No I’m not thinkin’ of you

a poem by my friend "Local G" (Amal Al Mutawa)

I see the house standing still
But no one will open the door for me
There’s a slid on the court yard
It wasn’t there when I left
No I’m not thinkin’ of you..

I look through the door window and see the MACs
I can hear the people typing some clicking the mouse
The lights are off as usual but the projector is on
I don’t walk in but just pass by
No I’m not thinkin’ of you..

I walk in a room and
A certain scent is in the air
I look around to see
No one I knew was there
No I’m not thinkin’ of you..

I’m in bed fallin asleep
My eyes half open lo
okin straight ahead
No red-light will blink and no ring sound
Not even a door knock, just the stillness of the night
No I’m not thinking of you..

A Woman

A woman’s voice was at the other end, so I apologized assuming I had misdialled. Looking at the screen, I realized I hadn’t so I called back and told her that I had a missed call indication on my phone from that number and she asks: “You’re ******?” and I am somehow not surprised that she knew my name…

 

 

 to be continued...

A communication of sorts...

HE SAID

Hi
so... how are you??? You like us to be friend?? I am a good friend... or may be you prefer me as a lover?? I am a great lover ... hahahahaha... kidding... tell me about yourself because you are the only lady who replied to my e-mail... the Iraqis are not social anymore... hope you are
regards

Hi
this is the fact ... it is not just what I am thinking ... I hope that I am right
regards

Hi
thank you for your reply ... what fact???
ah ... yes ... I just meant that I found this by accident and I sent to every single girl, none of them replied but you
thanks for not disappointing me
regards

No ... believe me ... it so easy to tell theories about life... including all the kinds of creatures... but in the real quotidian life... it is something completely different... after all I met of girls and women and god knows that they are uncountable... they don’t survive without lies... and I am a mirror for the others... and none can lie to a mirror
’dans une bouch qui sait se taire, une mouche meme ne pourait entrer ‘
regards

Faith???? !!! What a strange description for what I have inside ... it is the insistence my dear... an insistence with no other choice but being alone... can you stand this? I am just looking for a woman like me... I am looking for myself in a woman... I am looking for my own mirror

SHE SAID

How terrifying!!!!

Is it so bad? Have you not found a personality that pleases you in even the remotest manner that you find yourself wanting to face yourself? Such introspection may lead inadvertently to paths that may be light or perhaps more so dark...

Or is it perhaps the admiration of one's own genius that a similar ego has developed that may require to feed on its own self to grow to its full monstrous glory...

But then it may be the choice of the easiest path, 'that which you know...' or maybe 'the lesser of two evils'? In any case it is a struggle of sorts... mere spittle in the massive street called life... mixing with all else from smog to rubber fumes, from sewers to oil stains...

They all meld to combine into the character of the city street, beautiful yet disgusting, ugly & godly, shameful yet honouring... a cornucopia of emotions, colours, aroma's, a mosaic of the senses...

I believe I have been ranting, I think that your mind may not want to tolerate that resistance in light of its individual struggles. I will let you be in piece... for now...

Do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail. Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803 - 1882)

The Iraqi Date Palm

Pride of centuries, tall, she stands
weeping red tears, a gaze upon her land

And death is heard, covered with dust
of Suicide bombers, in cars of rust

... date palms die at attention!

A Letter

The feeling of receiving a handwritten letter, in this day & age, regardless from whom, or what formed words it contains, irrelevant of the fact that it maybe from someone undesirable; is a great feeling.

