Libya the future | Bhai .. Bhai

Winter comes with its rain and cold, and its gloomy winds scratch the facade of your life in cold. The cloudy sky of your life longs for the lightning of the summer sun that is over or late at the gate of spring. Your limbs tremble, and your empty wallet trembles in your poor pocket, when you hear that Mr. Director refuses to accept you to work in a pasta factory …

You offer your apologies to the Director, regret that you stole five minutes of his precious time, and thank him for his generosity. And before his happiness asks you to show him the width of your shoulders, you leave his lavish office, head bowed …

Your tired feet drag you down a wide street that narrows with your misery. Here she tries to mimic the sound of winter thunder – spontaneously – when she curses unemployment for the thousandth time. But you’re content that the curses leave your cavity to touch the light in the whisper of an addictive muffler. And because you are aware of the absence of the appropriate “wasta” in the travels of your days, and you realize the broad “shoulders” boycott of your life, you will still be afraid to curse unemployment in public for fear of elves , committees, municipal guards, and the unjust sultan’s order … even if the listener is a caretaker at a mosque or school.

On the way home, disappointed, an acquaintance meets you by chance on the way. He asks you about the reason for your absence from “The Scene”, so you apologize and justify that you did not call him, not only because your phone subscription is out of coverage, but because your whole life is out of coverage and The Scene “, and therefore you have lost your balance of fuel ambition for a future in which you did not live …

She tells him a liar: I’m sorry, I missed “the scene” because I was too busy! And do not forget to add, as is the custom of your countrymen, the word “By God” to “I was very busy.” It’s as if the phrase “I was very busy, with God” is true and has a better impact on the listener’s hearing! You forget that you are lying, and that it is not correct to include the name of God in every big and small of daily transactions unless you really mean what you say. With premeditated advice, you know that there is nothing that keeps you busy except your constant search for the stick of Moses to ignite a wild path in the Mediterranean that will lead you to a far coast full of new, opportunities, frustrations , failures, success, wounds, smiles and joy, and torn sails too. If you do not remember his name, he will answer you: If God wills, well, let us see you back.

Immediately after you get rid of this “chaskas”, a friend meets you and quickly takes your arm. As if he were forcing you to accompany him to a cafe full of strangers and the smell of human frustration, to sip a cup of coffee in his company and to blow the smoke of water pipe into the air of your city that groans and silences is polluted. screams of souls!

Decide to be honest with him and that you will not use the “too busy by God” excuse. You yell at him that you do not want to waste your time drinking coffee and blowing water pipe smoke in the air of tired city cafes. But you’re convinced of his opinion after listening to the second option he jokes to you: You do not want to go to the cafe with me, so let’s go to the museum!

They laugh spontaneously and then escort him to the cafe, young and reluctant, to pursue the hobby of killing hours of time in public on dirty plastic chairs that occupied the corners of the place in chaos. Dozens of questions float in the air of cafe goers, followed by hundreds of answers that only lead to more questions. And the conclusion? Nothing new!

The crowds present prove for the millionth time their knowledge and awareness of all things. Rarely do you hear someone say: I do not know!

You arrive at your house and you do not know how you came back or what you saw and with whom you spoke on the way.

All laughter is yellow .. all events are the same .. all faces and fates are the same .. even the treacherous and bumpy streets of your city are the same.

The mother meets you with her usual question: Did you get a maid, my son? Your automatic answer, recorded by the answering machine in your skull, comes: No, still, Mom!

Your mother wishes you prosperity and success with the next effort tomorrow, and asks for protection and blessings from the Most Merciful, the Most Generous, and concludes her plea by mentioning the names of righteous parents she heard from her grandmother.

After a meager meal, but not of haram money, your nocturnal journey begins to wander between the world’s satellite programs. You are no longer surprised to hear the unfortunate news of the world, and you are no longer eager to follow boring series whose presenters live in another world far from your world and in another time for which you do not ‘ a visa does not have …

You pull out an old blanket for the cold of your little room. If you cover your head with a blanket, you will fail to cover your feet with it. Stretch your legs as long as your bed, and as short as your blanket bends your neck or your legs bend …

Ignore your hardy, lifelong college diploma under the glass of a cheap China-imported frame. You decide to continue your strike by not looking at that corner of the wall in which this highest testimony was hung.

