Why not discuss it widely with others?, Always accepts criticism as you criticize along your way too. Have opinions of your own, not of one hundred other people. By time your mind thinks properly on its own, wonders, questions & meditates, It will develop an independence you have never experienced before. A new vision, wider, more mature towards life & beings around you. Independence is the freedom we all seek for, and live with. You'll posses an endless free land under the sky in your mind with a new universal understanding. You will break the illusion of limitation.
step into a new awakening.

Extroversion.

Humans can't and won't relate to how fate works. What made this kid healthy, and this other kid autistic? nothing but a twist of fate at the time of creation of the genes. The fate wrote: "This kid will be autistic".
I have an autistic cousin, without wasting time of describing his life tragedy in full detail, I'll have to mention such a sarcastic moment of realization that we both - me and him- 

shared the same illness of mind : Introversion of mind, that leads to the introversion of feelings: Love, Hatred, Guilt, Happiness, Anxiety... and so the shutting down of a living humane soul. Fate twists, and he's still autistic and I'm not. Fate twists, and he has got an alibi for his social disturbance, but I've got none. 
It's my way of living closed and complicated that leads me to be "the black duckling". And as a kid, I blame people for not accepting me, but I can't expect any living human to accept the abnormal. I'm normal, it's just the social existence of my being is the opposite of normality. Fate mocks me, it smiles and leans close to my face " I gave you an autistic cousin to show that you've got no will to power to change your state of mind even though it's perfectly healthy"... what's a human being more than a bunch of morals and will to power?...
Gandhi said : "Be the change you want to see in the world"....not any kind of a change..your most wanted Utopia starts from within your soul.
We were created as extroverts towards life and it opposes my faith if I contributed in changing God's creation of my mentality. Time to stop saying "I'm an introvert, & it doesn't matter if you accept me or not". It's time to say " I'm an extrovert towards life, and I'll force the earth itself to accept me".

غيبوبة

"وضعتنى أمى فى سريرى و دثرتنى جيدا بالأغطية و حكت لى قصة العنزة واولادها الذين لم يصغوا الى كلامها و الذئب الذى كاد أن يلتهمهم ثم قبلتنى وأطفأت نور الحجرة و خرجت ... تناولت كشافى من تحت الاغطية و ببطء تسللت الى طرف السرير و أخذت أراقب ذلك الثقب الذى يتسع و يتسع لكنه لا يبتلع السرير أبدا..هناك شاهدت العنزة و أولادها يقفزون فى الحفرة, الذئب يرقص ثم يذوب, أخى الأكبر يداعبنى قبل النوم ثم يختفى, أمى تخ

تنق, بيتى يندثر..لقد أصبحت عجوزا جدا على أن أمسك بكشافى لأراقب ذلك الثغر القبيح الذى يبتلع كل شئ ولم تواتنى بعد الجرأة لكى أقفز من السرير الخالد و أموت داخل الثقب...الوقت يمضى ولا أحد يصل الى السرير ليأخذنى معه ولا أحد يوقظ الشاعر فىّ و ينيّم الطفل داخلى... لا أموت ولا أحيا...فقط انا و الثقب و السرير وصوت جهاز التنفس الصناعى الكريه و الوعى المتسرب والممرضات المتشائمات...لقد أمضيت الكثير من عمرى فى هذه الغيبوبة على ذلك السرير القذر فى ذلك المستشفى اللعين...الوعى ينسكب داخل الثقب الأسود...قدمى تتدلى...أخلع منامتى...وأقفز في الثقب...لن يسجل جهاز تخطيط المخ اى نشاط عصبى بعد الان...و ستستقيم خطوط جهاز ضربات القلب من الان فصاعدا...أنا والثقب نلتحم سويا "

الفتى الذى يَلِدْ والعذراء

يستلقى الفتى على ظهره فى الظلام وليس ثمة ما يفعله سوى أن يستشعر ذلك الدق العنيف..هناك من يدق بقوة على قفصه الصدرى لكن من الداخل...هناك من يكسر العظام ويشق لحم الصدر...هناك من خرج من المكان الذى يقبع فيه دوما مضرجا فى دماء صديقنا المستلقى فوق السرير..."لقد تمت عملية الولادة بنجاح"..."هل يمكن لفتى أن يلد؟" تتساءلون فى دهشة...اذن بم تفسرون خروج القلب من مكمنه فى الصدر وتحوله ببطء الى جنين بشرى كامل ل

