كتابة: عبد الامير الخطيب

حين تلهمك الغواية، حين تجذبك الى خباياها و مجاهيلها، تدرك ان لا مناص من رائحة اللوز المتعفن و ان ليس هناك من بدّ في ان تستسلم لها بكل ما تملك من ضعف بكل ما تمتلك من هوان و خذلان، لانها تحوّل الواقع الى سحر و المعبود الى مملوك، فتلمس الحب بين ثنايا عقلك و تمارس كل انواع التعبد الذاتي، تمشي في شارع مكتظ ملئ بالضجيج ، لا تسمع سوى صوت ملهم ، يضربك احدهم فتطلب العفو منه لا لانك هائم مع من تحب، تبحثوا سوية عن اي شئ يثير الاستفزاز لانه مبعث الحياة و ضفر الموت .
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Having just woken up in the middle of the night to the sounds of air raid sirens, bombs
tearing off the black skies and anti aircraft that breaks into your ears rather that its target.

I have just opened my eyes to a colourful scene of red, yellow, black and white. The vision
of fire burning civilization, smoke curtains rising up to the skies, blocks of cement falling like
heavy rain, raping rapping the land. I looked up with half open eye to realize that I have
slept on the sofa with the TV on.

This has brought back memories of living in Iraq, only this time I’m experiencing it hundreds
of miles away, in a 21” screen TV in the comfort and warmth of a house in London. I
got up and made my way to the bathroom to wash my face from the residues of 5 hours
sleep and to help me wake up from the bad wine I had last night.

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The bags were already packed, ready to
depart,
waiting by the front door in agony.
Time marched on.
The clock ticked its way insensible of destiny.
Stayed up all night – or almost –
utilizing those final moments with friends
around me.
The car is waiting outside that shall take me
away
from my history.

It was a cold December morning, too cold to bring time to a standstill, but not freezing
enough to hold the tears in our eyes. We hugged, knowing that it’s going to be a long
time till we can touch again. However, we promised that we shall meet soon. A promise
that was more of a lie to ourselves and to each other, and as most lies, they fail to convince.

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