crazy times

This morning a dense fog swept over London, and a cold storm hit the city, cloudy gloomy weather, people’s footsteps fast, no one paying attention to the other or caring. I looked out the train window and was struck by the astonishing morning face of London. The mist spread so thickly between its buildings that only the tops of its towers were visible, with the rest of the city disappearing into a sea of ​​mist. A city whose climate is always cloudy, and even dark in summer.

The train continues to the rhythm of country music that delights our ears. At the bottom of the carriage stands a blond young man with long hair on his shoulders, singing “Kenny Rogers” songs with great skill, and then with a fluttering harp around among the passengers to pick up a handful of pounds . A familiar sight in the foyer of subway stations and on London trains too, for the English are an addictive people with a taste for music.

The train crossed the enormous Waterloo Bridge to another bank of the Thames. There is dense smoke rising from a high chimney belonging to one of the factories, which mixes with a natural mist, and turns into a polluted misty mass that hides the view as if it were a painting covering the sky of Shakespeare’s Globe -theater pryk. Within my sight I see the St. Paul Cathedral with its white dome, which witnessed the famous wedding ceremony of Princes Charles and Diana, a legendary wedding that the whole world watched on television. The cathedral is covered with mist on all sides, and the large dome looks in enchanting splendor like a snow-rock carved into a circular shape.

The train arrived at Hackney Week station after an exciting exploration of the city of my dreams, but my longing to see my beloved Susan was even greater.

I saluted her, “Code Mornin,” and a smile of longing and spontaneous nostalgia appeared on my face, and I responded with a more eager and youthful smile, pregnant with all the meanings of love and affection.

I took my desk to work and continued to pierce pieces of leather that would connect me through the chain. I slumbered and lost focus, I do not know why my imagination wandered to a distant horizon. He showed me how to walk with my girlfriend in Regent Street and eat Italian ice cream, and from time to time I peeked at Susan while she was immersed in her lines and drawings. I imagined her walking beside me with our arms around our waists, her sweet smile merging with the blush of her cheeks, her tufts of brown hair draped loosely over her shoulders as the fine winds of Oxford Street blew on her.

It’s break time and I can not wait to take her to the industrial district restaurant. I decided today to devour the Greek “Mosaka” dish, a delicious dish with cheese and eggplant that Susan has always told me and wanted. I tasted it for the first time in my life, especially because I ‘ is an eggplant lover.

When we finished eating, Susan stared at me and looked at me with a soft smile. She took something wrapped out of her handbag and handed it to me without knowing what it was, and when I opened it, I got an English story she had given me. I had a beautiful feeling, and I was pleased with her expressive turn. I felt a sense of ecstasy as I entered her enchanting world, a world of tenderness, tenderness and intense passion. I felt for the first time my heart was covered with tender feelings and the pulse of love flowed in my soul.My heart changed from an arid desert to a singing paradise told by Susan’s love and nourished by her ghost.

I praised her and said:

You are a beautiful Cypriot who captivated my heart with your generosity

she answers me:

You are an attractive Arab who fascinated my mind. –

While exchanging romantic phrases with Susan, I was suddenly struck by a terrible feeling, something like a ghost chasing me, Hector became like a nightmare that never left my imagination, hiding in me and searching for ‘ an opportunity to exclude me from this beautiful infatuation growing between me and Susan, until I was afraid of losing him and getting away from me.

When we finished the workshop, I greeted her at the subway door and promised her that I would dedicate myself to reading the novels tonight on the banks of the mighty Thames.

I got on the train and got to Westminster station. I looked up at a giant clock pinned to the top of the hall, it was seven o’clock. As soon as I leave the busy station, I turn to my right and take a few steps to the banks of the Thames, about which I have read so often in the magazines. The name Thames is said to be derived from a Greek word meaning dark water. I quietly followed in my footsteps and looked at the long row of banks along the river. The weather is moderately humid, and the sky is colored with orange hues, which are reflected on the surface of the river at sunset. The walkway is teeming with a crowd of hikers, adorned with “manolia” trees with white flowers, which when dropped to the ground, add splendor and splendor to it. Most banks along the river were inhabited, I could not find an empty one. I passed by a chair and found two lovers clinging to each other as if they were Siamese twins, I imagined them promising not to divorce, holding her in his arms and pulling her tightly.

