من الكلاكلة الى الحاج يوسف .. بقطار الأنفاق

well dear as i promised i will try to give u a brief summary about Paris nights ; as i told u before they always have got the taste of the mornings of a raped village whose inhabitants woke up one dawn , found out that they were sieged by herds of crazy men shouting out as if instructing them to choose the way they wanna die : burned out if they decided to stay or shot dead if they decide to flee and for that they have only seconds to make up their minds . Paris night have the taste of those hot tears coming down from those glorious eyes of that ghost -like baby who is sucking his mother's empty breast with flies all over deliberatley chosen him as their preferable meal.they r like those teenagers who managed to scape but the war didn't save them so they got dispersed every where . Paris nights dear friend have the color of the wealth of the land that in a bloody metaphoric moment transformed into a curse for my people ; filling out some selfish pockets out of their blood .like the youth whom they r transforming into fanatics.
nights here ,dear , one passes them in replaying the events , in recalling one's detached past ; in thinking about my people , as victims and as criminals in the same time , and if u ask me why criminals ? i will say cos they don't want to be tolerent nor respectful towards one another ! c those ugly images of racisme ; xenophobia , all sorts of discriminations of hanger rape ,misery and unspoken child abuse ; that's is so ugly it's really shameful and so they don't help sleep comes to ur eyes.
in some nights dominate one frustrating picture of that stolen land which one might never be able to get back , of those ugly empty - minded creatures enjoying carelessly the torments of millions and poisoning the land with their ignorance.
Paris night's resembles to the difference between a serie in Sudan TV , with its luxuriously furnished villas , and those hungry homeless every where ; they resmembles to one's confused dreams , when u recall them in the morning and found out that u have been taking london's underground train to go from Kalakla to Hajyousif ,or going to that well equiped hospital in Umbada ( well still those might be one's real wishes in the deep unconscious ) .
They r sorrowful , sometimes a glitter of optimism cross one's night influenced by the fact that one doesn't believe in frontiers; used as a tool for more opression against people , but still it's an exile cos we didn't choose neither where or when nor how ; c the misery of my people those who r inside and those scattered all over the globe .
don't want to look pessimist ; but the reality is more powerful than me . but let me tell u one thing ; i left sudan ,filled of fear , here again fear won't let go of me ;it's true it has added to the existing one , more many different reasons .

.............;follows

dear nazar
sorry for keeping u waiting for soooooo long? what happened dear is that when u recall all that sum of horror in which we left - alwatan - u find yourself as if in a fainting fit, u go, u just quit yourself, preferring to let it get scattered every where rather than confronting the bitter truth. scattered in the distance between ur two ears, while with one ear u hear ur beaten neighbor screaming, crying out for help and in the other ear persists Tracy chapman's song, in which she comments on the indifference and high rates of individualism which distinguishes this society concerning the situation of women, she says like when u hear ur neighbor beaten - of course by her partner - u will not interfere to stop that cause it's a family affair and then the next time u will see her body taken out to the morgue and then again u will not be able to interfere cause now it's a police affair. c all these miseries drum continuously, repeating one verse, that u can't escape.
so dear friend, Paris nights; and as many said r not different of any other village far away in the amazons' jungles, Antarctic lands or any where else. we all r damned by that reality, we all when quit Sudan we made sure that, alwatan was sewn by the veins connecting the mind to the heart, even those intelligent custom officers who empty u out to the last "tarifa " .; let alone those fierce security agents, weren't able to rob it out of u.
so if we r really keen to have a different taste of those beautiful "rich " cities; let's come forward all together, don't stand away watching; saying to ur self it's "political parties' affair " , come before it's too late or otherwise u will only be seeing "stop -American Zone - " let's not wait for Martians coming down with a miracle solution let us not accept that "popcorning " of our innocent people by those silly vampires , blood addicts .It's me, u, him, her and them all individuals of Sudan, we should learn to accept the other as he is not as we wish to c him. then dear everything will change, at that time then those April Tulips will tell u about how they love to spend their nights in Paris with the great river Seine whispering his tender songs to all friends all over the planet with the Opera and Bastile witnessing that great moments on the honour of freedom, when that time comes dear, a breeze of air will take u to Mirvat ornamented by the joy of us, all.and then we will be sleeping like a newborn lovely baby.me is used to the delivery pains , so i will save u that pain and give to u all a beatiful morning with a white taste ,leaving to u all the choice of adding whatsoever aroma of happiness u might love.
love and respect to u and to all with a heartily wish for a colorful tomorrow
mona