WE

I am estranged from my own home
With you I feel I'm more alone
What can I do when it's insane
Closure is done, what's left is pain
We're crying

I move forward, I hit the wall
I feel empty, and you feel small
It's awkward, I wish it comes to an end
We're family, but now I feel as friends
We're dying

I'm talking, please stop doing that
Long silence as if it were a combat
I wish we'd fight then let it go
You freeze a grudge that melts so slow
And deny it

We need to breathe, not count our breaths
We're lifeless, are we inviting death?
I can't help but wonder if it's all worth
Being estranged from mother earth
I'm flying

Forgive me; what I said was a must
We strayed somewhere, somehow we're lost
You want out, leave, and take a break
It took long and now our smiles are fake
We're lying

The guilt has consumed the best of me
I fight it yet I feel guilty
You mastered giving me the guilt trip
I wish I could say "I sailed that ship"
Good-bye

You Worry So Much

What has essentially happened long time ago

worries you so much
What actually happens in your life today

worries you so much
What could potentially happen to you tomorrow

worries you so much
Your looks, your health,  your career, your wealth

worry you so much
What could possibly happen to the ones you love

worries you so much

Losing control, change, loss, relationships

worry you so much

The fear of eventually ending up alone

 worries you so much

And slowly you lose your ability to fly

And little by little your glow fades away
And your heartbeat slows down before it dies
And you wonder if it's too late to pray

That book behind your head had it all along
Look at the birds of the air, they don't sow nor reap
They fly and multiply,  they eat and sing their songs
While you worry too much and lose more sleep

Wipe your tears, yes you know that it can be worse
Wipe your tears, try to learn when you're not the first
Keep the faith in yourself, it's the master's touch
Lose control and smile, 

Hey, you worry so much

Sweet Little Stories

A young smart lady, her name was solution
came across the man of her dreams, his name was confusion
A once unknown street car named desire
drove up the street "immortal" and still drives with the same tires
An elderly lady walking with the help of a cane
Found home when she got lost on "happy memories" lane

And do you know what they all had in common?
They were hopeful that a sweet little story would find them

A lonely beautiful flower proudly called herself Gem
could not hold her head high without the support of her stem
When she realized that beauty is not the only power
Her stem lifted her up to belong with a big bed of flowers
Two strangers instantly fell in love over that scene
Gem is no longer a "one flower show", her pride is in her team

And do you know what they all had in common?
They were hopeful that a sweet little story would inspire them

But does this happen to you?
Hey, does it ever happen to me?
we're hopeful people too but the question is
do we believe that our dreams can turn into reality?
Yes we have hopes and dreams, but do we believe?

A broke ancient incomplete song started whining
Stumbled across an opportunity in "creative rhyming"
A broken hearted playwright wrote the play "love hurts"
Won the drama prize but his happiness came from a love bird
A happy ending to every story is not realistic
But we all know there's no hurt in being a little optimistic

And do you know what we all should have in common?
I say a hopeful approach to a sweet little story is a good omen

Sweet little stories have been coming my way
If I let them in, they would brighten my day
Sweet little stories have been coming my way
If I let them in, they would brighten my day

Four Blocks

It has been some time since I walked and now it feels like I'm learning how to walk using two legs and two feet instead of one with crutches. 

This morning, despite of the weather, I felt the need to walk into the Palisades park, which is four blocks away from where I live. 

The first block got me thinking, whom am I fooling? I can't do it. I should head back and wait till I get better. But I know that pattern and I know that feeling too. I reminded myself how hard it is when I swim the first few laps till my heartbeats and breathing get in sync. I'm no quitter, I kept on going.

The second block was even more difficult, crossing the street made me feel guilty about keeping the cars waiting while I'm slowly making my way. I thought I saw impatient looks on the drivers' faces. But as soon as I made it to the other side, I knew that what I saw was my need to create obstacles that would convince me to go back. No one complained, no one honked. It was me telling myself that what I was doing was wrong when there was nothing wrong about it, just uncertainly.

The third block had a voice, it said that I'm a little bit more than half way through and that It's not too late to go back and settle down with the experience that I had so far. But I kept on walking. As soon as I made it close to the end, the voice changed the quitting topic to "what was it that I was trying to achieve". I had to agree with that one, I was questioning myself " so once I make it to the last block, then what?" I knew that this was a pattern in my life, getting stock in the destination than enjoying the experience. What was it after those four painful block? Let it be whatever the hell it's going to be. I want to be open to possibilities or the lack of them.