 

Neat handwriting drawn in blank ink, words formed in an ancient language, on white lined paper…

 

Drops of emotions

Potent Thoughts

An Iraqi wrote this

دعوني أذكر لكم حادثة وردت عن المقاومة الشعبية الفرنسية أثناء الاحتلال النازي لفرنسا في الحرب العالمية الثانية، ففي سنة 1944 وردت معلومات غاية في الأهمية لقادة المقاومة تتحدث عن قطار محمل بالجنود الألمان والأسلحة الثقيلة والعتاد، ومع هذه المعلومات وقت ووجهة القطار، فتم تلغيم السكة بالمتفجرات وتهيأت المقاومة للانقضاض على من سيكتب له النجاة من تلك المحاولة، وقبل وصول القطار بدقائق ألغى قائد المجموعة العملية بالكامل، لأنه رفض أن تلطخ يداه بدم سائق القطار ومساعده لأنهما فرنسيان، وقال بالحرف الواحد "لو قتلت مئة ألف نازي ومعهم فرنسي بريء فإنني سأصبح مجرما ورئيسا لعصابة من قاطعي الطرق" أورد لكم ذلك بدون تعليق وقارنوا!

PerVerse

We had to write a poem for the poetry workshop and as I sat there thinking of particular places that people would like to visit, this verse came forth. This will not be read at the poetry class, I have to come up with a different place or trip!

Come, take my hand
to that faraway land
of mysteries and desires

and share your dreams
of delghts & screams
kindered with embers & fires

Come, lay your head
upon this bed
and move yourself up higher

and fly up high
way above the sky
of shivers before you tire

Come take my hand
to that long sought land
of mysteries & desires

let me rest my head
upon your chest
as we glisten and prespire

Dubai; The Oz of the Middle East, By SETH SHERWOOD - From New York Times...

The Oz of the Middle East

By SETH SHERWOOD

OWN gleaming silvery escalators they glided, eyes afire and credit cards in easy reach. As a warm Tuesday night hung languidly over the Persian Gulf, a multicultural pageant of shoppers, diners and drinkers fanned out into the majestic, wintry-cool shopping mall beneath the Middle East's tallest building, the 1,163-foot Emirates Office Tower in Dubai.

Indian matrons in colorful saris and Middle Eastern women in black veils strolled through the pristine, white marble corridors, pausing to consider the worthiness of Gucci totes, Bottega Veneta shoes and Cartier diamonds. White-robed Middle Eastern businessmen, fat gold watches glittering from the edges of their sleeves, talked into green-glowing cellphones. Three Arab men in baggy jeans, looking like cast members from an Al Jazeera version of "The O.C.," chatted warmly with three young European-looking women in spangly tops. Just behind them, boisterous British expatriates in business suits tried to push into the fray of Ladies' Night at an overpacked bar called Scarlett's.

Outside, night-shift taxis and BMW's streamed down crowded highways, cruising near the soaring, sail-shaped Burj Al Arab, which bills itself as the world's highest hotel - snaking around the rising foundation for the world's tallest building (the Burj Dubai, which at more than 2,300 feet, will surpass the current pretender, the 1,667-foot Taipei 101, when it opens in 2008), and skirting the construction sites for two competing retail projects, each of which insists it will be the largest shopping mall in the world.

From out there, the illuminated Emirates Office Tower, rising silently over the throbbing music at Scarlett's, and its nearly identical neighbor, the slightly shorter Emirates Hotel Tower, looked like flaming arrows shooting toward the stars.

Bigger, taller, grander, richer, only. Dubai, one of the seven city-states of the United Arab Emirates, has already undergone an extreme makeover, in less than a decade, that would awe the most ambitious builder. And as it continues trying to write its own chapter in the record books, travelers from all over the globe are coming to luxuriate in otherworldly thread counts and truffle-loaded restaurants at the five-star hotels; romp in the surf at fine white beaches (bikinis allowed); dance to tunes spun by international D.J.'s in myriad nightclubs; and fill shopping bags, unhindered by sales taxes, at dozens of malls and the gold souk, the largest gold market in the world.

"Dubai will shock anyone who isn't from Las Vegas, Nev.," said Ole Bech-Petersen, 35, a Danish advertising executive, who pronounced himself "completely seduced" after his first trip to Dubai in March, when he stayed at the plush Emirates Hotel Tower, dined at the Burj Al Arab's underwater restaurant and made impulse buys in the gold souk and the new Mercato shopping mall.