The Chinese frame and the Indian nail that carries your college degree mourn and decide to argue with you again, so the frame of your degree will tilt to the right. Are higher education and university degrees described as “higher” because they are always hung in the highest corner of the square?

After a long struggle and struggle against a short blanket, you manage to infiltrate the world of sleep and announce in the form of growls that only the occupants of outer space can understand, your escape from the suppression of the de facto power to the power of sleep and the world of dreams.

After two or three hours of a world entering only the “professional” or tired person, the muezzin of the nearby mosque insists on waking you from your sleep to pray, reminding you of the need to Creator to thank for what He has. given and for what He hindered. All the roosters of the house announce their accession, support and fidelity to what the muezzin has called for, and the chapters of a story and a story begin every day …

Under the cover of your short blanket you weave the threads of a conspiracy, forcing your imagination to imagine the taste of chicken and your pans, all the meat is cooked in a pasta pot until you get rid of it. .

Your imagination accepts the conspiracy of conspiracy and drooling, so your stomach declares its ready to house what you imagined of chicken meat, even if it is infected with bird flu and the worst disease. Your stomach and intestines make exploding noises and sirens sound in your empty stomach. Fatigue and hunger force you to beg for a new entry visa to the world of dreams. The Federation of Scattered Dreamlands gives you a transit visa, so you cover your head with a blanket and leave your feet outside the cover. And as soon as you cross the gate of the Sultan of Sleep, until you receive the daily command of someone knocking powerfully on the door of your room: “Say your turn, a favor on your head, boy. It’s seven and a half Raho.! ”

You try to shout for the thousandth time to announce that (you have no head, and there is no service without an intermediary) in this oil-producing country, but you fail in it. From your suffering comes your polite response to your father’s request and says: Wow .. Wow, son …

The summer you have been waiting for is coming, and its sunshine is falling into the corners of the coldest days of your life. Daylight flanks with the shadows of your siesta, and heat flows slowly through the veins of your tired body. Oases of feelings dry up and the throats of emotions become inflamed. You secrete salty sweat that hydrates your thirsty skin, so you complain about the high humidity of the place at a fiery fly that teaches the art of singing.

In the winter I miss summer, and when summer came, I secretly began flirting with winter memories. Summer hears your complaint, and sends you a gift: a sea breeze he buys for you from waves that have lost their compass, so that you have fallen on the shores of your city dotted with its whitewashed streets and the features of its inhabitants …

The horizon of your turbulent evening is revived, so you decide to go out to escape the silence of concrete walls that only share silence, sadness and emptiness with you, and the whistling of a fly you know will never learn to sing, but it never stops flying around your head and performing the maneuvers of the forced landing on your broad, sweaty forehead …

You take a few steps down a dusty street, and you hear the screaming sound of your neighbor’s car engine. The relentless moaning of the engine increases the rush of your neighbor’s curses and curses directed at all the engineers of Korea. The remains of your neighbor’s car are of French origin and nationality, so why should he insult Korea? only God knows why or how we were created!

Your neighbor pushes half a dozen children bored out her door, ordering them to play in the street, hoping “God bombards their lives.”

Scattered generates your words, when you feel cold and you are in a hot environment.

In the morning of closed windows she transforms into a stranger fluttering his breath and sketching a brightly colored picture of a new day to come. But those bright colors fade quickly and turn into a lifeless chemical mixture, when nostalgia begins for a homeland that inhabits you and you want to inhabit it by providing its daily meal with stimuli to your heart, mind and your whole being …

The sun has a lot of appearance, the most beautiful of which is the early morning appearance before the sun gets tired of burning people’s nightmares …

Suddenly you discover that a new winter is over .. followed by spring .. then summer .. and the quarreling autumn winds have brought down a new year of your life. All that is left for you is to sip a new dose of your constant optimism, and then declare again: Wow .. Wow.

Hussein Al-Tarbi

2009

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