vendredi 27 septembre 2013

A hit on me

Oh my!! I remember that day perfectly.

One ordinary day at the library back in Rabat, I walked between book shelves trying to make up my mind about what to read. I was at loss, so many books, so little time. Anyway I stopped at the department of English Literature, and I glimpsed a little fancy-covered book, I took it and to my great luck, I found it to be “Oliver Twist” by Charles Dickens. Yes that was on my “to read” list. With that masterpiece in hand, I went to the most far away, distanced chair I found, for to read, is to be in another world, I need some space, somewhere calm and silent. I started reading the book. It was a heavy book from the very beginning. 

My feet just started to leave earth, into the world of fantasy when somebody pulled me back to earth. “Yes” I snapped as politely as I could manage; It was a girl, seems like  my age, white-skined, black-haired. Looking down at me, she asked me about the book am reading; thousands and thousands of books in the library and she wanted the one single book between my hands. I told her its title and even let her check it out. When she gave it back, she sweetly said that she’s heard that title elsewhere, I confirmed, she was damn right, that title was given to some song, the reason? I don't know of. And the girl was pleased. I wanted to go back where I left; I smiled at her as a dismissal polite smile and then carried on my task. Something was wrong with her, or maybe with me. Whatever!

I got back to my reading. As preoccupied my mind was, I was conscious about somebody eyes at me over the book. That strange feeling of being watched washed my body. I kept pushing it to some dark side in mind but in vain. I finally looked up. It was the same disturbing girl. Just sitting across of me and staring. That's rude, I thought, to just stare at people like that. Or at least that's what I've been told as a child. I forced a polite smile and before she voiced that phrase lingering between her open lips, I returned to my Utopia. She didn't let go. 
..........


mercredi 25 septembre 2013

Toutefois,

Aujourd’hui sa fait 2 semaines qu'il ne l'a pas appeler,
15 jours sans entendre sa voix,
Sans savoir s'il va bien ou pas,
Sans sentir son angoisse muette,
Sans lui mentir et lui dire qu’elle va bien,
Sans avoir sa bénédiction,
Et elle, elle l’aime encore et pour toujours,
Oui, elle l’aime.
Même s’il l’insultait sans cesse,
Même s’il n’a avoué son amour que quelques fois,
Même s’il jouait le rôle du mec dure,
Elle l’aime pourtant.
A chaque fois qu’ils se voient,
A chaque fois qu’ils se quittent,
C’est en se bagarrant qu’ils se disent leurs adieux,
Elle, mourant pour un simple câlin,
Lui, souffrant pour lui en donner un,
Et ainsi le silence règne.
A chaque fois qu’ils se voient et se quittent,
C’est toujours le même refrain, le même scénario qui se répète:
Des regards troublés, des larmes étouffées, des cris égorgés et des mots inexprimés.
A chaque fois condamné, il lui donne des prétextes,
A chaque fois déçue, elle lui en donne raisons:
Que l’amour n’a pas à être dis, mais à être sentis,
Qu’il est lui même, et c’est comme sa son mode de vie.
Elle s’ rappelle, qu’un jour, il ne lui a pas laissé le choix,
Elle a souhaite que son grand-père mourrait encore une fois,
Pour qu’il ne lui laisse pas encore le choix,
De la serrer fort, fort dans ses bras encore une fois,
Fort que tous ses pièces brisées se collent,
Maintenant,
Fini les moments de « regardes moi et je grille tes pensées »,
Fini les moments de joie, de cache-cache et de foie,
Fini les moments de «  tu es la mienne et personne ne mettra la main sur toi »,
Fini les moments de « fais ta prière ou je te casse la tête »,
fini les moments d’être la Brown Sugar à son papa,
En bref, fini la vie de la fille à son papa.
Je pense que c’est ce que mon père veut dire,
Uh, je veux dire que c’est ce que son papa à elle veut lui dire,
Que la, il faut grandir.
Mais elle, elle a juste pas envie de grandir, périr, souffrir, nuire,
Etre et rester la fille à son papa, c’est ce qu’elle désire poursuivre.
(P.S. my first attempt of writing in French)

J'étais formidable, et t'étais juste fort minable, disant fort misérable.

mardi 24 septembre 2013

Would you like it if people pick up one aspect of you, one wrong thing on ya, and name you after it, like you big nosed, or left-headed? would you like it? would you like people forgetting your name and called ya by your new stupid nickname?
No, of course not, then that's how people feel when you  call them "3zi"/ "3zia" not as an implicit insult, but just to say 'that one coloured guy / girl'.
YES, I am 3zia and proud, but being called in such a way by my friends, even as a joke, even as a compliment, is not that pleasant, not that I am ashamed of my own colour, but it's just annoying.
Yours,