Cynthia Moureto, a retailer in her 20's from Manhattan, sampled Dubai with her sister in February and came away equally impressed. "We'd heard from people that it was a very up-and-coming city full of great shopping and wonderful hotels, lots of tourists, lots of new business opportunities, lots of action, lots to do," she said. "They were right." She and her sister soaked up treatments at the Shangri-La hotel's spa and partied until the wee hours with an international crowd at the Trilogy nightclub.

Some 5.45 million travelers passed through the gates of this Middle Eastern Xanadu in 2004, a 9 percent jump over the year before and a nearly 20-fold increase from a mere decade earlier, according to Pascal Maigniez, the director of the Paris office of the Government of Dubai Department of Tourism and Commerce Marketing. Two-thirds came on business, bound for places like Internet City, a five-year-old office park with offices of hundreds of technology companies including Microsoft, Oracle, I.B.M., Siemens and Sony. But more and more, Dubai is a tourist destination.

"When I first started going to Dubai, no one had heard of it," said Sandra Morgan, 42, who lives near London and has visited seven times in the past few years. "Now everyone wants to go." She likes the array of ethnic restaurants, the long beachfront and good values - especially in jewelry - and feels a friendly vibe. "The service is great," she said, "the hotels are first-class, and there are so many shops."

Joining the pleasure seekers and international executives are the fortune seekers, rich and poor, who fly in from India, Pakistan, Iran, Lebanon, the Philippines, Europe, Australia and South Africa. Only a fifth of Dubai's resident population of 1.2 million is made up of citizens. The other 80 percent are expatriates, including an underclass of foreign workers in construction and menial jobs, and though Arabic is the official language, English, the language of commerce, holds this global gumbo together. Only a third of Dubai's residents are female.

To accommodate the arriving masses, Emirates Airlines is spending $19 billion to scoop up 45 of the world's largest passenger planes, the new Airbus A380.

Concerned that Dubai is running out of beachfront, its crown prince, Sheik Mohammed bin Rashid al-Maktoum, is having three palm-tree-shaped islands created on sand being dredged from the Gulf and held in place by enormous plastic membranes. Plans for the property include opulent apartment towers and as many as 100 new hotels, including Hydropolis, billed as the earth's first underwater resort. Also coming is an archipelago of artificial islands resembling a map of the earth, covered with plush part-time residences for far-flung millionaires and billionaires and called simply The World.

"It's like Sea Monkeys!" Laurence Thorpe, a frequent business traveler from Australia, shouted one evening between sips of Stella Artois beer in a deafeningly loud beachfront club-restaurant called Boudoir. (Sea Monkeys are a novelty powder, really dried brine shrimp, that transforms into swimming creatures in water.) "You start with nothing, just sand," he said, as a sea of well-off Lebanese travelers and expatriate professionals danced around him, toasting in Arabic and French. "You add water and - presto -instant city!"

Actually, you add oil. Petroleum has underwritten Dubai's boom. But its reserves will be depleted within a decade, and the country's rulers have deliberately diversified the economy. Oil now accounts for just 8 percent of national income. Tourism brings in 17 percent.

Dubai is a metropolis of bone-white apartment blocks, green palm trees and amazing, odd juxtapositions. Thudding jackhammers mingle with the call to prayer. At Nad al Sheba racetrack, old-world camel racing by day gives way to glitzy thoroughbred action by night (the $6 million purse for one annual race in Dubai is, of course, the world's richest). Cruising the city by taxi on a five-day visit in February, I was reminded of the hot, flat sprawl of Tampa or Houston - until I glimpsed a fully veiled woman driving alongside my cab and saw two men in checkered headdresses pulling their Lamborghinis parallel to chat. Glossy financial magazines share rack space with titles like International Falconer.

Buried deeper among the commercial towers and retail palaces, you can still find traces of the old Dubai, a sleepy fishing and pearl-diving village that grew into a modest city in the 19th century, fueled by trading and, some say, smuggling. Hidden in the Bastakiya neighborhood, where Arab and South Asian laborers pay a few coins to be ferried on traditional timber boats across Dubai Creek, are the city's oldest building, a late-18th-century fort holding the Dubai Museum, and its newest cultural innovation, its first gallery district.

