My home town, not my homeland

I should be entirely ashamed of my feelings. I should repent the way I feel.

I was driving back to the my home town, to see my family. I do that every other weekend.

The minute I entered my hometown, instead of feeling nostalgic I felt alienated. I cursed my home town.

I cursed my home town.

Kos o5tek yaft ‘lnsari.

I cursed my home town.

I hate you.

I hate everything here.

(Except my family,

and my childhood memories.)

My home town…

Where people spy on each other.

Where people talk shit about each other.

Where people kill each other… over money and honor.

My home town…

where people are extremely religious, and live back in the 15th century.

And where girls, my age, younger and older, look the fucking same.

Same hair, same jeans, same t-shirt.

And I look hideous in my sweats and my Amsterdam t-shirt.

With my untamed hair, and brain.

I flew outside of the city to find another place in which I can feel comfortably alienated.


March 3, 2018

Autumn Agony (unfinished)

– October 14, 2017

When it’s the beginning of the year
The autumn leaves turn into flames
And fall off.
No longer part of their home
Their grand, erect, warm and green home.
They loved their home.
Their home carried them
Protected them
And nourished them.
And now they’re part of this earth,
Wandering to find a shelter
A corner, or a cave to hide in.
Until spring rises again.

The autumn leaves might find a place.
While my agony will remain the same.
Spring will come after few months,
Where I’ll be the same
Though perhaps wearing something different.
I wake up every morning,
Look out the window
At the autumn leaves
Feel the autumn chill
smell the wet ground
breathe the agony that been haunting me.
And I think to myself,
Why does it feel the same?
Every single year?

It prepares me for wintertime.
For December and January.
For Christmas and New Year.
And I have to force myself to live through it,
And enjoy every little bit of it.
And then go home,
Lie on my bed,
Sleep through the rain,
Shut my tears,
And my eyes,
And fall asleep.
To wake up the next day.
And get up and live through it.
Live through every day…
Live through every moment of agony.
Until it leaves me for a bit.


My October

A poem I wrote three years ago.

Strawberry Fields

It happens early

or just earlier than  expected.

The first drops of rain

I learned to hate through the years.

But this is the time

my own month

to feel cheer.

It will take up another year

to bring back the heat

I had during summer time.

I wrote songs

of love and freedom

while looking at and feeling

that stormy warm sea.

The fall and its beginnings

brand new beginnings

of fear


and excitement.

And that dreadful


drops of rain…

symbolizing hope.

What hope?

the hope of return?

the hope of freedom?

They are  nothing but gentle,

frail and ill.

This is my month though

it will forever bring surprises.

Some of them joyous

others are dire.

October 4th, 2014


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It’s Christmas Today -a poem from 2012

Dear readers,

I would like to wish you all a very merry Christmas and a happy and hopeful new year.

I would like to take this opportunity to share a poem I wrote and share every single year on Christmas, just because it means a lot to me. I wrote it in times of agony and distress.

A lot has changed in the past 4 years, but still, this poem brings me back to those old times of desolation.

It’s Christmas today
There should be snow
There should be peace
and love.

Where is our great friend Santa?
coming from the far away land
to give us what we want
and what we need?

Where is our old and dear friend
Jesus Christ?
Who once came from the dead,
and promised to save our souls?
He is old enough now to keep his promises,

Where is that day?
the twenty fifth of December,
that used to carry our jolliest dreams?

Where are our dreams?
Are they still lost in the fountain of time?
Or are they still stuck in our surrendered souls?

Where are our hopes, faith and passion?

It’s Christmas today.
No one wishes to be alone
yet no one wishes to be with the beloved ones.
There are no beloved ones.
We are alone…

It’s the end of our time.
The end of our eternity.
A new Millennium is to be born,
And our great Lord knows what it carries.

On this Christmas day,
We will leave our lands,
and join our enemies.

On this Christmas day,
we will leave our hopes and dreams
to join our godforsaken fate.

