Its because of their silhouttes, i refuse to sing.

One Random thought after the other made me check this blog of mine again. Its just so easy to loose momentum when blogging. and ill tell you why,

Its because of their silhouettes ofcourse!

Their hazy yet distinguished outlines, they mark my stand. they define my posture, my stance. and yes, they are the reason i sing.

A blog without readers is not a blog at all, or so i thought.

Back in the days, when i was dedicated to my blog on msn, i felt that my stuff wasnt "out there". i felt frsutrated, yes i will say it as shamelessly, and as pompously as possible. I have a darn good thing to offer, and i can translate it to mortal linguistics and yet, the silhouettes that are present in my theatre is not enough for me to truly sing.

ofcourse, in a much poetic sense, i am just plain-dead wrong.

and yet its a pity of an excuse, but it is a reality.

We dont sing unless there is an audiance.

and im not talking about those who KNOW they cant sing, but those who KNOW that their voice can get them a standing ovation easily.

it is because of their silhouttes, i refuse to sing.

and i should have known.. not every soul is outlined in a silhouette, that even in my not-very-full theatre, i should sing. for those i dont know of, who are watching.. for those who happen to stand in the shadows, and my lime light cannot outline their silhouttes.. i should sing for them.

and more importantly,
i should sing for me.

I should go back to blogging. i missed it.

A poetic Debut- In the midst of Molecular Biology and Genetics

Its the strangest thing, how in the midst of molecular biology and gentics, amidst all the fuss and knots of pre-med, that i actually find the time ( and the inspiration for that matter!) to write.

Its the thing that keeps me sane i guess.

God bless the linguistics, and everything poetic. From music, to Art, Even medicine :)

Gob bless all our muses, be it people, objects and subjects of interest, or just our dreams.

A peice i wrote just now, un-edited- because i feel like it :)


. . .

Distinct, sharp and powerful
The Emotion that surfaced from the depth of my subconscious
Injuring the ambiance in its ascend,
It claimed its place pretentiously
And announced Incursion

I felt it
As my chest inwardly cleaved
And inwardly capitulated
Bowing to its dominance

I felt it
When my heart changed its notes of jazz
And opted a more neurotic tune
Pulsating, and infuriating
Tendons and bones, no longer could hold.

I felt it
When my limbs could no longer carry the burden of my weight
Once proud, careless and free
Now adhere to Newton's Law of gravity

I felt it
When my head's kaleidoscope of thoughts and dreams dissolved
Into a mocking nothingness
Into a mocking void

Reason escaped the boundaries of my judgment,
Like fretful ravens they diffuse into nothingness,
A black cloud, a black saturated cloud

I now pray for the earlier void again
For nothing could prepare me to the darkness diluting what has left of my faith

Distinct, sharp and powerful
The Emotion that surfaced from the depth of my subconscious

Distinct, Sharp and powerful
The pain it has inflicted
The sorrow it has submerged me in

Oh how Distinct, Sharp and powerful
Doubts can be

.....




Voice of reason, countering my poetic piece, and giving me some kinda peace:


When God leads to a Cliff,
Trsut him fully.
Only one of the two things will happen;
Either he will Catch you when you fall,
Or teach you how to fly.

Blogging. *sighs*

http://wild-adapter.spaces.live.com/default.aspx


It gives me physical pain when i go through the archives of my old blog. Gives me real, stinging, aching, physical pain.

I truly missed Bloggin.

A Poem I wrote For a 3 day Old Baby

I Visited the little princess ( a baby girl) and her amazing mother this evening, as soon as i got back, i had to type down some of what i saw. The mother is a first time mother, and the way she held, cherished, talked, laughed and cried with her baby was beyond words.. I had to write this down and dedicate it to My beautiful Friend, the mother, and her bundle of Joy.. Little Arwa. This was a poem from the spurr of the momment, i was captivated by the emotions that overwhelmed me. its not edited, not refined.. Its just a Poem of Pure Emotions, felt at that very momment seeing them together for the very first time :) So excuse any inconsistences in any infrastructure of the Poem.

