from my mother, for me

The one and only you
by S.M. Awad-el-Kariem

Before you came I was me
I thought of me and felt for me
And then, there was you

And “me” changed forever
There were us, them, her, him, and you
Together we shall have the ultimate love
They will make you feel happy and laugh
She will be your playmate, your peer, your friend.
He will be your teacher, your mentor, your guide.
Everyone will be there for you
All the world will be there for you.
For it was God’s gift to you
As you are God’s gift to me.

You were the beginning for me to know
Life is not futile,
Birth, suffering and death.
Life, was watching you grow
Your cry, your smile
And how you held your breath
Trying to get your way.
Finding it in the uncharted road
Luring me, enchanting me to pray
Grateful for this ultimate gift of God

un(en)titled

I wrote this poem in Arabic,
and kept it in my mind.

end.

my mind's playing tricks on me

The weather's been beautiful these past few days, or so it appeared from my window. I've been quarantined under doctor's orders because of a nasty bout of bronchitis. I've been having weird recurring, powerful, sad dreams, waking up in tears, and experiencing an emotional pain so intense, heartbreak pales in comparison.

It amazes me how emotions are so physical. I've been through some physical pain - nothing major, a bum hip, a fractured thumb, cramps, severe back pain, burns, deep cuts, etc. Regular physical pain that anyone can relate to. Emotional anguish manifesting as physical as well: sore ribs, tension headaches, painful lethargy.

But the emotional/physical pain from these dreams has been unreal. No analgesic on earth was going to take this pain away. Halfway through this dream was the death of a loved one, and I've never felt anything remotely close to the pain that this imagined loss created. I'd wake up, early in the morning, unable to move. My pillow would be soaked halfway through. It felt like my body was being torn in half. A seemingly long period of deep breathing, trying to bring my body and mind under control again. Repeating "it's okay, don't be stupid, it hasn't happened" to myself like a mantra.

Sunshine takes unreal fears away. So do panicked repetitive phonecalls to make sure everything's okay. The anxiety becomes a joke at my expense, but at the back of my mind, there's this nagging little voice asking me what the hell it all means?

I exorcise through writing, and I seek solace in the Geto Boys.

haquibat al fann, or channeling my inner bootsy

Last month, I ordered an electric bass guitar. I actually ordered the whole kit and caboodle - carrying case, strap, amp, and stand. And a copy of "Bass Guitars for Dummies". For real.

Now, the first time I had ever tried to play the bass was in the store the day I ordered mine, when I was checking them out. I can't read music. All I can do, really, at this point is play the first part of "Love Me Tender" (sans chords) on keyboard, and "O Susannah!" on the harmonica. I once could play Nirvana's "Rape Me" on electric guitar. I learned that in high school. One of the school bands was performing it at our senior prom, and the guitarist used our computer classes to practise (he also provided the soundtrack for our anti-physics classes boycotts). We were pretty wayward. But that was over a decade ago, and I can barely remember how to play it now.

I'd always said that if there was any instrument I was going to learn how to play, it was going to be the electric bass. It's a crucial element in most musical genres, from the Afro-jazz of home to every form of reggae, from funk to indie, from hip hop to punk. Music's integral to my being, and I want to start making my own. And what's a song without bass?

I don't know why I decided to buy an instrument now. Mainly because I couldn't find a reason not to. Bass players in a band don't get no shine, but I'm not in this for the glory. I don't intend to perform, just to play along to the basslines in my favourite reggae and p-funk tracks. I'm excited. Since I've ordered my guitar (it will need a name - any suggestions?), I've been a great mood, looking forward to when it arrives. If anyone from Steve's Music is reading this, it should have been here last week!

I'm counting down the days to when "grooving to a bassline" is going to change meaning. When I'll cancel plans because I need to practice. When I can add "wannabe musician" to the list of self-descriptives.

In the meantime, I'll marvel at Lloyd Parks' basslines for Dennis Brown and build on a newfound respect for Robbie Shakespeare. The extra bass in my sub woofers is turned up all the way, in a rub-a-dub style.