A local art scene is "finally getting there," I was told by Sana Khan, a New Jersey transplant who manages XVA, a gallery, cafe and guesthouse in a converted barjeel, a traditional mansion with a rectangular open-air tower and a courtyard soaring wind tower.

Dark hair pulled back and wearing a loose-fitting black dress, she shuffled around an art-book-lined office while in the nearby exhibition area some middle-aged British women admired grainy photographs of Parisian street scenes and pocketed invitations to an opening for an Iraqi textile artist. But for a city of its size, Dubai still has surprisingly little cultural life.

The city has worked at image-building by holding golf and tennis tournaments featuring the likes of Tiger Woods and Venus Williams, and playing host to an international film festival and meetings of the World Bank. But overwhelmingly, a trip to Dubai is about sun and sand, food and partying - and above all, shopping.

The merchandise hunt reaches a glittering zenith in the gold souk, a network of streets where 400 storefronts drip with gold necklaces, earrings, watches, brooches, rings and toe rings. With the heat, the 24-karat cornucopia can be so exhausting to absorb that roving men with trays of Fanta sodas and bottled water - freelance waiters, basically - do good business offering refreshments to the sweating tide of dumbstruck international shoppers. The market's shadier dealers approach strolling tourists with unsubtle come-ons like "Hey, Boss, Bulgari-Tivoli-Gucci-Movado?"

The nearby spice souk, where the merchant stalls are crowded with large bins of fragrant saffron, coriander and other exotic ingredients, is considerably more tranquil.

Eventually, however, all roads lead to the malls - 40 of them, purveying everything from Korean toys to luxury cars and struggling to differentiate themselves from one another. Wafi City Mall works at rising above the crowd with an Egyptian theme, featuring ersatz pyramids and sphinxes; the planned Ibn Battuta Mall, named for an Arab explorer, will borrow architectural elements from countries he visited, including Persia, China and India. The developers say that it will also hold the world's largest maze.

On a busy afternoon at Mercato Mall, a colonnaded fantasyland modeled on a Renaissance-era Mediterranean village, the retail fever was epidemic. Emirati boys in white dishdashas and new baseball caps queued up for "Meet the Fockers." Heavily made-up Iranian women in black chadors fingered sunglasses and flashy scarves in a clubwear boutique. Russian tourists, arms well tanned from days at the beach, swiped credit cards at Cerutti and Nine West.

The city was celebrating what seemed a redundant event: the 10th annual Dubai Shopping Festival, basically a giddy month of sales and giveaways that rakes in more than a billion dollars a year, drawing feverish interest with a series of raffles with lavish prizes like a personal fleet of 10 Nissans. "One World, One Family, One Festival," ubiquitous signs declared, appealing to humanity's universal desire for a Chanel pantsuit.

At the Mercato's noisy Starbucks, two Libyan hipsters sat down with their lattes, visibly tired. "We've been mall-hopping all day," said Sufian Swed, a 24-year-old from Tripoli who was working in Dubai. He added with a laugh, "It's kind of sad." His friend, 29, an import-export specialist named Mohamed Abdulsaloum, surveyed the afternoon's haul: a nutrition book and some sweaters. "I think they bump the prices up two weeks before the festival and then knock them down and call it a discount," he said. Then they pulled out the day's main score, two Dubai Shopping Festival souvenir coins. Each one represented an entry in a drawing to win 100 kilograms of gold.

The festival's heady atmosphere can inspire outlandish behavior. One afternoon I watched a line of contestants hurl squadrons of paper airplanes into a slowly revolving convertible in hopes of driving it home. And at my hotel that evening, I held the elevator door for a college-age Middle Eastern woman loaded down by bags bursting with huge boxes of Kellogg's Corn Flakes.

"You came all the way to Dubai to buy cornflakes?" I asked in disbelief.

