Head

For Sarah Hegazi

The Rhythm of Stories

My dearest Sarah, 

Is it you?
or is it me?
Who is writing?...
Sometimes I act stupidly 
losing everyone around me
and being lost by the bilad1
by not living in it
a full time wound
So;
we smoke heavenly
we drink caffeine instead of water
we sleep beside books 
their pages hugs our nightmares
while music carries us home.

The morning rises 
we wake up like stories 
full of nights 
empty of nights 
drinking glasses of jins
Snorting drugs 
While we love
          we love
Each other fully

Reality then to fall,
a spiral carousel
awake heads 
a noon moon…

***

The Taste of Al Bilad

Bastard ganged up around my neck

I fell with my bike 
they jumped on my body;

A heart beats letters 
into red love
A lung mixes dust 
into green springs
Venae carry streets 
into patient revolutions
A resistant head
writes down the pain
into a story:

Zeinab2 was riding her bike and flying
from the house to the street
the street to the neighborhood 
the neighborhood to the mountains 
the mountains to the library
the library to the cafe
the cafe to the comrades 
the comrades to her room,

My room was overlooking Talaat Harb
it smelled of flowers and books
from its window
the voice of Fairuz was arising 
licked my tears like a cat
hugging my depression.

***

The Air of a Prison Cell

I sealed my ears 
ignoring the summons of the jailer
who came on higher orders
to protect me, they say

“What are you protecting me from?”, pray tell
“I am here on higher orders”, she said
“And what am I accused of?”
“Raising a rainbow, through accusing you 
and the rainbow, 
the regime will hide all the death 
of the political prisoners killed before you, 
those have not seen the blue sky 
for a single day after their arrest.” she said.
“So, we are accused of existing,
of being free
of raising a rainbow fabric
my lilac body swollen by your violence 
is it also accused? what are you accused of?
sharing the same cell 
with a mouse
what is its crime?”, I said, imagining the fall of the regime
over and over again in my head.

I remembered then
writing on the walls 
of the prison cell in Al Qanater:
Love will triumph
Peace will prevail
next to Samah Arbawi^’s words:
Injustice is forbidden.

***

The Feeling of Estrangement

Canada was packed with snow
along the scattered pens and papers
on my desk

weird languages were roaming around me 
refusing to be replaced 
with my mother tongue
My Arabic

I was writing nonstop
revealing the truth of the bastards,
creating new lives through my writings
Because every time we write 
a butterfly from a palestinian child rises 
and touches the earth

You are full of love my dear
How much love this world needs
to reach the light of your heart.

Mornings and nights
you are sitting with your lover
dancing 
the cold becomes less
the borders, demolished 
regimes and apartheid fallen

Everything turns into a mirror
we look at it from each side
you see me 
and I see you
our hands melt into each other
we dance 
under the head-light,
the noon moons…

***

The Picture of the Sea

Haunted by the feeling 
of transforming into another portal
Fairuz’s voice in the background
didn’t numb completely my depression
Perhaps it strengthened my nostalgia…
and nostalgia tastes like orange 
of orange trees of homes
neighboring the sea

Perhaps I am a pink cat here
and I jumped accidentally into the world
so they can write about me

But I remember that I died.

The smell of the sea is similar 
to the obduracy of flies 
never leaving the water

The smell of the houses
matches the secret picture of the sea
reflects a world underneath;
Dogs, cats, fishes, humans and sheeps 
are all alike
they kiss
and they shout under the yellow sun

***

Rainbow

It was in Cairo, Mashrou’ Leila’s concert
where I felt that eternity is a real idea
specially when it is created in a second like this

This exact second;

I am waving the pride flag
and dancing, an easy river
along the voice of Hamed
the violin of Haige 
the drums of Carl
the guitar of Firas
the bass of Ibrahim
the keyboard of Omeya…

No gunshots will ever reach me 
on the shoulder of my friends
spaces vanish, 
we become one
my smile is immortal
look at my picture
happy, jumping in the air
touching skies and colours

This exact second
lives in eternity 
even if death occurs
three waves from now

Zeinab rides her bike and flies…

***

For you a rainbow kite along the whole sky and planets.
Forgive us…

Love, 
Buruj

• 1. Bilad is a term to describe Palestine, Syria, Jordan and Lebanon by their people. In Arabic, balad also refers to a village, a city, or their center.
• 2. Zeinab is a character often mentioned in Sarah Hegazi’s blog and stories.