Me, my ozone and you

لقد سألتني صديقة عمّا إذا كنت بـ "أوزون"، تقصد المقهى/الحديقة، فأجبت بشيء مما في الأسطر الأولى من "الشيء" أدناه. ثم كان أن نِمْت يوماً...تماماً كما ينام، بصراحة، أي خروف...وفي عِزّ الليل لا ساعة النسمة ترتاح على هَدَب ولا ساعة النجمة أم ضَنَب وإنّما ساعة أن انطبق عليّ قول الدكتورة فاطمة المرنيسي: "حينئذٍ فإن سريرك نفسه سيتحوّل إلى أرض غريبة"، ساعتئذٍ فَزِعت. ففي سريري، الفي بَطُن بيت ناس أمي، هتف هاتف أن قُمْ فأنزل عن هذه الأرض الغريبة وتِمْ قِصّتك البديتها دي.

أها، أكان تميتها تراني تميتها وأكان ما تميت...ها، فـ...ساعدووووونا يا جماعة.


my ozone is plagued

it’s a hole

as bad, grim and hard

as the darkest of those of all

yet, I dare not to sigh

pass a pressing call

or prematurely cry

that is utterly why

my ozone and I

demand a deal

we’ve got to know

and you’ve got to be exact

which wounds to heal

those of the chambers

or those of the chapters

of a broken heart

or, in place of that

you may justify

why racers often fail to feel

the signs of a good start

Is it by chance that you chose to publish this anguish on the 14th, the renowned day of love and passion? your poem is nice despite its doom and gloom
I look forward to reading more poetry from you

Thank you Adil Al Badawi

Thanks, Adil Osman, and sorry for late reply

My ‘reader’s digest’ of this piece is

Me = the narrator; which could be me, you, he or she
My ozone = the narrator’s emotional protection
You = me, you, he, she or whoever have the ever sought wisdom

The narrator lacks proper emotional protection, which consequently leads to inability to express grieve and, therefore, anguish. The narrator ends up in a quest for answers for vague questions and eventually concludes that, in such circumstances, racers (that is; all of us) lose hope

In short

For mankind: no woman, no hope
For ‘womankind’: no man, no hope
For both: no love, no hope

Now, is it by chance that I chose to publish this on Feb 14th…? Is it, after all, the end of
the story