God bless them both!

________________________________________________________________

My Bundle of Joy,
Your little hands,
Hold my world
And because of you
I touch the end corners
Of the perimeter
That Bound
Mortal Happiness

When Life was breathed into you
A new life was breathed into me
And when you opened your eyes for the first time to the world,
My eyes also opened to a different world
A whole different world
Simply Because,
You are in it.

My love
I hold you now
In the embrace of my arms
So tiny
So fragile
Don’t you know,
Little one
That it is you who holds me
In the embrace of you
The beautiful Body, and soul of you
The very tiny heart of you
Quietly thumping against my chest

A reminder of a life
So precious
So Generous

You are my gift
My blessing

In you I find my self
The best person I can be
In you I find my self
My perfection

You are
My perfection

My joy
My life

I love you
Simply
For breathing
The same air that I breathe

I know then
That I share the same air
With an Angel

God's Angel
An Angel
I can call
My own

Hope, for a poet.

Like thick clouds, overwhelmed.
Pregnant with rain,
Cold, heavy and unforgiving
They Plow the earth,
And reveal her secrets-
Extract it from the depth of her womb,
And they breathe, wail, and die.


Baptized sinners,
Flee from the glaze of the sun.
They are Kings of golden courts,
And the blood smeared on their hands, becomes wine.
And everybody,
Loves deep, red wine
In golden chalices.

Entombed, the living- in houses made by the dead
The Mocking bird is killed,
The ravens flock the empty gray hills,
They feast tonight on the flesh of those condemned of insurgence,
Insurgence to live,
Not to bow.

Speak to me of heroes
Speak to me of the dead
Where are they now?

. . . .

What you just read, is the result of staring at a blank windows page, not really thinking, and just..allowing myself to go tip-tap on the keypads.

I read it again, it has meaning. but it doesnt make any sense to me now. My head is a turmoil of frustrated thoughts..

It has meaning. I know it does, and it is grand. My writings, contrary to my imperfect human self, is grand.

Whats so scary.. Is that sometimes, i feel, as writers/poets, we are a tool. Just a tool. What comes from us can be the birth of somthing so.. grand. that we dont understand it at first, but reading it again, the words it self tells us a story.

We are tools.

And i am both scared,
And humbled.

Shout-outs to the UAE poets out there, You.. are beautiful. and i miss you all.

Lofecake, My dear- a special shout out to you! I miss you so freakin much its causing me physical pain lol!( notice the passionista of an arian :P)

A Frustrated writer about to Explode!

ok! so here's the freakin deal! SOME people, and i mean SOME PEOPLE * throws an angry jelous glance at sha* have been making me very jelous, verry jelous, to the point that i think im developing whats even worse than writer's block ( all my writer's out there would be familiar with this terminology, and to the non-writers out there, it basically means when your head is emptied from any decent thing what so ever to write about, and thus, you are left with a fat huge block blocking your creativity from flowing and embracing the white emtpy mocking smirking blank page)

SO ive been developing whats even worse than a writer's block, ive become FRUSTRATED. and when your FRUSTRATED, you develop this ugly knot in your tummy, and you feel like crying just for the heck of it ( and to feel like the dramah queen you really are) to just, let it out.

You see, to likes of me, writing is like.. breathing. Exageration mon cherie? let it be! Writing is the big fat ice-cream scopp that scoops all my fears, worries, pressing contemplative thoughts and whatever is in here *beats at her chest* OUT and touch that smirking mockering son of a tree of a white page and shut him up!

*siiighs*

So i have another smirking mockering son of a man who's challenging me, to make him ACCEPT english poetry. and he calls it, i qoute, "impossible". ( he's into Arabic poetry and he thinks now-a-days english poems are, how can i put it in a nice way? rubbish?)

So that came in one heck of a time, especially when im trying to fight the writer's blues ( terminology that means, writer's depression due to either NOT writing, or NOT writing somthin decent which is basically the same as the first one)

*siiighs*

So im gunna post this poetic piece with eyes full shut, cuz i know its very ruff around the edges and just.. like, bundles of words sown carelessly together to make up a being but i cannot figure what is it exactly.

