Toubib Or Not To Be

  أطفأت دموعي شمعة عيد ميلادي، و جلست أمام حلوتي و هي تذوب أمامي لأحتفل و لو مرة واحدة في العام..  فتحت رسائلي و أنا أدري أن التهاني ستأتي فقط مني، كنت قد أرسلتها السنة الفارطة، إعتدت أن أراسلني لأطمئن علي..  "عزيزتي سنبلة، أرجو أن تلقاك رسالتي و أنت لا زلت صامدة، أتمنى أن الرياح العاتية لم تكسر ما تبقى من أجزائنا و أن الأحزان لم تنبت بأراضينا كثيرا و أن تلقين من ينجح أخيرا في قطف الإبتسامة من حقل شقائنا" كانت هذه كلماتي قبل سنة من الآن و لم يتغير منذ ذلك الحين إلا الحبر الذي جف و لم تجف جفوني بعده، لا يمر يوم علي دون أن أعود لصور أمي الراحلة، ليس شوقا فيها بل رغبة مني في إيجاد الجواب كل سنة.. لماذا؟ لماذا قررت أن تلقي بي و تتركينني من بعد ذلك بسنوات، كنت تعلمين أن السرطان سيعود من جديد بعد أن تخطيته، سيعود لنفس الثدي الذي أرضعتني منه فلم كل هذا يا أمي؟ لا أدري إن كنت أنا المسؤولة عن عنائي أم رحمك يا أمي، الرحم الذي بدوره أبى أن يحملني لتسعة أشهر و قذف بي إلى الدنيا بعد سبعة فقط، حتى أنت لم تتحملي مشقة تربيتي و اخترت أن تتوسدي التراب..  يا أمي، أسألك في عيد ميلادي، كيف للسنبل

  One usually knows when one was about to make the perfect kill, call it instinct or gut feeling, but I always knew that you would be more than just a conquest; you would be my opus, a swan song echoing the chapters of our shared history. Our tale, whispered in the winds and passed down through generations like a gilded heirloom, would eclipse time itself.   Amid the aftermath of a battlefield strewn with broken souls, we were the last soldiers standing in a coursing river of spilled life. Between us hung a thread of expectancy, a shared primal desire shone in our eyes, forging us into creatures meant solely for the thrill of the hunt and a need to inflict pain on one another. If Troy fought for something as futile as honor, the war we waged burned with a fire that transcended reason and bled of salt and tears; would you fight a war from which no winner would emerge, knowing that either way you would be nothing but a forgotten casualty amongst a mass of flesh, carrion for hungry crow

       His entire life amounted to this moment. Everything he did, and everything he didn’t do. The culmination of a lifetime riddled with difficulties, losses that he thought were terminal. He yearned for this day never so sure he’ll get to live it, but believing in the cause all the same. And it was finally within his grasp, a few hours away, his sweet, sweet victory. He couldn’t sleep a wink. Sitting at the balcony of his room, it felt abnormal to him that people were slumbering. They should be rejoicing, the streets full to the brim with celebrations. It was a historical night preceding a historical morning, and the state of his surroundings, still and ordinary, was anticlimactic.      By the time the first rays shone through the clouds, the lack of sleep was evident on his face. He went down to the hotel’s lobby, drank too much coffee, and got back to his room to get dressed. He looked at the mirror for a moment, taking a look at the man he was. How did a child whose father was ta

  By the residency of the morning my heart pumped blood into my blasphemous soul  I felt the liquid running through my veins to nourish my epicure vessels  my heart felt agonized and so unused to life; How can it win the war against my vessels? they crave life while it is drowning in greed and cupidity the feeling in my chest vacuumed my line of sight  I laid solemn on my bed, my stomach churning and my mind still darkened by the atrocity of yesterday  I asked myself : how can someone live in the shadow of sin? How can a person find so much comfort in pain and horror? it seemed that it was my only rescue to feel something  I loved the cold for its cruelty I prefer winter to summer  as if the gray sky revealed a bit of the rage that ran within me  I’d suffer, endure it, only to regain my senses   it brought life to me  it made me feel closer to god   it felt so hypnotizing when things got better  my wheels were stuck where sadness wrapped me and kept me warm  my spirit extracted its wil