Las Palmas De Majorca

I had this sick attachment to you.I was attracted because it is dangerous, wrong and would not last. A pure adrenaline rush, something that would get me high, no commitments, no expectations. It was a game, something I played before, ancient history, the marks of a poker player. We were lust and lies and it brought me to life. It was pure abandon, you love my recklessness, I was obsess with your controlling,dominant nature. I knew from the beginning that there was no love, we took the plunge eyes wide open and those are one of the reasons that made us tangible. Yet, you know for a fact that I was yours and you are mine.

Finally, I met my match but I will not be the first to give in.

Farasha Sagheira

I always dream to walk in fields of sunflowers, their heads bobbing and greeting me like royalty. I want my senses to be assaulted by the smell of orange grooves and my mouth tasting globes of grapes, its purple juices leaving its trace at the tips of my tongue. I want to smell the earth after the rain, its cultivated soil the home of truffles, wheat and herbs.

Escapism clamors in my blood, signaling that the time is ripe where I could bury my spirit in freedom. I onced asked you to come with me to Tuscany after we made love. It was dark and I could only gaze at your silhouette and feel your three day stubble grazing my back. I asked that we run away from all of these, from the tyranny of selfishness, from the world inhabited by humans obsessed of money and power. You laughed sofly, planting small kisses in my shoulders and resting your chin in my head. You laughed at my idealism and simple dreams, and with a sigh you carefully lined up your ideals, your wants, not your needs. You are the same as most of them. You want to carve your niche in a city that breaths superficiality. You patiently smiled as you listen to my dreams of utopia, of love and poetry, of having heaven in the palm of our hands, the celestial wonders of a simple life. You asked if I would be happy picking olives for a living. I asked back if you will be happy in a yacht with women full of fake breasts. You laughed heartily, pulling me to face you, devouring me with your mouth, lenght and long fingers.

I got up and buttoned my jeans, you fetching my sandals in the other side of the bed, kneeling in front of me to fit them on my feet. That moment, I loved you then. You look at me softly and we sat at the edge of the bed, saying nothing. Our hands clasped together and you bring mine to your lips, gently kissing the bones of my knuckles, one at a time

I placed a chaste kiss in your forehead and walked out.

Barcelona

You and I, we drift apart as dreams fade in our subconscious. For some uncanny reasons, we always find reasons to abhor and despise each other but like conjoined twins we never, cannot break apart. You always see me as someone uncapable of self honesty, my words and confessions laced with beautiful lies, like sonnets written by a street poet drunk by apathy and loathing.

Yet amidst the brokeness and the crooked parts that was me, you've witnessed the vulnerability and by that sheer knowledge, the crooked parts doesn't mean a thing when you've found someone to wreck and be pretty with. Whilst I speak my lies very close to your lips, fresh realisations dawned to me and acknowledge that you are the first person to sift through my wreckage and dust off the jaded years, who deciphered my battle cries which I carefully close and never to divulge. You see the intensity of my madness that lurks in the dark alleys and mazes of my mind.

For some known reasons not to ourselves, there are now miles between us, a distance that became familiar and yet--uncomfortable. I would like to remember you as words I can put into phrases, words that could cut me and made me whole, words so beautifully strung together like symphonies and echoing chimes in my darkest hour.

Bathroom Diaries

cascade of fluid
amid the fog on a white tiled wall
blowing steam
disrobing gently
seeing the reflection for the first time
imprints of non perfection
tawny skinned
smoothness and freckled
like stardust left to scatter in abandon
feather touching
on the pubescent line
a rush of velvet
not long after
the silk on skin
replaced by angry welts
bruised and rogue...

The Photographer

She was dreaming of falcons hovering in the Middle Eastern skies, of golden sunrise and clear blue skies. The smell of kebabs and the savoury sweetness of dates. She woke up with a start, wishing that dreams would last forever. A small clap of thunder can be heard in the west and she stood abruptly, excited of the prospect of rain, the satin sheets sliding on her body, exposing her naked form. Without any rancour nor decency, she stood in the french windows, clasping the brocade curtains, her face a halo of happiness and expectation. Gray skies can be seen and she hurriedly unsnapped her luggage containing her camera and stood bare naked in the windows waiting for the moment, a drizzle perhaps?

While she stood serenely in the windows, she looked like Venus rising in the seas. She is of medium height, quiet petite if barefoot, her full breasts perfectly proportioned with her rounded body, almost Rubenesque and very voluptuous. Her legs are not long but quiet shapely, her calves, a painters' dream. Her thick luxurious hair cast a shadow in her round face, hiding her almond shape eyes and the dimples on both cheeks.

