CALL Network | Text | UN: alnnahs

[alkhimia2i]

[Being holed up in a safehouse as she is, Ana is a little short on stimulating conversation. As much as she might want to resist engaging in this strange magical cellphone, she doesn't hold out for too long. After all, from what she can tell, these people have no idea who she is.

What she posts comes in two pieces, the first a series of lines in Arabic text followed by a helpful translation in English. The second piece is commentary.]

ﺃﺩﻣﻨﺖ ﺍﺣﺰﺍﻧﻲ
ﻓﺼﺮﺕ ﺍﺧﺎﻑ ﺍﻥ ﻻ ﺍﺣﺰﻧﺎ
ﻭﻃﻌﻨﺖ ﺁﻻﻓﺎ ﻣﻦ ﺍﻟﻤﺮﺍﺕ
ﺣﺘﻰ ﺻﺎﺭ ﻳﻮﺟﻌﻨﻲ ﺑﺎﻥ ﻻ ﺍﻃﻌﻨﺎ
ﻭﻟﻌﻨﺖ ﻓﻲ ﻛﻞ ﺍﻟﻠﻐﺎﺕ
ﺣﺘﻰ ﺻﺎﺭ ﻳﻘﻠﻘﻨﻲ ﺑﺎﻥ ﻻ ﺍﻟﻌﻨﺎ
ﻭﻟﻘﺪ ﺗﺸﺎﺑﻬﺖ ﻛﻞ ﺍﻟﺒﻼﺩ
ﻓﻼ ﺍﺭﻯ ﻧﻔﺴﻲ ﻫﻨﺎﻙ، ﻭﻻ ﺍﺭﻯ ﻧﻔﺴﻲ ﻫﻨﺎ

I was addicted to my sorrows,
Until I became scared of not being sorrowful.
And I was stabbed thousands of times,
Until it felt painful not to be stabbed.
And I was cursed in all the languages,
Until I became nervous of not being cursed.
And all the countries seemed the same,
in that I neither see myself there, nor do I see myself here.


I came across this while reading, so I thought I might share it. No particular reason, except than I found it to be moving. I wouldn't mind hearing your opinions.

Comments

[caduceusoncall]

The poem certainly invokes a feeling that I think many people are familiar with at one time or another in their life. The word "admission" comes to mind.

I think a lot of people get so lost in their suffering that they forget, or perhaps dismiss, the fact that there is anything BUT suffering. It is a very easy trap to fall into when hurt becomes a normal or "default" setting.

It is important to remember though that it is never too late to seek help for your wounds, physical or psychological. Everybody deserves a chance to heal and grow from their pain, no matter when they choose to begin doing so.

un: courtblanche

[cosmetological]

Well, that's certainly a debut for the network.

Interesting.

[ Did the poem cut far too close for him? Yes. Is he ever going to say that? Over his goddamn dead body. ]

un: highnoon

[jinglejangle]

Words like that seem awfully fancy to share for no reason.

[no he is not suspicious why would you think that]

un: troubadourCatalyst

[thygospelevity]

[Behind the screen he reads and his breath his caught. His chin sinks slow into his hands and he sighs, quite happily.]

A true connoisseur plucks the sweetest fruit of the most withered mother fuckin growths. You have chosen a passage of great beauty. It seems to remind but of what I cannot name.

In gratitude, allow a fresh pimp ryda to exchange.

If the flesh of the holy is named exalted
what then is called the blood on the blade?
If the march of life is the greatest gift
What then is the rest of the waiting grave?

un: wardenka

[boundinblood]

"Moving" is right. It's so easy to be in pain for so long, an offer of respite seems suspicious.

It reminds me strongly of people I know, and the person I once was. I know I'm not the only one.

un: unleashthefalcon

[sizeofyourbaggage]

[ Now there's a familiar language. He doesn't recognize it as well as he might if it were Dari or Pashto, definitely not enough to know what it says without the translation, but it's similar enough for him to be able to identify it. ]

I'm gonna guess you'll find a lot of people here that resonates with.