ولا انا الإتنين على شوية مثالية غبية

ولا مش عارفة اندمج فى الزخم عشان من زمان وحدانية

ولا فاقسة الضحكة اللى من برا والشتمة الجوانية

ولا قافشة ع الدنيا المتشطرة على ولية

ولا خايفة من جروح مُدّعى الحنية

ولا رافضة تحكمات السلطوية

ولا مرعوبة اصبح الاقينى فى غربة قاسية عليا

فمتدارية

ومستخبية..فى ايام هى هى

وواجبات تربوية عقلانية مادية وبلمستى فوضوية

وابداع حُر زى السحاب محبوس فى صفحة من دية

وبأغلى صُحاب حلوين وعلى مسافة بُعاد مكتفية

وبعجزى عن ترك نفسى انا مخبية،

روح جديدة غير اللى اعرفها بصه للسما ومستنية،

صوت ولحن ولون ورسم بالكلمات السخية

واعجاز جديد ينَبِّت ثقة بمعانيها اللى من زمان منسية

وتحدى مغامرة برّية وشغف بيزغزغنى زى فراشة شقية

المشكلة انى مش حالمة ولا بعرف رومانسية

فأحلّى الحقايق وانقش واقع حياتى بشريطة وردية ا

نا كده..برّاوية ومستحية وغلاباوية واونطجية ومستقوية

ومش ناقصة قساوة ولا  دناءة ولا هايبة حُكم المُر لانى عن عونه مستغنية!

فلأكون برّاوية

It opened me up to new dimensions of self exploration…uncovered layers of fear and pealed them off one at a time…introduced me to the bloody powers of the predators that is not wrapped in romantic stories or urban legends or political interpretations…and eye opened the true value of what i always possessed and practiced but in a smaller personal scale: Mighty will..Self value..hardcore esteem!!

I saw the Jan25 Egyptian revolution.

And today..I saw the growth and maturity and the milestone of the amazing Egyptian journey…and we continue.

One year from now i couldn’t breathe…

Today…I breathe full lungs…I breathe honor and hope.

البُعد بيشدنى شد…مع انى تحت امره من كل بُد…

 البُعد غرام وامتد…وَنَس..لا عمره جرح ولا صد

…

لم أرها قط إلا بطيات الصحف وصور عُلّقت على الجدار

ولكن..هى مثل الكعبة..متعلق قلبى بها وكيانى وفكرى

هى ذاك الجزء من الأرض الذى نملكه جميعاً ولا نملكه

الذى نحميه جميعاً ولا نحميه

والذى تمتلىء جنباته بسماوات عُلا وهو قابع على الأرض بصخرهِ

هى مدينة بقلب نابض للأرض جميعاً..

تغنّى لها كل من يعرف النغمات

 علمتنى أمى معنى “مدينة الصلاة” بصوتها فى ليلة غابت فيها فيروز

ولحّن أبى لها بدموع رأيتها لأول مرة..على باب القدس

حيلة العاجزين..الكلام والغناء والكتابة والصريخ

ويقهرنا العجز…فنُصلى للقادر

ونؤمن بأن تؤول إلى قلوباً تعلقت بها

رغم الأسلاك الشائكة..والرصاص

مدينة..تحاوطها أيادى المحتل

وتتجاذبها أطراف السلطويين والساسة

ويتحدث عنها العالم

ويبكى لها أصحابها

شوقاً وتمسكاً وإستحقاقاً

ويحاوطها الإيمان دائماً بأنها قائمة…لنا..أبد الدهر

وإن مادت بها الأرض بعنفوان الباطل..ستبقى قِبلتنا ليوم الدين

تدوينتى ضمن فعاليات: لأجلك يا مدينة الصلاة..ندوّن

Two polars grabbing us all the time…the happiness and the sadness…the tender and the cruel…the pleasant and the hated…

And my first born was a gorgeous baby boy…he was so so hard to carry in my tummy for 9 months…and was very very hard to deliver into this world…the naughty cute pie nearly killed me…and he was very very hard as a new born…didn’t allow me to sleep for the first 6 months…he would sleep for an hour then wake up to be fed then back to sleep for an hour and so on and on…