This is what i call, a writer's leap of faith.

Ladies and gentlemen,

A production of a frustrated Poet..

____________________________________________________________________________________

I am..

--------


Fluttering,
Powder-frail wings
Crumbling,
In the confines of a tomb

I wish I haven’t died that night.


Weeping,
Hydrochloric tears
That plows the field.
It rains fire,
And fire rains stone.
And stone becomes dust,
And dust, remains dust
Till the rising of the dawn

I failed. And I pay- tonight.


I smother my grievances,
And beg it,
Please, no more.
Hush, now.
Sleep.
Please sleep.
Die.
Please die.

But it won't die.


Carve this heart of mine from stone
And hollow it and fill it with snippets of his poetry
With the liquid of his ink
With the caresses of his pen

I am a character
In his plays of beautiful customs,
And bullshit scripts


I wear a smile to hide the tears
And wear tears to hide a smile


I do not own my shadow
I am infused into him


He creates me
I am him
I am his life
I make his life


I am significant
And insignificant

Unworthy
To be worthy


And worthy
To be unworthy


Do you know who am I?

I am the reason you fell in love with him, stupid woman.
I am the reason you got your heart broken, you poor child.

I am the reason you laughed all your laughter,
And cried all your tears

I am words
The vein of him

The vein of a poet's world.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

300

A Piece Inspired by the Motion picture and Soundtrack of the Movie ' 300 '
Specifically, the Love Story Between King Leonidas and His Queen. In this Piece i try and tell the story of their love, i think the movie overshadowed a huge part of it and concentrated on the bloodshed and battlefields ruthelessly.


In This Piece, I give Voice to the Woman behind the veils; the tormented Mother, The Torn Lover, and the Longing and Loyal Wife.


I give Heed to the Queen.


Sound Track Numbers that Inspired my Piece:
[ From the Original Motion Picture SoundTrack- A Breathtaking Composition By Tyler Bates]
-Track9 [ Goodbye my Love]
-Track24 [ Message for the Queen]


__________________________________________________ _____________________________





A king lies in my arms tonight,
His crown rests on my chest
Adorned they are by gold leaves and ruby
But tonight they leave their golden throne
And bow with his sleeping head


A warrior lies in my arms tonight,
His armor no longer shields his body
I trace his scars…
Here is where a sword fell…
Here is where an arrow plunged
And here is where a woman would rest
On his scarred and heaving chest


A leader lies in my arms tonight
His men would know sleep no more
Their shields glisten in the cerulean night…
And their swords will feed the thirsty earth at dawn
He whispers not fear, nor death
He whispers only of me
Of me alone…


My love, lies in my arms tonight,
I cradle him close to my trembling heart,
That he would hear not my muffled trembling cries
And he whispers,
"I lie in the arms of my love tonight,
And at dawn I will lie in the arms of the dark winged angel of death
Oh if you were death
I would love death
If you were pain
I would love pain
If you were the battle field itself
I will fight until the last breath of me…"


I fear not death
I fear not pain
But I fear that tonight; will be the last night… I lie in your arms again…



. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .



A fallen hero lies in my arms tonight
His men carried him to me
I bring him close to my trembling cries
Tonight, I can cry
For tonight… He hears not my cries
For tonight, he lies in the arms of another…


My king, my husband, my love


I lie in your arms tonight.

Nights in White Satin

(Tuned to: Nights to white Satin, Notte De Luce - Mario Frangoulis)

I want to send my love to my beautiful Lofecake, the one who introduced me to Mario Frangoulis and a sea of other italian artists.. I love you.. and i want to congrat you for the arrival of your muse to your shores. All the longing.. All the frustration.. All the wait, is finally being rewarded. I dedicate this song for you.. May your Days in your new life be White Satin, even in the darkest nights.


Im Currently clueless as to what to write about in this post. My Good Friend Sno demanded an update, and i want to, for the sake of keeping this place alive. I didn't go all eloquent and poetic about an "awakening" in my previous post to sleep again..

