Yusra Badr's Blog, page 4

They asked him why – Vol. 2

Her body is my captor, my prison of choice. It keeps pulling me back to her with brutal force; the familiarity, the knowing of its realms. The needless-ness to explore or delve into adventurous treachery. It is home when I need a home, warmth when I am cold. It is that familiarity that you equally crave for and desire to break free of, simultaneously pulling it near and pushing it away. It is her skin, her scents, her hair on my shoulder and my chest. It is her breath, how it sounds and how it tickles the hair on my forearm. It is the curves of her bones and how they jigsaw with mine. It is all that I know and all that I want to know in that particular moment.

It is her body, and it will forever be my home, even when – especially when – I don’t want it to be.

#HeSaid

 

 

 

Read They asked him why – Vol. 1

Filed under: Moments

A moment of truth

From this distance,

I see nothing but distance

Between my wants and my attainables.

 

In this instant,

I feel nothing but despair

Towards my hopes and the explainable.

 

In simplicity, lies impossibility,

Turning the simple into the unobtainable.

 

And in complexity, lies the reality

That all can be done and all are able.

 

But I stand paralyzed

Against my wants

As their simplicity turns to a toxin

That slowly kills me; that leisurely fills me

With the melancholy of not knowing

Where to start, or where to end,

Or what to do with all these wants;

Or how to feel, or what to dream,

Or if the simplicity is what actually taunts

My soul, my light, my spirit’s might,

And my desire to hope and want,

So death is sentenced

Upon all desire

Because despair is what life will grant.

 

So, by all means, desire;

Bloom your wants and watch them grow

Into toxic trees and poisoned leaves

That become you and your inner glow.

 

Your wants will change

Into complex games

That are attainable and bestowed upon.

 

Because simplicity is impossibility,

And the truth is cruel,

And all hope is gone.

.

.

Filed under: Moments, Poetry, Ramblings

He said to me…

He said.

-

I love the dark side of you, and how it exudes a brilliant spectrum of burgundy, blood red and ink blue.

-

I love the peace you made with your contradictions, and how you embrace your personalities, and how they shine when beckoned.

-

I love your stillness, your silence, your eyes as they observe, absorb and mutely comprehend.

-

I love your sadness, and how you dive into it with all your might, so that you may emerge renewed.

-

I love your confidence and your lack of it; how you know and know not what and who you are, varying like time and space.

-

I love your curiosity and how you probe at knowledge with the thirst of a child; yet you are all woman.

-

I love your intensity, your secrets, your weapons. I love your innocence when it arises, and how you conceal it with viciousness.

-

I love how the pain you inflict on me interprets your very being; your flesh and blood, your heart and soul.

-

I love how you are equally cruel and kind, how you bash and resent, then caress and consent, with utter ease and conviction.

-

I love how you know and know not, simultaneously. I love how you give yourself the right and deprive yourself of it, simultaneously.

-

I love how winter resides in your heart, how icebergs drift in your oceans and icicles hang from your skies. I love the summer on your skin and in your hair.

-

I love your brutal honesty and the silences that break all attempts at lies, crashing them and small-ing all those who speak them.

-

I love your hesitance and your struggles between what you desire and what you pursue.

-

I love the smell of your hair and that of your fears; your scents in the morning from where dreams left their residues on your skin.

-

I love how I can and cannot read you, and how I am entirely submissive to your will to be or not be read.

-

He said.

He understood.

Filed under: Keeper tweets, Poetry

On optimism, realism and pessimism

In this day and age, it is not easy to be an optimist. It’s quite challenging to accept the abundance of difficulties each and every one of us goes through without experiencing some kind of damage in the process. Hope is often lost, standards are reduced to a bear minimum and the wings of aspiration are cruelly clipped off by reality.

But, in all honesty, though the harshness of day-to-day living is a problem, there is a bigger one that makes things even harder than they really are.

We strive to be optimistic people and to never be one of those negativity-emitting beings who are hardcore believers in Murphy’s Law. As a result, we say things like “May this be the end of all sadness” (يجعلها آخر الأحزان) and we believe it, thinking it was actually possible that the current sad event just might be the very last one we will witness.

Reality says: It’s not.

Life is not going to be free of hardship. Period.

How can one hope for, let alone expect, difficulties to stop. They vary in form and magnitude, but they do not end. Hardship is one of the very reasons we are alive. Quoting the Holy Quran: {لقد خلقنا الإنسان في كبد} – this verse is one worthy of pondering over.

How can one even desire something so whimsical; so extraordinary, as experiencing no hardship?

That being said, I wonder if this is a form of pessimism then?

Or is it realism? Consequently, is being a realist a form of pessimism in itself?

Is Murphy’s Law anything but realism expressed sarcastically then?

Never mind the cliches of the glass being half-full or half-empty; maybe it’s time to change perspectives and look at this from a new angle altogether.

Expecting hardship is not pessimism; it’s a matter of fact. Optimism does not mean hoping for the impossible, it means hoping for the attainable – the possible – and working for it. In this example, it is not a wish for the event at hand to be the end of all sadness, but hope that it leaves you with an epiphany that makes your future hardships easier to go through. Optimism is changing into someone more resilient; it is knowing the truth in its ultimate form and praying for the wisdom to withstand its consequences, not avoiding the truth altogether.