On another couch, two lovers immersed in a loud conversation are equal, the lover sometimes shouts loudly and calms down at other times, his voice rises in space and gets excited, she lowers her voice to avoid a collision, even the English shout like us despite their cold climate and blood. I said to myself: This is the state of lovers around the world, there is no difference between English and Arabs. On the banks of the river love grows and the symphony of worship continues.

There, on a distant couch, I find a man in an Italian hat sitting alone in silence, just looking at the river as if talking to him about something important, feeding the ducks breadcrumbs and wandering his imagination. with his eyes fixed on the calm river, while he finished feeding the ducks until he shook his hands. and moves his ears in a strange movement. I asked him permission to sit, and he gave me permission, and as soon as I wanted to sit, he got up and apologized: I have an appointment at the estuary. He stammered as he hit the ground with his feet and walked to his path. I was stunned by the man’s words and his movements and said: Maybe this is a crazy man. Reminds me of an idiot in Larache named Ahamido. He memorized the Quran out of his head, and his tongue continued to recite his surahs while on the road. He spends his day begging for money and wandering around in cafes and picking up copper money from them. He wanders around tirelessly for hours, until his feet lead him to the banks of the Lokos River. Sometimes he continued to walk to the city of Asilah, so a driver named Al-Ayashi would take him to the city on his bus for free. He was sitting on the engine box in the front of the bus, the poor man carrying the heat of the engine that set his back on fire. He stares intently at the passengers’ faces and then continues to recite Surah “Ya-Seen” in his own way. Then he becomes silent for a while, then he makes loud giggles for no reason. He tilts his head aside and stares into the void until he seems to be contributing, then turns back to look at the passengers again, as if he wants to teach them an eloquent life lesson. His face was pathetic. A mentally ill man lives lost in a backward society.

This is the tragedy of fools in a ruthless society of patients who have lost their minds. A hard country does not accommodate all its citizens. People have become insane for complex psychological reasons, or compelling social conditions, so they have become a disorder among people, this is the case of mentally ill people in our country, they get up early without a daily program, walk in the streets and markets without any particular destination, there is no doubt that they are good citizens, but they have lost the compass of life.

I grabbed my book and started flipping through it, I read some stories from it, I understood some of it and what I missed, I will inquire about Susan tomorrow. I wish Susan was next to me on the couch and our eyes were on the river, and I whispered words of flirtation in her ears and made her heart dance with joy to the beat of my words like a love poet.

I felt the warm evening breeze, the sun disk seemed to be shrinking and was about to disappear completely, I got up from the bank and followed my footsteps on the river bank, a damp breeze brushed my face, on the opposite bank I went to the famous “Big Pan” clock with four faces, an architectural heritage that covers the facade of the oldest parliament building in the world. The world, a giant clock rings its bells every quarter of an hour.

I continued to walk slowly towards the ancient tower of London, and looked out from afar amidst the threads of a scarlet sun, a tower which at the end of the eleventh century on the banks of the Thames command of King William was built, and then became a symbol of the defeat of the ruling royal family of his enemies in London, as history tells. After sunset the night relaxes its dark shadows, the noise subsides for a while, except for the movement of boats and ships passing in front of my eyes loaded with tourists, radiating colorful lights, giggling and the sound of loud music reaching my ears. The River Thames floods London with magic and beauty during the night.

I imagined Susan walking with my arms crossed on the enchanting pier, a river that blinded lovers, writers and artists to its beauty.

I approached the large tower bridge that stretches high across the river, a bridge sung by poets and written about by the novelist Dickens, as I have seen it many times on the cinema screen. Many scenes from one of the James Bond films are said to have been filmed across the bridge, which is one of the biggest tourist attractions in London.

When I walked a long way from the dazzling quay, I came across Tower Hill Station. The elevator was out of order, the stairs of a deep tunnel descending like the bottom of a well until I could hear the scream of the train door. I hurried to jump inside to carry me to Arnos Grove.

Through the journey, the ghost of Susan appeared before me, which became indistinguishable from my mind. Tomorrow I will meet her and tell her all my romantic fantasies about her.

Leave a Comment