The final block was a determination full of doubt. Making the same mistake was easier since the goal is now closer. The fourth block had a partial view of the ocean and the park, yet instead of enjoying that, I was attaching meanings to everything, to every step, "So now what!",  "Hello life, I know you, and you have disappointed me over and over". But it wasn't life that disappointed me, it was me disappointing myself by focusing on the goals I couldn't reach rather than enjoying the goals I achieved so far. I came to realize that it's not people around us, it's really not reality or circumstances that let us down, push us away and reject us. Even though they do contribute partially, however the most powerful obstacle in letting ourselves down is always US. And we do a good job at it. I'd say we're experts.

Here's the park and to my surprise, I didn't mind the weather at all. I forgot my disability of walking normal. I walked over 30 minutes not counting the four blocks. I walked with ease and felt good. I sat down for 15 minutes to watch the ocean. I loved every minute of it. People seemed happy or maybe it was my own feelings. I took many pictures, played some music and sang along. I lived in the moment without attaching meanings to the moment, it was a simple four block-walk that got me there and another simple four block-walk back that took me home. And home always feels good

The voice of an Angel

A few decades ago, on a quiet peaceful evening, my journey with music started in a forest that looked like a dream. There was one lonely rural swing in that forest. I sat down to swing and suddenly some kind of sacred music started pushing me. It pushed me hard so I could reach the stars in the sky. It pushed me gently, like a bird who needed to learn how to fly, and it pushed me to explore, like a mother who would finally allow her baby to become the son of life.

I was scared, yet there was some kind of mysterious excitement with that mystical power. I was laughing with joy and crying with passion. I learned what tears of happiness were as I was picking up the stars from the sky, one star with every swing, and planting them on musical sheets made of big leaves. I saw the moon right next to me, I think I touched it a few times, we became neighbors. I fell in love and I woke up to realized that my dream wasn't just any dream, it was musical, magical, and yet, real. The dream became a journey with no destination other than enjoying the pure sensitivity of a voice of an Angel.

That angel took the liberty of teaching me how to listen with my heart and how to go deeper beyond the beautiful layers of melodies. Her voice was mesmerizing. Her heartfelt singing made every word sound like soothing water coming out of the fountain of life. Reflecting upon the stories behind the music, made poetry, philosophy, and simple tales take different dimensions.

Her songs in the mornings were like peaceful whispers, gentler than the morning breeze. Her music at night drew her like a fairy, flying in a silky turquoise dress to light up the stars.

Her singing was like a prayer that felt natural to all traditions and religions. She sang to every one, from a toddler and a mother, to the oldest grandparent, from soldiers to lovers, from palaces to the plants growing on abandoned houses. She gave wisdom to philosophers, holiness to the houses of God, colors to rainbows, fragrance to flowers, thoughts to thinkers, music to lovers and love to the universe.

Sadness is always easier to capture in art than happiness, and she's famous for her sad work of art. But instead of making you depressed, her art elevates you to serendipity. She's quiet and shy, but when she talks, she uses jewels in her vocabulary. She sings her words and she's loved. "Adored" doesn't express the love she has from the world. And the love she has from the world doesn't measure up to the work of art she's given the world throughout her five and half decades of music.

Bigger than life, holier than Jerusalem, classier than queens, more peaceful than doves, with a presence that makes you kneel down and pray as if you're in front of a Goddess. A mother who lost a child, a mother who gave birth to a prodigy and a wife who trusted her husband's creativity; a true legend in songwriting. I'm talking about the sensational enchanter, the moon neighbor, our ambassador to the stars, Fairuz

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0jbNtKNw3tA

http://almashriq.hiof.no/lebanon/700/780/fairuz/legend/biography.html 

While we're having sex you talk

While we're having sex you talk
Way more than the situation calls for
The things you say work like a chock
I let them slide so my wheels can roll

A one way conversation I try not to hear
So I keep my focus between the sheets
Cause your words work like an anti-gear
That once stuck, all it does is repeat

That baby language, you think is hot
just does not do it for me in bed
You open your mouth, but here's a thought
"Silence is gold" was not randomly said

The things you say I hope you don't mean
In the heat of the moment we might all do that
And once those moans turn into screams
I have to remind you, it's not a combat

Relax baby, I'm sure I'm not your first
Relax and remember, it's sex not love
I know sometimes the warm up hurts
But trust me, play along, I know my stuff

While we're making love could've been
A better choice of words, you said last
You act as if I gave you a ring
When we agreed on "No Strings Attached"

And while we're having sex don't talk
So we can do our thing, in and out
Try silence once, baby don't balk
Silence is the trance on which you're missing out

Righteous Mourning .... in Black

When my Grandpa died I was 8. I remember going with my family to my grandpa's apt and at one point we, kids, were left in the living room and wanted to watch cartoons. We turned on the TV and immediately got rebuked by my Aunt who was wearing black, like the rest of the women who were visiting to give their condolences. When we went back home, I asked mom if I could turn the TV on and she said that it was okay as long as it was not too loud.