She shot me a confused, slightly offended look. "I love cornflakes," she said at last.

To fuel the legions of global power shoppers, Dubai bursts with restaurants. The slick Asha's, owned by the famous Indian singer Asha Bhosle, serves upscale Indian food. Fine French cuisine comes courtesy of another celebrity, the foul-mouthed former Scottish soccer player Gordon Ramsay, who landed three Michelin stars for the London restaurant that bears his name before starring in his own British reality television series, "Hell's Kitchen."

Downscale dining, though harder to find, can be more interesting. At Ravi, in a neighborhood of working-class South Asians and Iranians, men in long, loose shirts sit elbow to elbow devouring rice, curries and soft nan, the hand serving as spoon and fork. If you go there, order the succulent cubes of grilled mutton tikka - the waiter will resign himself to seeking real cutlery when he sees you're a stranger in town. At the waterside Fatafeet restaurant, couples smoke fragrant apple tobacco from the long tubes of billowing shisha pipes while families feast on tabbouleh and pomegranate juice.

Many Dubai vacationers bring children, who play at the beach and hurtle downhill on water slides at the Wild Wadi Water Park. In a challenge to a typical tourist reaction in Dubai - that the whole place is an overgrown Disney World - an immense patch of sand near downtown is now being transformed into a new $19 billion theme park, Dubailand, described on its Web site as "the biggest, most varied leisure, entertainment and tourism attraction on the planet."

At twilight at the week's end, you can almost hear the shouts of "Thank God it's Thursday." With no work on Friday, the Muslim Sabbath, Dubai goes into session as the Middle East party capital. From cheesy populist clubs animated by Filipino cover bands to the exclusive Skyview Bar at the Burj Al Arab hotel - where admission requires reservations days ahead and a cover charge of $45 (170 dirhams, at 3.75 dirhams to the dollar) - the Arabian night promises conviviality for every social stratum. Yet until the Maktoums build something along the lines of a liquorland - not likely in Islamic Dubai - alcohol is generally restricted to hotels, which can seem more like towering night life complexes where some people happen to sleep.

Amid the hullabaloo one Thursday at MIX, a huge club in a playful curvy-silver space that suggests both Frank Gehry and Dr. Seuss, the young expats bouncing to Nelly and 50 Cent didn't even notice T-Bone, a popular London D.J., as he slalomed through the mostly Anglophone crowd, the only black man in the place, and sidled up to the densely packed bar to wait for his turn in the D.J. booth.

Across town, in the Moroccan-themed Tangerine, a 20-something woman in a white miniskirt hung on to the sleeve of a 60-something man in an ill-fitting tweed blazer as both leaned jauntily against a wall. Whatever they spoke about, mouth to ear, was obliterated by the deafening, chest-crushing hip-hop beat that resounded off the carved wooden screens and mosaic tile floor.

In a dark corner nearby, a beanpole-like bald man from Liverpool looked at the odd old-young crowd and ersatz North African décor and made a remark that is probably repeated at least once every day in Dubai. "The whole thing is totally fake," he said to his date, "but no one seems to care."

Iraq bleeds while they watch TV

I saw a picture
of a brother, grieving for his brother
who has died from a suicide bombers blast
they had bled and their white trousers were soaked with brightness that can't be washed.
and no soap will remove the stain from his heart.

He bends over
and lay his head
on his brothers chest
to rest
the sigh that will be long coming

Iraq bleeds and the wound is deep
it's the gashes and slashes from the closest
that leave the deepest injury
the scar that won't take a short time to heal

Iraq bleeds
and others come to play their games of cops & robbers,
cowboys and Indians, the conspiracy theory
all the whilst My countrys wound gapes open and pours
deep red fluid
of many shades from crimson to firengine red but all red blood

As it mixes in death like it never may have had in life
Shiite or Sunni Moslems, Catholic or Orthodox Christians, Jews, Sabeans, Chaldeans, Kurdish, Arab, Tukmen all sorts of blood
but most importantly human blood
Iraqi blood
that doesn't quench the thirst of the ground
where the dust hasn't settled yet
from the massacres of the previous dictator

And still it bleeds
till we can heave a sigh of relief
so that we may be able to weep for our loved ones, our dead ones...

