Solo

I passed by that drunken street
during the day
It felt like a different place
It was not infested with glamoured up beings
nor was it showered by the spilled drinks of others

I aimlessly walked and enjoyed a cup of wine
at 3 pm, marveling at the pseudo sober humans
holding conversations, conducting meetings
eating, having coffee

Oh my dear street, I have underestimated you
and limited your existence to a “stage”  (quoted)
for drunken souls, drinking their third world
worries away, enjoying induced pleasure
that will either be vomited or lingered
in your mind – knocking on your skull
“Hey, I am your hang over”

As I sat there, soaking in the sun
on that crummy wobbly chair
I spoke to a friend of mine,
I could actually hear him,
I sipped on my wine with no intention
of gulping it, I smoked my cigarettes
normally, not chain-ly

“Let’s go check out some art”
That statement rang in my ears
Art, my senses clung to that last wine sip
so as to enjoy it with the art that I was about to see

As we walked, on those streets
my eyes were gawking at the bits and pieces
eaten by the night, that our vision fails
to grasp, for some reason I felt like a tourist
foreign to the same streets I frequent
every freaking day!

As my friend opened the iron gates
those creaks initiated a sense of mystic
feel
My body hungry for something unknown
my soul yearned for the cultural stimulation
that my brain climaxes to
My eyes forgot how to blink
aching for masterpieces

We stepped into a room
with patterned titles
in front of the door was a painting
black and white
Yet there was something mysterious about it
My eyes slowly moved my body
towards it, the magic halted my body
at a certain distance from it

My vision could capture the whole canvas
The yearning has stopped and now
it is at a loss of expression
it “froze” digesting the aura of this masterpiece

I fixated on the eyes
I could hear it, I could listen
to the chaos happening
in that brain behind those eyes
I could feel the sadness
the aches, the experiences
the happiness that has backfired
those endless nights homogenized
with alcohol and cigarettes
those days of being used and abused
or using and experimenting

I could see those eyes
looking back at me, and silently
relaying a response
“I’ve seen it and felt it too”
Shivers, goosebumps
trailed along my arms
my spine chilled with a peculiar feeling

I stood there, feeling small
I stood there absorbing the instant relationship
the one whose commitment was strongest
than any of my priors held with real humans
The one where a silent conversation
echoes in your body
The one where your space is its space
That one connection you have with someone
or something
That enigmatic feeling
where justification is not needed
nor required

I stood there, gazing
gawking at those eyes
Dammit, I can literally
converse
in silence
I was taken
my soulful satiation has been complete
my mental cultural richness reached
the brim, yet my eyes
my eyes would not stir away from the sight
The connection was immense, it hypnotized my eyes
my mental capacity
the conversation kept going

“Shoulder pat”

“Did you see that one?” he said
My attention was abruptly cut
my eyes remembered how to blink

As I walked around the gallery
that painting, kept looking
I felt like a blushed lover, stealing glances
because of that connection
It was not all butterflies and colors
It was  a painting
in simple black and white
dank dark colors
harsh strokes and thin hairlines of paint

It was a portrait
of mere
mess
that
was
a reflection
of
me
and
I
for the first time
loved
it

art by Rafic Majzoub - Rain on Me solo show, Beirut, Lebanon

art by Rafic Majzoub – Rain on Me solo show, Beirut, Lebanon

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