December 25th 2012

The love song of J. Asshole Profuck

Let us go then you and I
Where we left our hopes and dreams
getting drunk in that local bar
a friendly one, like most of them,
made us lose our conscious.

We can go outside and praise the sun
we can go to bed and forget the day
Yet, you need to wake up early
To leave me in peace
With my toys and all of my paint

You go out each night
To fuck around like a whore living in a park
You live in your own red light district
And then you drag me with you
Believing I belong to the darkness of your streets.

If I have to drink again
It will be without you
Provoking you to lie to me again
And again
Until your lies become my own reality
And your own as well.

The more you lie and make up things
You create our own reality
Filled with lies and dreams
Believing we belong together…
But the only place we belong together
is the one-night-stands
(all of them)
you imagine you had with me.

And indeed there will be time
to lie more and create
a world where you live in love
and passion
There will be time and there will be time
you will constantly say
until you realize that you have only said
there is no fucking time
for us to meet and clear everything
between us.

There will be time for me
to ask a question I never dared to ask
Dare disturb your world again?
And I will.
I will disturb you till the end
because I’m obsessed
with everything you had with me
and everything I thought would happen.

You held my hands and said
“you’re beautiful.”
While we both know I looked pale
and wretched that night.

Yet, I believed you saw through me
and that beauty is what you,
and you alone,
can see.

But indeed there will be time
to believe again
and dream again and again
that you died and had finally gone.
There will be time
to live again and be content
far away from you.

May, 2016

(some phrases in the poem and even the title are based on/inspired by expressions from The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock. by T.S. Eliot.)


Poetry is life ☘










From the Dead Poets Society.

Photo Collage from  wallflowerbloom (found on The FB page Book Mania)

قصة حيفا ترويها شواهدها

شعر كتبه صديقي العزيز الشّاعر والكاتب والصّحفي شاهين نصّار
شعر عن مدينة حيفا، لمن عرفها وسكن بها، عرف قيمتها
a poem written by m y dear friend, the poet, writer and journalist Shahin Nassar. A poem about Haifa, the city that only those who know it(her) and lived in it (her) knows how much it is worth.

مش عادي

في حيفا قصص كثيرة يحاكيها الزمان 

وروايات أخرى مخفية عن الأعيان

هناك حكايا مخبأة بين الأزقة والجدران

إنها لمدينة يعجب لها القادم من أي مكان

في حيفا، حدائق معلقة أنماها إنسان

جنة على الأرض ملأها الحنان

ويقين أنها كونية في كل زمان

لكن في مقابرها تخفي شجن

على ماضٍ كان لها مرصوص البنيان

ومجد تليدٍ يولد من قلب الدمار

  • * * * * *

شواهد حيفا تحكي أحداثا لا تعرف البدء

والنكبة لم تضع لها حدا ولا إنتهاء

تقصّ على مرآى العابرين منها افتراء

النظام السياسي الجديد الذي حطّ وسط الصحراء

بمعايير عصرنا شواهد قلّة قبل الاجتراء

ورغم شحّتهم، يزهو فيها الأبطال الشهداء

وعميدهم القسّام في بلد الشيخ يأبى الدمار

  • * * * * *

هناك لن يبكي الطفل على جد الجدِّ

ولن يعثر الباحث عن أسلافه بجدِّ

على إجابة عمّا حلّ بمصير الأعيادِ

ومع ذلك، قد يجد هناك من يشهدِ

على ازدهارٍ نما من قلب الدمار

  • * * *…

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One after another

Here it goes again
one lie after the other
And here they go again,
every single feeling I have left.

Just by walking down the street,
I see your lies,
in an empty carousel.
The history of only five years,
flashing in front my eyes,
in just a mere moment.
Those five years felt like only five weeks.
Of complete agony.

Here it goes again,
another feeling of betrayal.
Another feeling of ridicule
and ignorance.