ه قلب خاص به؟...جنين ولد بلا أم ... جنين ينمو الى جانبه بلا رحم يحتضنه...سرعان ما مات الأب لأنه لم يعد يمتلك قلبا يضخ دمائه الفتيَّة...وسرعان ما نما الجنين حتى وصل الى السن الذى مات فيه أبيه....كلما تقرر أن تتغير ستلد انسانا جديدا من أعماقك...يحتوى صفاتك الأساسية وخلاصة الروح...لكن البصمة فى الأعماق تتغير لأنه لا يوجد فى الكون ما يثبت على حال الى الأبد...والا لِمَ تتطور الأحداث وتتعاقب فصول قصة حياة كل منا؟...يمكنك أن تكرر قصة العذراء مريم مع نفسك دائما بطريقة مجازية...أوَليس التغيير الى الأفضل نفحة من نفحات نِعَم الرب؟

لا أكتب كلماتى عبثاً

لا أكتب كلماتى عبثاً...وهل يعبث الانسان بكلماتٍ قد تعيش بينما هو هيكل عظمى فى قبره؟ وهل يعبث الانسان بتضارب خلود كلماته مع فناء جسده؟ واذا كانت الكلمة ذات قوةٍ وتأثيرٍ فى من يقرءونها ألا تمثل عندئذ ذات الكاتب الوجدانية فتخلَّد ذاته مع كلماته؟...لا أكتب كلماتى عبثاً..ولا أكتبها فى حياتى لكى تقرءونها, فلتقرأوها بعد مماتى ولتقولوا : عاشت وماتت حالمة...لا أكتب طلباً فى الهروب من واقعى, فواقعى هو أفعالى و أفعالى فلذة كبد أقوالى التى أسجلها على ورق...أحبائى, لا اكتب لأتقرب لكم...فما البعيد وما القريب فى أبعاد الكلمات؟..لا اكتب عبثاً ولا أطلب بكتاباتى رزقاً ولا احن الى ما مضى ولا اتطلع الى ما لم يأتِ بعد...تزاوجتُ مع كلماتى وأنجبنا حاضراً حلواً وأخيه نبع كلمات لا ينضب الا حينما أتوارى فى القبر.

أسرارى واعترافات جمادٍ حى ...

أتَلمَسُ حوائط البيت التى شهدت طفولتى وأستشعر أرضيته المصنوعة من الملاط تحت قدمىَّ الحافيتين التى تحملت دبيبهما المستمر...أتأمل سريرى الذى أحلم عليه والقميص الذى أرتديه منذ عام والنظارات أمام عينىَّ: أنظر دائما عبرها لا اليها..ويتوجه نظرى الى الجسد الذى يحتوينى غريبٌ عنى؛ فأنا الروح الشفافة وهو تجسدٌ مادىٌ غيرها ويرعبنى أن كل هؤلاء ليسوا من الجماد...انهم أحياء فقدوا النطق...يصرخون من حولنا فلا نسمع..أ

حقاً سيشهدون علينا وعلى اثامنا وخطايانا يوم البعث؟ هل هذا انتقامهم لأننا لم نكن بالحس الكافى تجاههم منذ بداية الخلق؟ هل لأننا نسينا حكمة الأشياء حين عرض عليها الرب تحمل المسؤولية بدلا من الانسان فرفضت خشية أن تعصاه؟ ...يقولون فى التفاسير أننا يوم الحشر سنتعرى امام بعضنا وتتبدى سوءاتنا لبعض كما تبدت سوءات ادم وحواء لبعضهما منذ يوم سحيق..البعض ظن أنه التعرى من الملابس فقط...بل هو التعرى من الأقنعة يا سادة...أقنعة البراءة الكاذبة وسوف تظفر الأشياء بانتقامها كاملا فى الملحمة الكبرى أمام بعضنا...ستبوح الحوائط بكل سر..وستذكر الأرضيبة نية كل خطوة فوقها...سيتكلم السرير عن مغامرات فى عشق محرم...القميص سيحكى عن مشاجرة مع الوالدة والتطاول عليها...ونظاراتى ستعرض حياتى كاملة فى فيلم سينمائى قصير.سيشهد الجسد بكل صغيرة وكبيرة...لذا يا سادة قد تتفهمون أنه لا أسرار لدى...أؤمن أنكم ستعرفونها فى أية حال لذا لم أخفيها وتقولها بدلا منى الأشياء؟..لن أنتظر يوم حسابى لكى أعترف أننى لست ملاكا..لست ملاكا على الاطلاق..أحيانا أحسبنى شيطانى الخاص !