Realism is optimism in a way. If you are a realistic person who can distinguish between hope and fantasy, then you are indeed an optimist, and wise one at that.

But what do I know? I’m just rambling.

Filed under: Ramblings

An unmade bed

 

An unmade bed

And a shambled rug,

Old crayon stains on the wall.

 

One sock lost,

One sock left,

Coffee spilled on the floor.

 

Tidy books

Arranged on shelves,

Stacked so high

They’re begging to fall,

 

A broken pencil

On an abandoned notebook

Next to the dusty exercise ball.

 

Unread words written,

And a pool of blood

Slithering its way into the hall.

 

“Please find me. 

Please help me

Before I lose all control.”

 

Filed under: Moments, Poetry

Release

Stars align,

Energies collide,

Manifestations emerge

To transform the core of your being,

Or to kill a small part of you so that another may bloom.

The universe conspires to pull you towards your metamorphosis

And all you want to do is resist,

Pull back,

Dive deeper into the abyss you know so well.

Because the abyss is home,

The abyss is the familiar;

The abyss is where you belong,

What you deserve.

Align.

Collide.

Manifest.

Die and bloom.

Metamorphisize.

Emerge anew.

Because that is what you truly deserve.

 

Filed under: Poetry, Ramblings

Changed

I am amazed by how you are amazed at my lack of amazement.

I am amazed at how you think this is unnatural;

That I am being strange.

You have changed, and thus,

I have changed, and thus,

“We” are now forever

Changed.

We used the same beacon to light our path

Once.

We shared a destiny, and hopes

Once.

But you have changed, and thus,

I have changed, and thus,

“We” are now forever

Changed.

I now light my path with fireflies,

And I tread alone

On its unknown

Destination.

Fearlessly,

I have shed your burdens from my shoulders,

And I now walk in solitude,

Lighter than ever.

I am sombre, yet content.

I am hopeful towards the mystic,

Enjoying the unknowns,

Not seeking,

Not wanting.

Just living

Today today.

I have changed, and thus,

I am natural, un-strange,

But not in the eyes of the beholder.

Because “we” are now forever

Changed.

 

Filed under: Poetry, Ramblings

Sitting in the corner

 

She needs to cry.

She needs to mourn the pieces of her that have died with every painstaking experience she has gone through, instead of holding on to these empty carcasses that shaped who she was before.

She needs to release the anger and the agony that have found a haven inside her skin, dictating their darkness on everything she does, says and feels.

She tries.

She tries to let it out; to cry, or scream, or hurt.

But she fails.

She is overwhelmed by the nothingness of the nothingness within her; by the coldness of the simmering fury that does not rise, but that resides in her like a dormant parasite that has found a perfect home to shelter in forever.

She is now only a resemblance of who she is.

She needs to cry.

But her tears fail her and all she is left with is the painful desire to cry.

Instead, she just stares into the emptiness and preoccupies her foggy mind with trash.

She is a serial killer in the making.

 

 

Filed under: Moments

A heartfelt encounter

She locked your eyes into an intense stare; an expressionless, faceless stare that captivated you. You could not look away, even though your heartbeats sped in what resembled fear and your instincts begged you to turn around and run.

She smiled; a slender, unreadable smile that mesmerized you and made you tilt your head in bewilderment. Unable to fathom what the smile depicted, you unconsciously smiled back, raised your eyebrows and hoped for the best.

With your heart still racing slightly, she came closer. You held your breath in anticipation as she approached you slowly, confused and apprehensive at your failure to understand what lay behind her persistent stare and enigmatic smile.

She rested the palm of her hand on your bare chest, ever so gently. The meeting point of your skin with hers electrocuted you, even though her hand was cold. The blend between the electric heat and her icy touch shocked you, making you shiver for a second or two.

Still smiling, still staring, she dug her nails into your skin, effortlessly tearing it apart and allowing the blood to flow freely down your chest. Your eyes stared wildly in shock and your apprehensive, bewildered smile turned askew as you began to feel the physical pain of what you did not yet comprehend.

Smoothly, she dug her fingers deeper into your gaping chest, slowly and purposefully. Unable to bear the pain, you attempted to scream but were aghast by the nothingness that parted your lips.

Only then did you understand what lay beneath that relentless stare; it was unfaltering determination at vengeance.

Purposefully, she burrowed her hand further in until her fingers surrounded your heart gently, keeping a loose grip on it as it still beat.

Only then did you understand what that unreadable smile portrayed; it was confidence of the power she held over you.

Swiftly, quickly, and effortlessly, she pulled it out from between your ribs and tossed it carelessly on the floor, underneath your feet, right next to hers.

Still smiling, she looked away and, just as gracefully as she had approached you, she departed.

Filed under: Moments

Ruthless epiphanies

I swallowed a pill that took me nowhere,

I followed a path that did not end.

I prayed to Gods that have no ears,

And pretended that mountains could bend.

With failure after failure,

Epiphanies tore me apart.

My sanity lingers with death and magic,

Leaving a carcass of what was once a heart.

I blame hope,

I blame you,

And I do not blame myself.

This new ruthless existence of mine

Is how I was meant to be from the start.

Kill your innocence, rethink your dreams,

This is no place for growth.

If you haven’t realized that life is a joke,

Then you’re intentionally wasting your youth.

Filed under: Moments, Poetry