When he was about 8 months…I used to sing to him one sentence from a song that used to run on TV all the time…ana aktar wa7ed bey7ebak, Amr Diab and some times i’d sing: 7assoona ya 7assoona ya khdood el7elewa and  i would hold him and swing him slightly as i sing it and he would laugh so much…i would never forget his laugh…

When he was one year and 9 months old and on the same day i had delivered his sister with a C-Section…he woke up in the middle of the night wanting to drink and i was almost paralyzed after the operation couldn’t get up and get him water…so i kept calling at my mom to help him..he looked at his baby sister then looked at me and cried the most hurt angry cry ever…I would never forget his cry…

When he used to get a cold or some hurtful gas i couldn’t even breathe till he’s fine…his moment in illness or in pain just stole a piece of my soul…

When i see how sensitive and smart he is…how he looks amazingly happy with his little Boy stuff he likes…i feel like climbing the mountains of the world for him..and his well being is what i live for…each day…every day…

My baby girl was so easier in everything…the pregnancy was ok…the delivery was safe…mm…well, i did wake up in the middle of the operation…but i was fine afterwards…she slept a lot…and was always a doll…

She always had the most amazing smile…the most amazing laugh…the most delightful presence…when she was about one year old..I used to sing to her: jeeka ya jeeka la2 la2 jeeka…bt3ayaty/bted7aky leh…labsa za3boot o fardet boot o ray7a feen…and she would giggle happily…I would never forget the sound of her giggle.

When she was also about a year old…she got really really sick and her fever kept rising…two doctors couldn’t help me and i tried everything for days…on one particular day..noon time…after a warm bath trying desperately to lower her temperature…she cried so much…looked at me and clinged to my hands then fainted from the fever that hit the roof…at this moment i felt i was dying…i screamed to Allah…LAAA2..I screamed to Allah with all the prayers i never knew i had in me…and i took her to the bath tub again…gave her meds again…and Allah helped us both and saved my girl…I would never forget that cry…

every time i look at her i feel a blast of energetic love reviving me…i love her laugh…and i would do anything everyday of my life to see her laughing always…

Now as they are grown children..my boy is almost a teen, 11 yo and my girl is a graceful young girl, 9 yo…i can’t forget what makes them laugh now…and what made them cry sometime ago…and i do my best be the strong loving thoughtful mother they deserve.

but..you know what is happening these couple of days…and as i lay very sick in bed…can’t breathe and can’t bear the pain from the 40+ fever and the bronchospasm of the asthma…

Pure forms of love is taking care of me…

Jumana is holding my hands and tucking me in many blankets and handing me tissues and meds and keeping my room tidy …and when she comes so near to hug me and i ask her to stay away fearing she’d be catch my sickness..she would hug my waist or legs and kiss them.

Hassan is making me hot drinks and taking my temperature regularly and asks me if i need anything and checks on me when i sleep and empties the basket beside my bed…i would wake to him putting his hand on my forehead checking my fever…and he whispers if i’m ok and if i need anything.

They both keep very quiet and don’t even look upset they had to miss on their training…when i apologized because i couldn’t drive them to training (Hassan’s Taekwondo and Jumana’s Ballet) they reassured me it was fine and that i’m much more important.

They have my mother’s tenderness…they feel and act exactly the same as she does…when i am sick.

I am weak now…I am so weak…and I am so grateful…so so blessed…because masha’Allah la Qwata ella belllah…i have such precious son and daughter filling my heart with gladness and evaporating all the cruelties of other people and generating my will to exert all that i have and all that i am…for their precious selves.

A precious friend once educated me…guided me…to what should always matter the most…to the standard i should always measure things to it to figure out where i am and where i am heading

He taught me that things in life can blur me…trick me…fool me…all but this anchor…an anchor that is the mirror of my soul anchor, passion…and that is…my children…my heart split in two…my life and hope and goal.

It took me some slips… a few traps…trips… and slaps before i know that nothing and no one can ever come near that importance…that meaning…the soul.

They who were once weak…are I when i am now weak…are the love that holds us together strong.