الموتُ حياةٌ أبدية

وكحّلت أهدابها بسواد خطيئة سكرية نسى السابقون تذكير اللاحقين بأنها خطيئة..ثم تقول فى دلال خادع "لا تسئ بى الظن.."
وصبغت شعيراتها البيضاء بنبيذ الجنون القانىّ وابتسمت وهى تقول "الجنون هو ألا تشرب نبيذ الحياة ذاته"..وتتوالى شهوات الدنيا فى سحنتها
تصطرع الشهوة مع الشهوة للايقاع بك ثم يأتى الموت مشوَّها ليخلصك من سحر عينيها فتسأله "من سبَّب لك هذه الندوب الكريهة؟" فيرد "هى سبَّبتها لى"
"لم تحتمل كونى بوابة

العبور الى أبدية الثواب والعقاب فشوَّهنى شيطانها ومازالت الحياة حوريتكم و انا كابوسكم الا لمن عَقِل بهدى من ربه"
سكت الموت .. وبدأ فى ممارسة عمله..لا يتكلم الهلاك مع انسان الا كان عليه قبض روحه ليذهب الى الأبدية..أليست الابدية هى مغزى الحياة؟!
فما الحياة اذا كان الموت هو مؤدِّى مغزاها وهو بوابتها للأبدية الحقَّة؟ الحياة لا شئ..ما بعد الموت هوالحياة الحقيقية, فابْتَعِد عن شهوات حورية عقيم

Last visit to the church

“They say the grass over the other side is greener, son. Your garden will never prosper for eternity on this side where sins watered the ground” the old man said, the one who was sitting beside me in the pew.

The old stranger in the chapel gave me cold shakes through my backbone. “That’s why I go to church every Sunday, that’s why I read from the bible every night, I seek my garden on the other side“

“Son, having Faith in the lord differs in many ways than having faith in what humans say about him. How could you get his Garden of Eden by listening to what humans say about Him? Christendom is very obsolete, Trinity faded…the son had been crucified for your sins, the Holy Ghost had disappeared, and who remains? The Lord”

“If you are not Christian, why do you attend the mass? Why do you even come to the chapel? It doesn’t make any sense, Mr., don’t come here to offend our religion, besides, the son, Jesus, will come back” My temper slowly grew, what did he mean by this gibberish? I wondered

“And how do you know if he is coming back to be your savior or coming back to be the hands of lord to punish you? The Lord is upon us, He doesn’t need humans to speak by his name. He had already spoken his last holy word for the man-kind. Now all you –we- have to do is to follow it” He got up, and was leaving but before he left he handed me a small book, and without another word he left.

I opened the book, and started reading, and the choir was still singing in angelic Latin. The first page said: [1] In the name of Allah, Most Gracious, Most Merciful. 

[2] Praise be to Allah, the Cherisher and Sustainer of the worlds; 

[3] Most Gracious, Most Merciful; 

[4] Master of the Day of Judgment. 

[5] Thee do we worship, and Thine aid we seek, 

[6] Show us the straightway, 

[7] The way of those on whom Thou hast bestowed Thy Grace, those whose portion is not wrath, and who go not astray. 

It almost sounded as angelic as the choir singing, but then again did that old Muslim fool think that I'd get convinced by another religion that easy? but I've to admit, this was my last visit to the church.