She is an artist of some sort, she takes photos for and of strangers, she paints at her leisure, some of her works are commissioned by several hotels in the city. Her luck change few months back when one of her works where exposed in an exhibit in one of the posh museums and word suddenly spread about this up and coming painter. However, her great love is the written word, she writes as if breathing depends on it, her love, passion, angst and all those rampaging emotions are only cast in blank spaces. She sends her articles to different editors and agents, their rejection of her words are cruel stabs to her soul, but she kept on sending them, the mere fact that they send her rejection slips are enough for her to know that it is being read and she is part of the literary world.

The soft drizzle came; its sound a lyrical sonata on the pavements and glass windows. She snapped several shots, capturing the images she wants, taking different angles of her subjects; an Indian man running for cover, an Arab man in his kandura hurrying to his car, a group of Indian women in colorful saris with gigantic umbrellas. The click of the camera was the only sound in the studio flat she is occupying, barely furnished as money is tight and the painting materials are expensive.

She never stopped taking her pictures until she felt cold, her nipples erect from the freezing weather. She carefully placed the camera in the dresser and as if noticing for the first time herself, naked as new born child, she felt a warm sensation just looking at her reflection in the mirror. She cupped her breasts, touching her already hard nipples, pinching it gently, the sensation running like wildfire to the spot between her legs. She let her hands gently touch her chest, down to her rib cage, to her navel and to the soft triangle, the jade doorway. She touched it gently, exposing the lovely lips to her view, the hood throbbing, inching to be touch, caressed. 

Suddenly she stopped, feeling flushed and slightly guilty in a pleasurable way. With raw sensation she never felt before, she gently lift her camera and began snapping away, this time the attention is focused not to any strangers, but to herself, exposing her full glory through the lenses, never stopping until the muscles in her arms, legs and fingers grew numb from exhaustion.

The Conversation

It was a night of mismatched stars. I stayed ensconced in the warmth of his embrace. I buried my face on his chest inhaling his scent. He was whispering about leaving the restaurant, I was lost in the notion of dreaming. He gently pat my bottom for us to move, clasping my hands, half dragging me. His stride is always long and I have to keep up momentarily to catch his motions. This is always the case with him -- making the decisions and expecting me to come along. We reached the car park and he opened the passenger door for me. I slide stiffly and warily eyed him as he stared ahead on the empty space ahead of us. He took my hands and gently squeezed it, placing gentle kisses on each of my fingers and as he slowly inch towards me. He cupped my face, placing a gentle kiss on my forehead, on my cheeks, the tip of my nose, my chin and finally on my lips. I opened my mouth in protest, to stop whatever he has in mind, but he hushed me with the assault of his lips. It was gentle and rough, his tongue sliding in my mouth demanding to be reciprocated. He bit my lower lips very gently, his tongue circling my mouth with such intensity making me breathless and dizzy with emotions. I want to kiss him back, equaling his passion but I can't. So many things happened, so many that I can't move, I can't keep up.

He sensed my mood and stared at me long and hard, jaws clenched. He gripped the wheel, about to start the car. "No," I protested. "We really, really need to talk." I said quietly. He drew a very laboured breath and sighed. "Okay, we will talk."

"Why are you here, what do you want from me, why after all these months you decided to show up again?" I asked, not pausing for a break. 

He looked at me. "I never left, that is the first; second, I have been missing you, and third, I missed you," he said this very softly looking at me sideways. I was doumbfounded by his audacity, I snorted. "Okay, I expect that reaction from you, after all I never expected a warm welcome," he smiled briefly. I was caught off guard, my emotions in rampage, I was struggling to keep a non chalant demeanor. I heaved a heavy sigh and prepared what I have to say, careful on my words, thinking coherently. 

"It is different now, a lot of things happened, you left without a backward glance, it was cruel, vicious in fact. Yes, I admit, I have my share of these problems, but you refused to hear me nor even consider what I have to say. You just dropped everything and let fate take its course, expecting that I will be still here, and we can always patch up and try to make things right, pretending that it never happened. But sooner or later this issue will rise again and we will be on the same boat once more. We will hurt each other again, we will say words that we will regret later and I, I just cannot pretend that it will not matter, because it will." I was staring at my hands, at the dash board, anywhere, except meeting his stares, because if I will, I might lose all control and beg him to just hold me. But I cannot, he damaged me more than enough and when I already pick up the broken pieces, he, once again would do - intentionally or not, the inevitable. 

"Are you seeing someone now," he asked carefully. 

"Yes," I answered tightly. I cannot look at him, of fear that I will betray myself.

"I see. Are you... are you happy?" he asked again.

"Happiness is a choice, and I chose to be one," I answered in a small voice. 

"Fine. Have it your way. We will not speak of this again." his voice so final.