His eMail

"Hi there,

I just took a quick peek at your blog effort and being impressed, felt that I should acknowledge you for your vision of the world as seen from your own words. I am Mike. I am from Sacramento, California, a place that would welcome you if you ever came around.

I originally came from the Central Oregonian desert where the wind howls through the wind shaped juniper trees and the sound is so beautifully melancholy that the oversensitive should not listen. It's a high desert plateau where each season is strong and the temperatures are mighty cold each winter. But the juniper and sage brush and moss on the exposed volcanic rock survive and thrive; the wind and clouds create magic within the powerful weather. But, mainly, the people are good as well as polite; where work is not feared and honor is strong and personal. It is almost an insult to the community to lock your doors or your car because the community standards are so high. Unlike the picture of America that the vile cowards of Hollywood create, the common people of Oregon can be armed and would be dangerous to a criminal, yet would care deeply about the welfare of strangers in trouble or the children of the less fortunate. Not a lot of drama, just good hard work, common decency, true respect for others, love of God and country, and as always, dealing with personal demons that afflict us all.

I am now down in California where political and psychological criminals hold sway, promising to help the needy, but mainly robbing the workers andcreators to pay for their extravagances, and then finally helping somepeople if they will vote for them. The liberal bastards have become the Robin Hood who robs the rich to pay themselves, demanding tribute from those to whom they throw their scraps. But there is a revolution coming in the form of civilized people standing up, stepping up as they call it.

Democracy is not a magic thing that once gotten is always there. Spiritualand moral criminals are always there and will seek to enrich themselves offthe work of others. The power of the people is more complicated than itseems at first. However imperfect Democracy is, it's the best damned thing that there ever was for the people's good. Watch out for the slippery silvery-tongued self-serving bastards displaying golden visions "for the people" or "for the children".

In conclusion, I hear that the culture of Iraq has it that the mosques, like our churches, do a lot of the work of distributing food and goods to thepoor. That is good. Please keep it that way. We have learned here that once the government gets too involved it can become a spiritually criminal organization which aggravates the problem rather than repair or help.

Government workers can never begin to comprehend the spiritual quotient of human life. But I understand no one or no thing is perfect. Well, I do hope this day finds you feeling well and having positive visionsof the future. I am enjoying the sunshine and trying to do some good today.

Write me if you feel like it. Please keep up your writing. It is good!

Sincerely Mike outta Sacramento Ca."

Today

I received an email today, it touched me and left me speechless, I have asked permission to post it.

His name is Mike and he's from Sacramento but is now in California and he said something that was haunting:

"...the sound is so beautifully melancholy that the oversensitive should not listen."


And then I saw the picture of a soldier carrying a fataly wounded little girl in mosul. The photographer is Michael Yon

Two Friends

I have started a poetry workshop, it's good to trigger some, any sentiments.... and our first excercise was to write about two things, objects... here they are:


Friend 1

I sing silently for my potent friend
Dark, Lucid, a liquid of strength
And silently it lay in its golden embrace
Before it changes and shows its real face

I sing silently through whispers on my lips
Before it spreads its warmth from my head to my tips
And silently send swirls in the air
Of a language written in despair

I sing silently of its travels afar
Of character and bodies of lips light and dark
And silently it courses through and through
Making my tongue sing a song very blue.


Friend 2

pass me our breath
Let my mind rush
In a fervent hush
As I write you,

burn, for your life is in your embers
A silent glow
Of red, white, and grey
As I take you,

Come through and fill me
And hurry! As you thrill me
Surround me with your aroma
As I breathe you,

Crushed, slowly but surely
Between my forefinger and thumb
In your own suffocation, you lie numb
As I kill you,

A temporary existence, of a similar pleasure
In a short need of your breath against mine
Not temporary
As I want you,