Im in a whirlwind of different emotions right now, Confused as to what to pin down and write about. I just saw Spiderman 3 today, not as great as the 2nd part, but there is this thing that peter parker says in the movie that caught me, He said:

"It is the Choices we make, that makes us who we are"

So it comes back to us, to Be the people who we want to be? through the choices we make?

Here's another opinion:

" We dont trust strangers but we are strangers to ourselves.. so whose to blame?" - Lyrics from a Trapt Song.

Its easier to Believe in others, but it is harder to believe in ourselves.
Its easier to Forigve others, But harder to forgive ourselves.

Why?

Who are we? and why are we a mystery to ourselves? Do we make the People we are, or will ourselves remain a mystery to us? Do we have power over ourselves, or does ourselves have power over us?

Self-destruction.. How can that Happen..?

Us loosing power.. to us?
or us.. Overpowering.. us?

Before i confuse you more.. let me close this Entry with A piece i wrote not very long ago. Better close this post with something that actually makes sense. and what makes more sense than poetry? I think philosophers likes of Rene descartes who asked a thousand questions about " who we are" died lonely.. Because not many understood him. Or he probably died from confusion.. Because even he, couldn't understand himself. He was Overpowered.

If any of the ramble i said in my post made any sense to you, please do enlighten us.

I leave you now with something i wrote, Leave Your thoughts Behind :)

____________________________________________________________________

Muse: Kingdom of Heaven- Sound Motion and Sound track.

Kneel you shall not to the altar of those who judge you without knowing your character.
Mind not their judgment,
Their say,
For the only voice that is worthy to reach your heed,
Is your Own.
_____________________________________________________________
Doubt not that which you self contain of Soul,
Faith,
Of love.
Doubt All but your soul,
For if you Doubt your soul-
You Loose the power to believe in anything,
And doubt everything.
______________________________________________________________
Do not linger on the steps of yesterday hoping.
For all hope is good but this,
The hope you have for a past long gone is foul hope.
It is a plague,
That cripples your heart.
And when your heart is crippled-
It is not capable of hoping.
Not for Now,
Not for the future-
And not even for the past.
_____________________________________________________________
When you reach to hold a grasp of Soil in your hands from your crop field-
Know that you hold the World in your palms.
Greatness is not inherited, it is neither sold nor purchased.
It does not run in the veins of those with titles Alone.
Greatness is achieved.
When you reach to hold a grasp of soil in your hands from your crop field,
Know that you are not a farmer,
But a king..
Holding the world,
In his palm.
______________________________________________________________
Steel, Stone and Fire may break my Body.
But steel, stone and fire can never break my faith.
لا إلاه إلا الله و محمد رسول الله
____________________________________________________________________

R i s v e g l i o

I chose the title " R i s v e g l i o" because it represents what this blog is all about. In Italian Tongue it means " Awakening", and after a year of leaving the blogging world, " R i s v e g l i o" is the word behind my endeavor, my attempt to blog again.


I would like to Dedicate this " R i s v e g l i o" to the Soul of My Brother, My classmate, Rashid El Muheri, who have passed away in a car accident yesterday before Dawn.


May His Soul also meet a " R i s v e g l i o" , For what is Death but an Awakening from a long slumber? and what is death, but an awakening to the true life.. endless, Flowing.. Immortal.

To God We Belong,

And to God, We shall Return


I would Like to share the words of Gibran Khalil Gibran, My Poetic mentor, On the True " R i s v e g l i o"


Qoute:

"Your fear of death is but the trembling of the shepherd when he stands before the king whose hand is to be laid upon him in honour.

Is the shepherd not joyful beneath his trembling, that he shall wear the mark of the king?

Yet is he not more mindful of his trembling?

For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun?

And what is to cease breathing, but to free the breath from its restless tides, that it may rise and expand and seek God unencumbered?

Only when you drink form the river of silence shall you indeed sing.

And when you have reached the mountain top, then you shall begin to climb.

And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance. "


. . . . .
May you all Find your " R i s v e g l i o" in the lives you lead. For life, without Awakening.. Is not Life at All.