Defining the wandering sentence
[Zarqa: Jordan’s great military capital,
Becomes further.. and further..
It is three pm in the afternoon of a summer damned in every way possible, and through the open windows the dull wind was sending destruction.. torture and punishment, dust and a terrible smell, and multiple choking angry slaps from utter heat.
It was forming coalitions with the winds of the oppressed, stolen integrity, which also was sending, through the windows of remembering, a whip.. and the drawing was made with red blood.. on the pages of the same story..!]
Tired foreheads.. crushed under a heavy burden!
Sweating foreheads, as a matter of a fact.. they were leaking some hot liquid with a color that is closer to the color of ashes than to anything else. It was an echo of the whipping of the close ones.. it was harder than torturing with electricity that they use in the Mossad..!
Some writer, who was a witness of an age in which necks were sprained and heads were forced down when they were held up high during the lost days of glory, said in his writings:
(What is this horrible condition they are being tested with?
And despite that, how does it compare to this heat?
To being alive but constantly being chased by the genie of death?
And he said: (God helped the rest who were still suffering, just like their people, the owners of the stolen keys..!)
Then he added on in the same piece:
(and.. it is.. without a doubt, the life version of doomsday, domesticated before its holy time by the scum of the country who hijack all the good mottos.. the tyrants of the terrible age..
Doomsday- judgment day..
Where can they run from its destiny, in God’s heavens..)?!
Zarqaa.. Jordan’s great military capital- as it is referred to and praised by many of the good countrymen- becomes further and further, because of what is going on in the monologues of the pains of wandering!
Three pm in the afternoon of a damned summer in all the conditions possible, and through the open windows, the terrible hot wind was sending destruction.. punishment and torture, smells and sand and.. some choking angry slaps of utter heat. All of that joined forces with the winds of what is inside the oppressed heart, and they all were sending whips of torture through the windows of remembering. As for the painting.. it was made of dark red blood.. shed for the great battle and painted on the pages of the same old book..!
Everyone.. screams the pain of the sores of lamination and the boils of Arab depression.. that were made, with careful malicious attention and skillful sly hands, on tactical fire/ technical stove. And the price is the poverty of the already poor nation! How.. with torture.. inflating and butchering?!
How.. with the fire of burning the great storage, the valuable for the labyrinth generation- the future generation that is butchered without a knife?!
They are the vermin.. without a doubt!
They are the vermin.. who else!
They, with made up condescending eternity, are behind the state of self-depreciation: the fatal disease.. that can put down anything even the greatest and biggest of bodies..!
..Some vocal speaker spoke from the top of an office downtown:
My dear.. the tip of the bottle/ the problem/ the disaster is that they had no mercy on us, nor did they let God’s overarching mercy fall from above.. The mercy that is like rain, healing rain, containing forgiveness; the water of repentance..
If they did, then it would have been the promised shelter.. that long sought sacred goal.. where there is no rape, no wolves, no hot august, no nerve-racking comas, no depression, and no humiliation of sojourn!
No.. “one shoulder for the mosquitos and another for the dogs” and.. the army of (beloved ones!)!!
My dear.. my grand dream is to have one day under God’s ultimate caring protection!
That is because the skies, when they rain, would clean everything in the soul, would protect the good people, and the books57 would be elevated as well.
And a day, when we return to the skies, would be better than a thousand days.
And it all will be bright, without a doubt, when the butchers run away from the angels. Angels - God’s will- would be on earth, again, why?!
To rescue a pure Layla from the damned Barraq, so that souls can heal and eyes can rest!
But the vermin, for the same damned reason, are there!
How, then, my dear, is their awaited morning going to come?!
How do you think he can explain the beloved wandering sentence since the fall of the great decade?
And can an (Arab) succeed at this?
Can he really do this, considering that the chickens lay out de jure sentences.. on a damned farm?!
How.. when at a certain spot, the people bowed for the punishment of every Arab Layla?
All he can do now is wonder: Layla right there is ill so where do you think her curing (Barraq) is?
Where are the old, eagle-like eyes, to see the torture every Layla goes through?
Some politician- during a party panel- tries to answer a similar question.. so he says:
(And who am I to answer such an (Arab) dilemma in the whole Layla fiasco?! Or the labyrinth fiasco and the survival of the endangered language!!!?
How can I.. when it is the time of woes, not the time of struggle?
I am, as a matter of a fact, just a writer and a poet originally. So who would ask for a poet’s political opinion or read his articles?!
As for the Barraq, here is the sure answer.. final answer, in a red published novel: he is there at some spot in a room where blood was shed.. forbiddingly, and the trust was expropriated and raped.. just like the breasts of the free, pure, and hungry women..
Do you want more elaboration?
All right then: here is the awaited Barraq going out of a factory originally built by a vermin for his victims. His victims became silent and desperate, sadly, because of the absence of the rescuers who enjoy a deep, good night sleep!!!
And then.. the almond trees are destined to see a spring butterfly no more!
But before.. the sun of the glory day is destined to dim.. in anger and bewilderment! Or.. to leave.. because the heroes no longer exist.. and their endeavors are no longer the same.. and men are men no more: they do not sleep on grievance!!
To be, in the end, the strike of the old happiness!
To make the great moon swear, as of this day/ night, that its light will never be enjoyed again by these vermin!
Yes.. here is your new Barraq.. the latest edition.. in his brand new identity! They have brainwashed him with the forbidden blood and dressed him in a pirate costume. They have given him a proper riotous bad name and given him a (humanitarian) mission, which is.. to rise with his own people!!! And then.. the writer/ poet cried, and left the hall.. leaving behind him this:
(And the light of the next day appears, and its morning turns out to be red-blooded, almost as though it were from the glands of transformation!)
