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.