حايرة

حايرة بيني او بيني
حايرة بين مبغيت و مابغاو لية
بين ماختاريت و بين ما ختارو ليا
حايرة أنا بين الدين و الالحاد
بين الاحسان و الحقد
بين العز و الذل
حايرة بين الكاس و الكاس
بين الكاس و الفاس
بين الفاس و الناس
بين الناس و الباس
حايرة بين البيس اند لوف و بين  fuck the police and the system
حايرة بين هوية مدفونة و هوية محقونة
بين ثقافة مدمومة و ثقافة مهمومة، دمدومة
و صراحة مابقاش عجبني الحال
مابقاش عجبني الحال و عيت منحط عليهم اللومة
انا، انا لتعطلت ماشي التران مشا علية
انا، أنا لمبغيتش نقرا، ماشي بسباب المنظومة التعليمية
أنا، انا لمبغيتش نخدم، ماشي حيت فرص الشغل قليلة
انا، انا لمبغيتش نعيش، ماشي بسباب غلاء المعيشة
أنا، انا لمبغيتش نفهم، ماشي حيت الافلام التركية و الهندية عمرات التلف
انا، انا لمبغيتش نهضر، ماشي  حيت حرية التعبيير  shuuuuut
انا، انا لمبغيتش نفهم، ماشي حيث حرية الصحافة مقموعة
انا، انا لمبغيتش نستقل، ماشي حيت باقا كاينة التبعية
حايرة انا
حايرة بين انا و انا
بين انا و نتوما
واش بسبابي انا، نتونا ولا هما.

To have breakfast, or not to have breakfast, that's the one big challenging question

lundi 23 septembre 2013

One day I went out,
Walking down the street
People staring down at me,
Staring at me makes me down
People staring at me,
Their eyes full of something I don’t know,
Deep down I know what’s that something
They just confirm what circulates my mind, at that time,
I felt as a stranger
No, I am a stranger in here,
A misfit,
Though I am from this one country,
But still ain’t from this one city,
Am alienated…..
I no longer do socializing,
Like in I can’t socialize no more,
I no longer communicate,
Locking a book up my face,
I am living in a bubble,
Too coward to burst out of,
I fear the imperfection, I fear the perfection,
I fear the disappointment,
I fear my fears.
I fear the emptiness all around me,
Covering me, suffocating me,
I fear my fears.
" You are going to reap just what you sow"

vendredi 13 septembre 2013

I had a dream, those eyes,
Those grey eyes
Those hazel grey eyes,
No, they weren’t grey,
They were something unbelievable,
They were something un-earthy,
Something from heaven above,
Though he was a police officer,
Though he was to arrest me,
Those eyes of his,
Gonna haunt me forever!!!

vendredi 6 septembre 2013

Blues and me, or rather, me and the Blues!

- I've got the blues,
Only the blues can fulfil my dirty tastes,
dirtier tastes
Robert Cray, Howling Wolf, Albert King
Muddy Water, Little Walter, Eric Clapton,
Sonny Boy Williams, Etta James, Stevie Ray V,
Melvin Taylor, Shemekia Copeland.......
Depends on my mood
Oh my ! u really are a blues girl, someone said
No, am just a beginner
The blues I love and get me drunk
is the dirty one
Especially with the slide guitar
It takes me to the darkest side of myself
Darkest side of the world
of pain
of sadness
of madness
of sadomasochism
of pleasure
of joy
of incomplete happiness
I keep drinking it,
And drinking it
u know that that kind of sorrow that makes u feel happy
and sad at the same time
because you know your pain, you know your shitty screwed up life and still u enjoy it
You enjoy every fucked-up bit of it
Because somebody shares with you your pain and your shitty screwed up life
You enjoy every fucked-up bit of it
I never knew that such a thing has such an effect
I never knew that some music, some lyrics would make up my mind,
Verbalize my ideas, just are they are in my head,
I was into Hip Hop, Rap, Soul, Metal, Rock n' Roll, Jazz
None fulfilled my dirty tastes,
The need to share sorrow,
The need to know that You ain't alone in that shitty screwed-up life,
Ain't about blues all the time,
I even laugh when listening to some,
Funnily life make fun at us,
But all we can is keep that awkwark yellow smile
And Smile back,
Smile and cry
Sufferance and laughter,
Just to face up that shitty screwed-up life of us, of you, of me