FISH

type, delete
type, delete
type and fucking delete

“What’s happening” her thoughts alerted her
my fingers have lost their rhythm
the music that once was has now been raped by silence
that racing mind has now been seduced by stagnation
“why”
the morning used to be her haven that black coffee
used to be her drug, the one that carries her away
from the plastic bags that suffocated her
every freaking day

“is this anger?” this foreign feeling
that’s infiltrating her soft skin
making her quiver with wrath
she penetrated her brain, beyond the thoughts
that clouded it, across the nerve bridges
that balanced her sanity
she walked on the lines that connected
the cerebellum to her frontal lobe
she could feel the throbbing pain
that caused this anger to erupt
that’s causing that white slate in front of her
to haunt her

Her eyes dilated
glazed with a layer of tears
that she fought so much to hide
everything around her blurred
her brain power has infiltrated her reality
altering it, trying to convey a message

She found herself
on a window sill
looking down,
this new augmented reality
surprised her,

she saw individuals wondering around in circles
this mind over body experience beat any psychedelic
she could taste emotions, her eyes had the ability
to strip the raunchiest of fakes to their birthday suits

Her eyes scavenged them scanning them from head to toe
As she did, she peeled off a layer that was translucent
that covered the muck and gunk within
She wowed herself with this ability

She was astonished to notice that those close to her
were filled with more dirt than the bottom of an oil spill
they were dense but had a beautiful cover
that lured the loveliest of people

She felt like she was looking down at a fish bowl
filled with gorgeous colored creatures swimming
peacefully with each other
red and blue, pink and velvet
weightlessly swerving, waltzing
with each other

“what a brain”
“what a reality check”

while some were filled with dirt
others were consumed with niceness
a humble nature, that of a rare breed
a diamond with in the rough
their colored glowed from under the water
seducing her being, wanting to be part of her real reality 

She had never exhibited any rough nature
but that boiling within needed to be tamed
or adapted to
that alter ego wanted to surface and paint
murals with the insides that embodied
such beautiful creatures
while keeping those of pure nature
of transparency swimming seamlessly
in her world around her

The fish surfaced
and fled the waters surrounding her
leaving those
dense ones at the bottom

“we know” they said
she found herself
naked
plastered with colors
layer-less
and
seducing nature
by her true
sense of
Self

Baggies

She woke up one day
with IV tubes in each arm
surprised at the matter
she looked frantically
for a familiar face
to ease the shock factor
that has overtaken her
in a split second

Her white robe instilled
a sense of confusion and a dash of fear
“what’s going on?” her mind repeated
the white walls of the room failed to respond
the echo of her voice did not succeed at relaying
the message to a humanoid or even someone capable
of responding

She inspected the room, the IV tubes
she noticed that each baggie at the end
had a name of a person, people that were
familiar to her, to her life
She could not make up the description below
but since the liquid within wasn’t red, she was sure
she wasn’t donating blood, but it was liquid of different colors
leaving her body …

This sparked even more fear
why her? why was her body a medium
from which these baggies with names are collecting

Her instincts kicked in
she did not agree with the fact
that her own temple is being abused
as a lab rat

She removed the tubes from her pulsing veins
and ran down the door full hallway
the whiteness of the place was disturbing
the walls emitted cold, her skin did not like it
the kind of cold that your heart knows is followed
by a demerit to paint its purity black

She saw a cabinet
“files, records, that’s good” she vocalized
she was sure she’d find the answers to her presence there
Her feet could not pace her anxiety,
they ran like wild horses away from that horrid room
away from those parasitic baggies that just hung there
getting fattened by different colored liquids
from the same person

Flipping through the files
her name flashed in front of her tired eyes
she just noticed how lethargic she is
picked it up and opened it
desperately

She saw endless columns of names
she knew – but did not want her memory
to remember or even highlight the brim
of their existence

“what do they want?
what the hell were they extracting?”