This is so like him. He would not let me read him. He will cast me aside and indulge his pain in silence, pretending he is not affected. But the flicker of his surprise in my pronouncement was enough that he did not expect it. Then he caught himself and masked his face with indifference. Aloofness. As if bracing himself for another blow, but I kept mum. That is all I have to say in the subject.

He started the engine and said, "I will take you home now, thank you for your time, for the effort to see me." We drove in silence and I stared at the windows, willing myself not to cry of this finality, of the pain and the emptiness lying ahead. We passed several shops and gasoline stations and I said to myself that I will not pass this road again as I will remember this night once more. 

We reached my place and I looked at him. He met my gaze with his very sad eyes. I will remember his eyes the most, flecked with thick lashes, the dimples in his left cheek, the smoothness of his shaven face. I want to bury my face in his neck like I used to but I cannot now. Not ever again. I touched his face with feathery movements, tracing his jaw line. I kissed his cheeks lightly and said my goodbye. I went out of the car and walked ahead the building, without a backward glance.I heard him roar away and I went back. For the last time, I want to watch him walk away once again in my life. This time with finality. I watched the tail lights of his car vanishing down the streets of Muraqqabat, turning left to exit Al Rigga. I stood in the pavements, with a heavy heart and a lump in my throat. Oh baby, if you could only love me better and make me a priority and not an option we will never reach this point. I was prepared to love and adore you for the rest of our lives.

Passion Paradox

I am perjuring myself big time. No matter how much I want to exorcise your phantoms, the memory lingers in the back of my mind like a movie with a bad editing. Scenes thrown in my face and I am a spectator of my own tragic life story. I cut the scenes until I have everything I wanted just to get through the day or night and anything in between. Conversations running amock in my head I have to write it down before I spill it and drown myself.

It was one of those weekends when I spent the afternoon in your place. I was curled in the sofa reading a Jeffrey Archer novel whilst you were working on something. Value Engineering you said. We are both comfortable with silence, your fingertips making subtle sounds on your notebook, Dave Matthew's Band crooning softly in the back ground. I feel you staring at me, and I look up. Tenderness written in your eyes and you asked me, "Would you like to come with me to Istanbul someday?" I pondered for a second and beamed, "I would love to,". You smiled your gentle smile and went on to what you are doing. I saw you in a different way then and I have the urged to sit in your lap and bury my face in your neck, inhaling your scent. But I did not.

I played a dangerous game of who gives more and gives in much. I cannot say the words you want to hear, I thicky veiled what I feel, what I want, what I need until I made you lose interest and when you tried to bridge the gap, I throw it aside with the grief of a child. You treated my immaturity with patience and laughter and all I did was stomped my feet in pure brattiness.

"Do you miss me?", you asked after days of silence owing to a huge and bitter fight. "I will not respond to that," I retorted. "Do you miss me?", you asked again. "Why, who wants to know?" I said this time tinged with sarcasm. For the third time you asked again, "Do you miss me?" I thrown my hand in exasperation. "No, I don't!", I snapped angrily.You heaved a loud sigh and calmly said, "You are cold, callous and indifferent. I am trying to make things better even by words and you are pushing me away!"

I said good bye and prepared myself for the inevitable. I walked out on what we have with enough dignity I can muster, overbearing enough, my ego catching up with me, this time not to walk beside me regally but to give me a hard smack in the head sending me reeling back to reality. Reality of my own self destruction. I made demands I cannot even meet half way. I decide on things I cannot even begin to comprehend. I lied and did things that cannot be redeemed. It's over. Khalas. And all is left with me are the scenes playing tricks in my head, the sound of your voice, the rumble of your laughter, your scent, Mont Blanc in a rainy afternoon.

"Don't move!", you warned as you painted red lacquer on my toenails. I was giggling of the absurdity of you doing my nails. "Stop it or I'll smear all of these on your feet. You have such small feet, ok, it's done, now let's put it up to dry." I put my legs on the centre table, admiring my newly pedicured feet. "Not bad, not bad at all," I beamed happily as I planted small kisses on your unshaven face.

I have the uncanny habit of ruining something good, something extra ordinary. I am a coward of the worst kind, insensitive bordering to egocentric. Stay away from me if you want not to lose something essential -- belief in commitment, faith & love, trust and fulfillment.

"Hi, can you come down and meet me?" I was catching the tail of my dreams when the incessant ringing of my phone brought me back to the present tide -- with the sound of your voice in the other end of the line. "Come on, it's already 11:45 and I am already in my pajamas", I complained sleepily. "It's ok, I saw you with less than that," you said, your voice laced with amusement. I sleepwalk through the dimmed parking lot looking like a roadkill and I don't care at all. Yes, you've seen the worst and best in me and accepted me and loved me all the same, in fact more than anyone can.

Maybe more than anyone could ever be.