Stepping into Nothingness

In one hand she held her teddy bear soaked in blood, in the other she held her pipe, just smoking, doing seldom more. She was thinking about her parents, and how dull and over protective they are, though she was 8 years old, they wouldn't let her have a boyfriend, you know, that cool 16 years old hot kid who got her that stolen pipe. "Age doesn't matter" he always said, then leaned over to kiss her on the cheek and then comes the famous " I love you, babe". When the pipe didn't give her good smokes anymore, she tossed it aside, she didn't know how to stuff it with tobacco and she didn't even have any, she barely knew how to light it. Her dumb parents! Always on work, always so busy making fucking money, you know? who needs any damn money when he has no real parents? Have they been for her when the school janitor went after her in the school's backyard? Have they been with her to put her into bed every night? no, they hired some nanny who didn't even care to read her a bed time story and when they finally get to be in home, they played tough as if that's parenting: To be tough on the kid when he's doing harmless shit in front of you which makes him or her wants to do all the bad shit behind your back just to piss you off. Her mother was a heavy smoker, the six-packs-a-day kind of a smoker, her father too but he didn't smoke as much as her mom, she used to steal a cigarette or two to try them, the sweet little girl wanted to find out why her parents loved smoking these fags more than spending time with her? she didn't understand why. After she tossed away the pipe she gave her unclean teddy bear a last hug, and put it beside her parents' dead bodies, she stabbed them with the pocket knife which her elderly boyfriend had given her. She hated them but she gave each a last kiss on the cheek, and she opened the door of her play room, and she looked back to planet Earth from her outer space. She stepped out of the room into the space and she suffocated to death in her own nothingness, she wasn't really 8 years old, she was sixty when she hanged herself and committed suicide , it didn't matter whether she served time for murder or not, she wasn't really living any life, I mean, she lived to pity herself  without really growing up. But it's left for us to wonder whether her parents turned her into that monster of an unstable child, or did her elder peers transform her by putting these fake thoughts in her mind ? Even if they were true, there's no excuse to kill. But her parents deserved to die anyway, they didn't care for her enough and above all they didn't warn her of self-pity. Self-pity will kill you younger than expected, it will make you step into your own nothingness. There's no coming back from this one.

Resistance is Victory

Are you willing to sacrifice your life to save your humanity? what if I told you that you were the only "bad" left in this world, would you change or would you simply kill yourself for the greater good?, because the fact is there is no me, and there is no they, there is no one to blame for how you turned up to be. The God, and the people, they don't punish you for what you did, they punish you for how you turned up to be, for who you are. The ultimate sacrifice is never the dramatic one. The ultimate sacrifice is the Resistance. Resist who you are, change it. Resistance is Victory, and victory is to break your Ego, it's your ultimate sacrifice for your humanity, and then you'd stop being a victim of your Ego, and you'd be a victor, and maybe someday YOU will be the one who will change the world. After all, you're not the only "bad" left in the world, but you are still a part of it, a minimal part which represents it until you change.

The Lover of Medusa

I've been having these weird fits when I think about writing. An idea chasing the hell out of me. "The lover of Medusa". Medusa was a beautiful maiden of smooth complexion and fair long locks of golden hair. The maiden loved herself, above all enjoyed watching her hair floating on the surface of Neptune the master of Oceans in Athens. She used to go there everyday and swing her head in his cold waters on the shores of the mediterranean to watch her golden strings of playfulness beauty in his embrace. Neptune, as arrogant as he had been, never gave the maiden any attention. Why would he have? He had experienced women before, and that he hadn't liked. Not even for one bit. He couldn't understand why most of humans connected happiness, passion, fair being to women. He had tasted none of that with any woman, or any female of any species that had gone swimming in his waters all around the planet. Neither did Medusa the maiden care for Neptune, she had been falling for herself, his embrace meant nothing for her more than watching her own beauty of God's creation of her head. And so days had gone, with Medusa never having her hair cut, it grew to incredible length. With the growing of her hair, her ecstasy of watching it float faded and came the ecstasy of enjoying the cold waters itself, and so, some of her hair floated and some sank to the heart of Neptune. Neptune in himself Was the Water, he wasn't some form of being she could see. At first he had given her no attention whatsoever as all other maidens because she hadn't felt the intimacy of the waters, but as she had became the first creature to feel it, he became the Lover of Medusa. The masters of Athens fired up with rage when they had seen what Neptune was doing. Every day, when Medusa comes to his shores to feel his heart with her hair, he would gather all his waters at her feet to hold her with him, so Athens floated. Destroyed, while Earth faced drought and agony for the lack of water in other areas. The masters of Athens couldn't stand just watching and doing nothing while their empire was facing destruction and corrosion by Neptune's love. They could have brought war to him but they feared, he with his oceans, can drown them in his depths so instead, they had accomplished their revenge on Medusa. They turned her into a horrible Gorgon. A fiery monster. They turned her long beautiful hair into serpents. Each string of gold was turned into a snake. A sight so terrifying that it turns anyone who sees it into stone. She couldn't feel the waters anymore with her serpents . And the Lover of Medusa became alone in his depths, so weak to get a revenge at Athens and so alone. There, he had cried, the all mighty Neptune, for departure. That's why the oceans are so salty. You could taste his tears in the waters til eternity.