As her vision trailed with her finger
after each name, she traced it back
to the “Reason” column

Her eye lids flickered in astonishment
“essence”..
“They want my essence?”

She closed the folder
and followed the exit arrows to reach the roof top
it was dark, the car honks and the lights
made it look like a loud teenage club
nothing was in sync, but as a whole
it looked just fine
she sat on the ledge
aching for a cigarette
she saw another man
with a white coat, smoking a rolled
one

“Hey you..
yea you.. roll me one”

He looked at her
his dark framed glasses
reflected the lights of the city
his coal dark hair brushed back
in a sleek manner that reflected his own

“Ah, it’s you, I was up here thinking
about your case… why everyone wants your essence”

She walked up to him, with
whatever was left of her energy
“So you know” as she watched him
roll her cigarette

“Of course, have you looked at
yourself lately? did you notice
your pale skin?”

She couldn’t pin point the color under the
blue night sky
but she had one question boggling her

“Why were the baggies with names and each had a different color?”

She dragged the nicotine stick, gestured for a lighter
and paused in anticipation

“you see, those were people in your past
who have been infected… well not infected
let’s say blessed with your essence
time has slowly but surely taken its toll
on the sparkle that you left in them
so they gathered and requested
some of your essence to be injected back into their lives
since they cant chop you apart and keep
bits and pieces of you” he smirked

“Each baggie knew which essence to withdraw
hence the different colors, baggie 1- I forgot the label
wanted the humor you injected, that’s why it was pink
the blue baggie was full of your wit…” he exhaled smoke as
he told her

She was speechless
Every time she tried to say something
silence filled her mouth and ate her words

“I came up here to wait for your process to finish
but here you are
on the verge of collapsing, yet so curious”

She turned to leave
her robe slid from her shoulder
The doctor, yelled
“Hey
there’s still some left
on your shoulder ……”

She ran like no tomorrow
towards the red exit sign
wondering
“what have
they given me?”

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

Masked

It darkened the sky
with a blanket of stars

Some ready themselves
to dive into deep slumber

Others feel that flame
that burns and yearns
for the adventures to come
with the darkness

They ready themselves
Oblivious to their own actions
They grab those masks
The ones they have in their closets
Way in the back
to welcome
the night!

Yes, the ones
that clothe them
injects them with mystery
Poisons them with illusions
and readies them
to roam the streets
of the city

As you walk past these people
You tend to fall into
a diverse vortex
of identities

All these masks
are looking back at you
with a scanning blank stare
accompanied with a fake smile
You seat yourself
on a wobbly table
and an ancient bar stool
barely stuck together
with rusty nails
a show is about to start
“Welcome to the Masquerade
You’re lucky you’ve got the front seat”

You sit there,
you narrate the play in your head
you generate the script
the actors are there
performing unknowingly
They stand next to each other
drinks in hand
Laughter

Those masks are still on
Blank eyes
Then as your brain
starts to dissect each character
in this play
You generate a theory
No matter how close those actors are
Those masks mask a lot more

Remember, they are masked for the night, or for a while maybe? Who knows?

But as you look deeper
You wonder
How well do they truly know each other?
They both have those “faces” on
They seem to engage in
such deep conversations
Yet, they both know
They have secrets
in the deepest
abyss of their soul
and their mask
seems to act
as a gate
forbidding it from leaving

Then you divert your sight
to yourself
You are clothed
similarly
You too have a drink in hand
you raise your hand panic-sticken
you touch your face

You feel that porcelain texture
soft, pasty and smooth

You get up, leave your seat
you just want to see a reflection
the bathroom line, was limitless
lovers disguised, kissing on one side
on the other, a woman smoking a cigarette
her mask was beautiful, she was eye-ing you

But you just need to get a glimpse
of that face of yours

You leave the place
you go outside
you look at the glass
and realize
that you too
are masked
for the night!

Masked Love