Then.. nothing.. dots, and exclamation and question marks.. nothing more!
There was a heavy silence for a while.. then a mechanistic dark night came, so we went out.. everyone in some familiar darkness!!!
An announcement from the narrator
[I am wondering.. did you hear about self-depreciation and attempts to give up one’s identity?
Has that time of life, which people talk about all the time just like chewing gum, reached you yet?
Anyway.. now that we know the point, who has the ability to show the reasons for this internal disruption?
Whoever can show that, explain it, then analyze it well, is indeed blessed with some special and great luck! Perhaps he can even mock Aladdin because of his cheap joy of possessing the lamp.
That is that our friend has owned all the lamps of luck from Moses’s stick and to what David and Solomon had.. who knows!
Because he has the ability. He can.. without a doubt, bring this nation from the darkness into the light, which has not happened for five long depressing centuries!!
Yes.. whoever God blessed with this ability, and possessed a theory that can somehow fix the national issue is the only person who can answer the depleting question for the sons of the Arabian labyrinth! When he appears, he will go ahead and introduce himself.. which I do not favor! So here I am giving him an introduction on a silver platter of words, what he should start with, starting with the private/ the simple towards the public/ the problematic! About that depressed funeral-like telepathy, in between the characters of these monologues and the naughty soldiers of past stories!
Anyway.. is it true that we are still at the beginning of the path?
They have known the beginning for a long time, and they prepared for eternity, so that we remain limping in our path. And even when the revival happens, even if it were in a dream, and we walked towards a promised day so far away, the beginning would be broken and horses would be aging.. because of the long wait!
They have known it since the first sedition, and the second, and the third, and.. the tenth!
Since the archangel landed with the healing news..
Since the survival of the truthful and the honest prophet after he started revealing his message from Mecca, and vowed to ditch the old blasphemous “theocratic” regime.
They have known it since the prophet said: (How can you enslave people when their mothers gave birth to them free), (people are equal like the teeth of a comb), and (the strong is weak for me when he has taken other people’s rights, and the weak is strong for me when I make sure he has all of his rights)..
Even after centuries when they rose against the renaissance master, who encouraged the Arabs and the eastern Muslims, urging them to dust inequality off themselves.. to plow the unjust’s stomach: (you plow the earth’s stomach, when are you going to plow your unfair master’s stomach?!) After he addressed the Egyptian farmer with what I just mentioned, he went all the way to India to motivate its beaten people to rebel against the whip of the English Lords: (I swear if you were turtles, you would have thrown this empire into the well)..
That was the teacher that went round and about asking the oppressed in our controlled orient to seize their freedom through the wakeful days, which he must make. And ditch the retrospective backwardness, which was and still is, no matter how much it is spruced up and hid behind the masks of the forbidden occupation..
It was as if that teacher were saying: (be righteous.. modest and content. Do not be a needy, immature frightened child.. do not be scared of a Sultan or a scepter. Instead, be a philosopher who sees life as a game..)..
That was (The Afghani.. Jamal al-Din).. Who do you think follows his path with wakefulness.. and excitement for freedom, towards better lives?! Who would rise up and take the torch from him, the pen, the sword, and the tongue? So that no lost Arab king would cry, like women, because he did not take care of the torch as men should!
Instead.. perhaps it is the beginning of the end.. sadly.. because the Arab of today is still crying, but.. for losing something cheap.. a possession that is inherently different..
As for the sword nowadays.. it cuts cakes at weddings!
As for the spear.. it is made of wood now and is used only for dancing behind a whorish dancer after midnight!
There is nothing but the.. tongue.. and it is only used for swearing and cursing.. condescending and calling names.. nothing more!
As for the pen.. leave it.. after we left behind our awakening lesson and did not look back at all!!
For that all.. indeed.. the Arab is still crying over the loss of a possession that is lost every morning: like me, he did not take care of it: like women!
Join me.. let us all say a big (A..h) together as big as our fortune!! A sigh of humiliation.. machination.. the silence of the silent.. to God only we complain..
That was the beginning.. they knew it but denied it, so that was their beginning.. it cursed them.. but they did not curse it..
So who is speaking of escape when we lost the (!!!) with our own hands because of a made up illusion of self-deprecation, the Arab self.. which once saw great days, during Islam’s glory days!
We lost.. indeed, or actually we dimmed.. because of an illusion- that made men shiver.. and for the same old mute silence: the Mesopotamian candle.. the last great Arab candle.. the one that survived for centuries, protected by God. After it was, until a very recent time, lighting up our Arabian glory for us.. the remains of it, from the top of a palm tree that we owned.. during the old ancient great days of glory!]
(.. The narrator!)
And his news would come in pieces from every side..
What our friend.. the famous writer did not continue we actually know. As soon as dawn came out the next day, and its morning came red as blood.. different than what we were used to, newspapers were showing pictures of the new demon: the old Barraq carrying a serrated ax in his right hand.. dripping with blood (that we know), and in his other hand he is carrying the head of a young girl (whom we know).. a cute young girl, and her lips are smiling: the smile of victory of death!
A mourner who had just arrived coming from there told me:
When one Layla that I know laid eyes on Barraq’s picture with his new uniform and new marine hairstyle.. after they gave him claws, after he grew tusks and hooves and so on!
She said: when she saw him.. she did not cry!
Because she knew what her life had become!!
Then she stopped with the soring talk. Now what was underneath the red snow has been revealed.
The trouble has been revealed.. but the wandering is still as it is.. without an explanation!!
No one can explain it.. unless the skies send mercy down on us: so death would be the end.. (or).. the vermin would vanish!!