I was reading a strange paper that I found dumped in my friend Magdy’s house. I don’t know who wrote it. It had a poem entitled “Dusk”
In my heart the souls of the world sometimes recover
I am the diver in Noonan thoughts and Vanilla feelings
Despite the suspicion of prison, I am in loneliness.
Take the trains between cities
High with real drugs in the pocket of the blue horizon
The hungry rain of a strange thirsty mouth pours down.
Light a cigarette at the end of the cart
The air between her two doors reminds me of eternity
While my head sails through the silent country with the man standing in front of me on the ground.
Big Perceptions Aggravate With Drinking Beer “Saqqara”
As if it comes out of its joints like a cow eating and drinking back to his home.
No hero in the sunset lectures my heart except a dying mirage
The opium was flushed under the tongue with numbness
And the random straw that I jump off so that my wings don’t rust.
Our country is strange to us, but it is warm
And the warmest thing in the hearts of scum.
Although I do not believe in anything and uprooted my existence from the world
However, I want to confess to someone about my orange visions
Yes, I want to confess in front of a flower or an empty tomb.
I scavenge the music because it is a tacit admission of the corruption of the poem sometimes
And above the walls in every kingdom.
I did not know which poets were and we asked each other, but none of us knew.
Ahmed said: He talks about loneliness, death and wandering in it
I replied: But what is the meaning of this Dusk?
Mazen said: Collect dusk
Ibrahim said: It suggests to me a darkness like the torment of the grave
Magdy said after laughing a lot, “Do you think someone is going to hit me in the grave?”
Ibrahim answered: But it is in religion!
Magdy said: We have nothing to do with religion and what is in it
And we all laughed while Islam was standing up and told me, ’Let’s go, let’s go. We all smiled and went down. The city, from a small family, but he formed many relationships with the elders of the village, he was corrupt and he sold in sociology, hypocrisy, and as a result of that he knew a lot about brothels and their visitors. Even though it is a black comedy.
I went to him at his house on the outskirts of the village and he told me that he wanted me to go with him to have fun, so I agreed. Every two minutes he was giving peace or returning the greeting and he told me that this was a camouflage so that no one knew my intellectual inclinations. We were banished in the village with infidels with some friends as well.
We were in early December with the wind blowing our faces; the breezes were cold and wispy
I said to him: Do you trust this man to whom we are going?
He violently said: Yes, of course, he knows many women who are socially, culturally and financially low, and he will bring me a good woman. I am very thirsty for sex. He does not only have women, but he has all kinds of prohibitions in the country: hashish, Viagra and Tramadol - it is the encyclopedia of forbidden haha.
I turned my face to the scenery of the picturesque farmland, and my eyes started to tear up. We entered one of the agricultural roads and said, adding: He is one of the greedy, but we will take our interest and leave.
We arrived at the house, and it is a house on the edge of the other village that has no easy ways to reach, so that if someone from the police who often used to go there also to meet their physical needs, his name was Fathi, and he was a person who seemed to be quick and his job as a pimp appeared on him and his verbal ability was very welcome.
And he said: Oh hello, oh hello, Islam
And he looked at me and said: Hey, who are the beautiful?
I told him my name: Shams
And Islam replied: He is my friend, do not worry about him
He said: Who wants the woman?
Islam said: No, I am as usual
He laughed and said: You are never satisfied
Islam said: I want him some hashish
dark is about to come, and I went to this village before with some classmates in the school to steal berries from its neighborhood, and a lot happened when I went to steal berries in the meantime when I was a child, I found a woman washing her breasts and they were very dark in the Nile. It was the first time I saw bodies. Naked for my friends who were stripped, went to bathe, and then my mother was mad for not coming home and they called for us in the mosque of my village.
The pimp is a man who does not know his origin or religion, he hunts women in a literal way, the women who need money from peasant women or obese, ugly women who are loathed by everyone so that whoever wants to work with them sometimes without money at all. Prison before.
As we were walking home, I thought what would excite this man to continue his life or raise Islam? They are completely empty things of value for me, but they are very important to them. From psychoanalysis books. We walked until we reached the threshold of the house. Dark was honored and it was the right time because the village has no electricity and no one knows who is doing what? Islam nodded to me to take my mind off my wallet well because it might be stolen and he gave me his wallet too and said to me, “Take your mind Well, it is our value here. The man took it to the woman, and there was a transparent light of the moon passing through the window on her, naked and her body a little full, but her face was not visible.
He said to him: Here it is and we will be held accountable after it ends
And he closed the door on them and took me to another room and spread a cloth
And he told me: How much hashish do you want? Fear not, nobody else is here
The cloth has large brushes of malleable grass and the scent is deliciously fragrant.
I told him: For two hundred pounds, he cut a penknife with what would fit the money and gave it to me
He told me: Sit here until your friend is finished
I sat looking at the place, completely filled with old things and with smoke from cigarettes, hashish and banjo smelling so much.
He told me: Take this cigarette as a gift, a token of love
She smiled and said to him: I accept your deposit
I took it with love and he told me: You haven’t interested in women? If you want I have men also
We heard the woman’s groaning, her voice rough and Islam confiscating her groaning and telling her: Why did you scream so much? Am I too strong for you?
The pimp said: She is also drunk, her husband does not sleep with her Hahaha, and he kept silent and said: Here are the lowest possible prices, you will not find them anywhere else
So I told him: Hashish is strong and good
He said: I do not know that I would live without him
I want to talk to him and try to analyze him psychologically and enter and penetrate deep inside, but I wanted to remain silent in order not to cause any problem to Islam, a world that is very strange to me, although I am coming, I was indifferent, but now I am excited, perhaps because of hashish, but how much he must smoke it so that I can interrogate him.
Islam came out and his clothes were not well arranged, so the pimp told him: What do you think? I think it’s very good
Islam said: Yes, I was satisfied
He gave him money and we left quickly, his face had changed, and I felt that he was coming to life unlike what we were before we entered this house. We kneeled silently until he spoke and said: Strange thing about sex affects my psyche severely, I feel that I am alive in it
Haze him: This is very normal
He said: A good woman knows sex and its thirst made her more beautiful, it is nice to feel that you are coveted; it is almost the pleasure of many people, devoid of even sex.
I did not want to talk to him about the morality of the matter, nor about his exploitation of the weakness and weakness of the substance of the woman in order not to spoil his euphoria without success, for he is good at religious justification and other justifications, as he justifies everything he does in major terms and until now after our friendship for years I do not know his identity or belief, but as a person who justifies To others, what they always do, and the isthmus between his actions and words I did not speak, but I attribute all of this to his escape from mental illness, as his sister was ill and committed suicide shortly after the panic attacks.
He is driving violently and quickly, so I said to him: Calm down a little, it does not need all this speed and the road is not good
He said: Do not be afraid, we will not die. I am good at driving
I said to him: Not for fear of death, but not after all I did in my life, I would die because of a motorcycle. How absurd is this?
He laughed and we laughed excessively together and drove so fast and the sound of the motorcycle was moaning and the insults coming from the cars on the road to us and the air scorching our faces