A Poem of no Title

A shout shattering a thousand stars,
Still in stand with a univerise torn,
A million souls, screaming afar,
In a sound so mystical, and forlorn.

Falls of withered leaves of tree,
Winters of a reddish sun,
The month of June called on with plea,
Yet answers came from noone.

Flags of places where we don't belong,
Colors that made up histories we mock,
Names made of letters we don't comprehend,
We say the names each day,
Names we never felt.

Quarrels and disputes,
Over a lost cause,
The crimson spilled,
On a stony road.
We stumble upon the dead and kneel,
Seeing they're long gone,
Their lives we steal.

We trade all their misery,
With a smile of perfection,
We kill them yet again,
With a Providence rejection.
We pray to God for ultimate deliverance,
We shed glass-like tears,
Yet token our hatred,
With firey feelings, of persistence.

We clash, we crush,
We break our bones,
And stand up on a crutch,
To fight some more.

It's Pride and Vanity,
Mistaken for dignity,
And those hearts and minds,
Depend on a play of dice.

Alone we stand,
At the end of the day
Obsolete, wounded, and in dismay,
The color-masked faces,
Are now pale white,
As we wait upon it to cease,
This endless night.

Untitled

A morning sun,
A wavering tree,
And a shout that wakes the dead.

The rival moon,
Has set its wings,
While its chariot lingers about.

The thunder ceased,
The rain is gone,
But grayness still sweeps the clouds.

A morning sun,
A dying sun,
And a love that has dried out.

A flourishing moon,
A pale-faced moon,
And after the rain, mud stains the ground.

Thunder hits,
Rain begins,
Grayness is all around.

And souls hide,
In morning's night,
And never heard a sound.

Electra

An Electra,
Black, broken and
With tears
Her christening
A hellish day
of sear
And for eternity
She roams with horror
And fear.

Oh Electra,
Let all prophecies
Fulfilled
Let all shutters unfold
And darkness,
Hover in.

Mistaken,
You were for a forgiveness,
And the angels,
Will no longer
Carry your burden,
Go, Electra, fly
With unfeathered wings,
And scream,
Till the end of existence.

She marches
With a step
Steady in pace
Clinks of her heels
Echo the empty place

Cold and stiff
Her reddish eye
Searches the world
With a piercing cry
Then a loathsome prayer
To the setting sun
That awaits on it
To fade
And peacefully die.

Crowd

I was brought to Judgement
By words of the Lord
And against my chest
The painful pounding
Is going quicker
For the siren's call

From above the hill
The rising crowd
Moves in a walk
Of a mournful sound

Faces fall
Wry, dry and heavy
And eyes glare
At a sound so steady

They move along
In a foggy trace
Their shackles making
Lines in the sand
Walking and waiting
For the final stand

I close my eyes
Then open them again

I find them all
Standing still
Wax-like postures
Of a handy drill

Their hands were reaching
Out in hope
Their mouths were saying
A word of plead
Their eyes now stare
Into the emtpy void -
A forsaken breed.

There were many
There were few
There was only One
Now they lie in the darkened dust
And then there were none.

Clown-faced

Can't you feel proud
Of your latest victory
Your newest add to the shiny collection

Can't you be happy
For being so poweful
So smart you did it without detection

YOur fanciful dreams
Now coming all true
Feel proud as you will
Have it your way, your mortal intention

Be as boastful
As a happily fired
Shotgun
There's no more need
For a meaningless correction

Now you smile happily
Upon your arrival
Your flowers, their bloody odors
Turn pale white upon their rejection

Clown-faces smiling
Watery eyes staring
And your freeing mission
Accomplished
With absolute perfection.

Crossing the World

A heavy sigh
Of worn out dreams
Hustling to redeem
A melting soul

Measure the words
This forsaken world
Keeps in hiding
Its spiteful curse

A walk in the green
Darker than it seems
And blown in the air
Kisses forming cries

A master of disguise
He crosses all the lines
A gentle touch of a hand
Turn it all to yellow
And everything dies

She stripped all her miseries
A milky-road of insanities
Waits there upon her
To cross
Before the water dries

And hopeful she solely stepped
One foot in water
Another in mud
The trees around
Suddenly become
Brisk and alert

As the world trembles
The heavy wall falls
Crawling in thick water
She turns around and hears
The weeping of astounded souls


*The poem is partly inspired by Sylvia Plath's "Crossing the Water" and Salvador Dali's painting The Making of the New Man which is shown below.

Mystical

Mystical*

Mystical -
This agony purges
A thousand souls
Years flow by
Handing in
Their by-pass tolls
Green go dry
Flutters go still
A handful of children
Lost
In morning's chill

Mystical -
Almost magical -
How these spirits work
Carrying their debts
To the forsaken world;
Unmisted, pain-gifted
Sifted through the ages
Resting mildly, dying slowly
In the woods forming stages.

Mystical -
Almost cynical -
The prize-winning array
Dawns on the world
In colorful decay

The sound of fury
Heard in a thousand moons
Trumpets announce glory
Of hardened eyes and souls

Mystical -
It's final
The day has laid
Its heaviness
And in a distance
Seen the world
Gone in frantic raid.


*Mysticism: the experience of mystical union or direct communion with ultimate reality.

Obituary

If anyone watched the movie Serendipity, they will probably remember the scene where Jonathan (the main character) read an obituary that his journalist friend wrote him. It was so good that it haunted me ever since I watched the movie. Today, on my way to work, I passed by the cemeteries. I pass by them everyday, but today - for some uncanny reason - I started thinking about my own obituary. This isn't meant to be a sad note, but I kept struggling with the words in my head. What would people, if they had the chance, write about me when I'm gone? What would they say if they were given the freedom of speech when I'm no longer there to dispute or argue what they said?

What I came up with was bits and pieces of the things people tell me sometimes. Funny, kind-hearted, devoted, overly sensitive, over-thinker, over-dramatic, loyal, patient, hard worker, "doesn't like confrontations", possessive, creative, intellectual, crazy, easily irritated, 3andaha mashakel...and the list keeps going.

This, however, is how I imagined my obituary would look like (don't hate me for this)

"--Noha Hanafy, a moderately-known poetess of the age of 52, died this morning at 6:50 am. Doctors, upon arrival, announced the cause of death as sudden heart failure. She was a quite person who lived alone in an apartment filled with books, daisies, scented candles and hand-written poems. Visited sometimes by her life long friends, Hanafy had the habit of taking a walk in fresh air every morning, arriving back to her house around sunrise. She was well-spoken, opinionated and imaginative. Crazy at times, she almost always shocked people with how wild her mind can be. She was always a perfectionist, who sought wholeness in everything especially human relationships. She gave her whole heart out to the people she loved, until her heart gave in early this morning. With a smile on her face, a tired smile but a smile nonetheless, she sent her last breaths to the world. Although not publicly recognized as an important literary figure, Hanafy's writing occasionally inspired other young writers to pursue their dream and send their words to the void.

In one of her last pieces of writing, Noha Hanafy concluded a long piece of prose saying:

"A hopeless person would look back on their life and think they could have done more, achieved more. I'm not a hopeless person, not any more, not after all these years. I look back on my life and think I could have done much less for this very same destiny/ending"

Condolences are best paid at heart. Prayers are needed."

Feel free to add to the obituary, after all it'll be you writing it someday since I won't be around to edit.

*Elements from the actual obituary in the movie were used.