Here it goes again,
another moment,
of complete emptiness.
Worthless words,
pointless plans.
within your hollow bosom.

Here it goes again,
one lie after another,
covered with your illusory affections.

And here I lie again,
ready to forgive and forget,
like I’ve done repeatedly before.
Risking another chance
to be real with myself
and finally move on.


April 8, 2016

On Love – Al Saher&Gibran

I watched it few weeks ago on TV and I’ve forgotten to share it on my blog. This is just way too beautiful.

The text by the great Lebanese Poet/writer Gibran Khalil Gibran (source):

When love beckons to you, follow him,
Though his ways are hard and steep.
And when his wings enfold you yield to him,
Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.
And when he speaks to you believe in him,
Though his voice may shatter your dreams
as the north wind lays waste the garden.

For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you. Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning.
Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun,
So shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth.

Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto himself.
He threshes you to make you naked.
He sifts you to free you from your husks.
He grinds you to whiteness.
He kneads you until you are pliant;
And then he assigns you to his sacred fire, that you may become sacred bread for God’s sacred feast.

All these things shall love do unto you that you may know the secrets of your heart, and in that knowledge become a fragment of Life’s heart.

But if in your fear you would seek only love’s peace and love’s pleasure,
Then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness and pass out of love’s threshing-floor,
Into the seasonless world where you shall laugh, but not all of your laughter, and weep, but not all of your tears.
Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself.
Love possesses not nor would it be possessed;
For love is sufficient unto love.

When you love you should not say, “God is in my heart,” but rather, “I am in the heart of God.”
And think not you can direct the course of love, for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course.

Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself.
But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires:
To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.
To know the pain of too much tenderness.
To be wounded by your own understanding of love;
And to bleed willingly and joyfully.
To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving;
To rest at the noon hour and meditate love’s ecstasy;
To return home at eventide with gratitude;
And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips.

When She (Lilith) Took Me by Surprise

I must confess I was sitting idle at that time

My interest lied in the smallest of matters

Until that call I received

About a character I haven’t truly met

It took me by surprise.

To get to know her

To explore her reality

To acknowledge her beauty

And many talents

I find her in myself

And I find her in them all.

Though she took me by surprise.

She scared my bones

She made me doubt

Whether she and I will ever be close.

She took me by surprise

To get to know her

To know her lovely

Yet wicked face

She smiled to me

And I knew she’s pure…

Evil, good, liberated, and passionate,

She is even rebellious and outrageous.

Maybe she’s in love

And I have to endure it,

Be with her till the end.

Oh boy, she took me by surprise.

This woman….

She was the first

As some of the legends say.

She might even remain the last.

She was hardly known or remembered…

And that is a shock indeed

As she scared me more than me.

July 13th, 2015

Time to stop , in the middle.

A young girl
Living in a world of deceit.
Looking for escapades.
Reckless, not adventurous.
Rebellious by heart,
not by mind.
for passion…

It’s time to stop!
But no…
one last time.
Or more last times.
More… last times.

Stop. This satanic
notorious habit.

Take a stand.
Save yourself,
young and foolish girl.

The escapades can again be found
in dreams and fiction.
There is no real world
for reckless hearts.
There is no place for naive minds.

Except one last chance.
Of pure pleasure.

February 15, 2015

Goodbye January

Strawberry Fields

20130123WinterMelancholy January,
the coldest of months,
where is your fresh beginning?
Where are the dreams
and hopes you have promised?
the month of mystery,
the month of melancholy,
where nothing is lucid
and pure.
Where is your faith in us
and humanity?
Where is your cordiality?
I sense nothing
but vain and agony.
Frigid January,
the month of death,
Why could not you resurrect?
Goodbye January,
the coldest of months,
take all the misery with you,
and your spurious promises too.
Goodbye January,
I will keep myself warm,
far away from your atrocity.
Goodbye January.

January 31st 2013

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