Diana

Open your eyes. If you lost your senses here have mine & lose yourself when the sun goes down, then other stars will appear on a black background and waves crush at your feet. The surfing board under your left arm near that pounding heart of yours. “ Just one more wave” you will say, tightening that bandage around your right wrest where you cut it when the last wave had thrown you so hard on the rocks of the shore. You will ignore the fact that you don’t know how to surf. You will follow the Myths of Diana. The urge of speaking to the so called Diana the goddess of the moon who lives beneath, near the bottom of the Atlantic will move you like a Marionette. You always assumed that if you are alone near to her, letting your feelings flow through the cold waves & somehow into her veins, her children of shadows of the moon will hear you and approve of you living with them over there to watch the dying stars while they give birth to others even more brighter . On the moon, the core of her heart you will watch the nebulae and will call out her name. “Diana” you will shout “Goddess of the moon” you will shout some more “you broke my heart”, then you will shout no more. 

Genesis

The World is spinning out of control.  From the moment of its birth, the World thought it witnessed many species trying to take control over it. The World, innocent as it was, and always will be, stood as history passed watching these species while fighting, and devouring each other. It stood there and watched, as its body, Earth, gets darker by the hands of its habitants. But World always reminded itself that it witnessed many peaceful times in ages when nature prevailed  over the millions of years of its existence as a third planet, or even when it had been still in the womb of the sun. Yet, the world was far too young to understand that there weren’t “many species” attacking each other in a concerning way that could lead to its destruction. There was only one species the Creator had built in the World’s memory. Only one species it is demanded to give all its pleasures to. The Creator, in the Genesis of the Universe, had Created The World, & asked it whether it’d take the responsibility of being the supreme creation underneath God’s heaven or not. The one that shall sacrifice all pleasures of life for serving the Good & denying the bad, for the Lord is all the good that ever exists. The World was given a mind to make his decision. It was such a hard & tough responsibility that it couldn’t accept, fearing it couldn’t accomplish its mission the way Lord had wanted .In order, God had put World in the services of the Humans. The species on which He will relay His sacred responsibility on. He demanded that the World shall live ages of abandonment, ages of Ice cold, ages & ages must pass it by for it to reach maturity and acquire the right circumstances to receive the chosen species --- Humans. In these millions of years of total solitude the Creator whispered in the ear, or rather the entity of his creation, World. The Creator told its creation that it will serve the chosen kind, & that its body, Earth, will endure pollution, destruction & contamination. The Creator told World that it will suffer and the Third planet will live in agony from the carelessness of humans, and that trees will die & water will dry & the land shall be burned from the rising temperature of the atmosphere melting its two poles, sinking continents with the salt water of World’s oceans of tears, however, the Lord continued to tell the World its future destiny saying that this was merely the Earth’s and World’s destruction. The Lord stated that the World’s end will combine with man kind’s moral end, when finally the greatest conflict amongst all takes place between humans. A one that won’t be related to the environmental crisis they’d cause to poor World’s Earth but to the constant wars between their groups & their selves. A one in which, in their last major conflict, goodness won’t prevail nor will the evil, but they will stand on the foot of equality. Only then, shall God eliminate the World, and start His Judgment after a period of time He only knows, but when that conflict takes place, it’d only mean the triumph for the Good & the doom for the Bad with Lord’s standards.  World didn’t fully comprehend those whispers. God implanted future in its mind in its ages of solitude before the Creation of the first human, but even though, it saw all their future fate as a one big conflict between greater good & self-interest, peace callers and war leaders, rich helping the poor while others spit on them, love and hatred, racism and anti-racism. Could it be that their existence will be their greatest conflict?, World thought. Could it be that all what comes next for them, Very soon, is no more than the Judgment they will deserve for the crucial choices each of them will make? World thought again, then Lord created Adam and deprived the World of its mind that thinks, leaving it only the part of it that obeys his orders, so, when it’s God’s wisest will that Adam descends from the Garden of Eden, only the supreme creation shall possess the Greatest gift of all to decide  – The mind. 

Hana Abdelhady