Years later, my Aunt died, and mom had to wear black all over again. Wearing black in Syria is a tradition for respecting the dead. But wearing black for a whole year has been frowned upon by the older generation because it was too short of a period and disrespectful to the person who passed away. My friend George told me how he never saw his grandma in colored clothes because her husband died young and she wore black for the rest of her life. So now you can understand why wearing black for a whole year is an inappropriate behavior.



I turned 18 and my uncle passed away, he was only 52. I remember sleeping over at their place because his wife couldn't bear the idea of sleeping alone with her daughter without a man in the house. Boy I was the man of the house for three days till her son returned back. There was something in my pocket that was burning my skin for the whole three days and the minute I went back home, I had to take it out of my pants and play it. And if you think it's anything other than "Air supply"'s newly released tape, then shame on you. Anyway, I politely asked dad if it was okay to play music and he smiled and said "don't be selfish, play it here in the living room so we can listen too". Again, I was only 18, but I knew then and there that Dad was not like the rest of the grown ups. He was more open minded and he realized long time ago that if we stopped breathing every time someone died, we'd follow shortly. Dad told us that when his father died and everyone left the apt the very first day except for him and his siblings (who were all married and lived with their families close by) his mother, my grandma, asked them to play cards because it was something their father would have enjoyed. How disrespectful according to the customs in Aleppo!!!

Now Dad himself had passed away this year and it's been a struggle for us keeping up with the expectations of the society. So let me highlight a few pointers first so that you can tell how little we loved our father. According to the rules of mourning, men have to earn a living, so they don't need to do anything except visiting the first three days to pay their dues. Women on the other hand have a lot of rules to follow. If they were married, and one of their family members passes away, then they're supposed to wear black for 6 months only, now that we're in 2010. If they're not married, then they're supposed to wear black for a whole year. Once the period is over, then they should switch to black and a little white, like a scarf for example, a period of 2 weeks is served in black and white before another month or two are served in transition. That transition includes wearing dark colors, like gray, navy blue, and dark brown. In the old days women were not supposed to cut their hair while they're mourning. Now they can, as long as it's not too fashionable and as long as they don't wear make up or accessories. A full year has to go by before they can celebrate Easter or Christmas because celebration means happiness and they just buried a human being, not a dog.

If you think that's all there's to it, you're wrong. Women are not supposed to leave their place for a full month (it used to be a year but because we're open minded, we shortened that sentence). The first three days all the relatives and I mean all the relatives (with their kids) come to visit every single day and dine with the family. Something I call "Suffocating with love". After the first mass there's the 9th day mass, then the 40iest day mass which you would naturally think it would be left to the closest ones, but no, everyone who lives across the street has to come and socialize too. People then go to a hall where they drink black coffee. A certain kind of pastries is served with the coffee because candies and anything that includes sugar is a sign of happiness, now no need to remind you about happiness while grieving. Music is not supposed to play for 40 days and TV is supposed to remain turned off. Yes, you don't need any kind of distraction because distractions mean you don't love or respect that person who passed. The custom after that is returning those visits by visiting back, not for the purpose of socializing "God forbid", but as a token of appreciation. It's a gesture of "Thank you" for not leaving us alone in during those hard times and for not giving us any space whatsoever.

Mom went through a lot before and after dad passed. I wanted her to come live with me after a month from dad's death but she said it was too soon to travel and that she would prefer to wait a year so that no one badmouth her. Anyway with the help of my sisters she finally gave in and crossed the ocean four months later to spend 6 months away from the "He said, she said"-Society. Being away from all the sickness and ignorance of the tradition was not enough, she felt some kind of guilt and next thing I know, a woman wearing black was living with me. We talked, we talked again we cried, we argued and at one point she stopped wearing black. When I posted a picture of her wearing black and white during our trip to NYC, one of my family members made the call to give us the guilt trip. Mom COULD wear colors, but not advertise it.

So, I wrote this blog to say that I admire the western tradition when someone passes away. I call it "common sense". They actually celebrate the kind of life their late family member had. They mourn and they grief, and they cry over the loss too, but they know that life goes on. Be reasonable before you judge, and do not pretend that you're open minded when you actually live as a slave to your society. We do what we can to help move on, so if you imprison yourself in black, you are free to do what you want, and so are we because wearing black is not going to bring the dead back to life, and not wearing black does NOT mean we loved our late family member any less than you loved yours. As much as I love Aleppo, I have to say, there are certain things there that literally make me feel SICK to my stomach. Mourning is definitely one of them.

Let go, seriously, it's pathetic .....