Writing Space

The Flow of Life

Ziad Aazam — Tue, 20 Apr 2010 05:54:16 +0000

The ‘Piece’ is behind you now. You are ahead. You carry it with you yet You now ‘is’ a bit different than You before the ‘Piece’. It was implicit. You have made it explicit. You have shared it with the world. You have written it but now it belongs to the world, to generations, to your children, to the flow that takes You/Us forward. It can no longer flow to the past. Its place is carried forward from the present and into the future. This is the ‘Flow’ of life. The flow of everything that we are all part of, living and non-living things. We are the flow. We all move. We all change. We are all that river in God’s predetermined discourse.

Keep on Being

Ziad Aazam — Sun, 18 Apr 2010 09:18:01 +0000

Keep blowing like wind,
For the wind has its ways with things.

Keep flying like birds,
For the bird sees more from above.

Keep rolling like rocks,
For the rock can shake mountains.

Keep streaming like rivers,
For the river is a revival running.

Keep feeling like hearts,
For in the heart goodness resides.

Let the wind blow,
Let the bird fly,
Let the rock roll,
Let the river stream,
Let the heart beat,
For life started with the word: Be.

To Be or Not to Be, This is the Struggle

Ziad Aazam — Thu, 25 Mar 2010 11:40:19 +0000

To see you in Jeddah or see you in Dubai;

To open up to the world or let the world peek;

To mix gender or remain a single-gender society;

To act locally and live globally or drift to extremes;

To be or not to be, this is our struggle.

To develop our city or fatten our pockets;

To preserve our heritage or let it catch fire;

To walk on a real sidewalk with dignity or drive a car while flaunting superiority;

To lead an environmentally healthy living or be immersed in foul;

To be or not to be, this is our struggle.

To visit each other or send virtual messages;

To read a book or go shopping;

To conserve natural resources or be selfish;

To live a balanced life or pretend a lavish one;

To be or not to be, this is our struggle.

To be a professional or to be a sly;

To think critically or submit passively;

To utter the empowering truth or maintain the oppressive silence;

To foster unity-based diversity or submit to separation-based pluralism;

To be or not to be, this is our struggle.

To spread knowledge or remain indifferent;

To slow down and reflect or rush and regret;

To live synergetic and integrated life or clutch on territorial and segregated one;

To find our middle paths or borrow others;

To be or not to be, this is the struggle.

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Not without a Title

Ziad Aazam — Mon, 04 Aug 2008 22:05:19 +0000

To see or not to see,

We ask one another.

Like ships at sea,

One passes the other.

Like darkness,

We fall on one another.

Like brightness,

We blind each other.

To sea or to shore,

We hesitate for a minute.

Unlike flying birds,

Where sky is the limit.

Unlike wind,

We are forceless.

Unlike dust,

We are immovable.

To be or not to be,

We ask one another.

Like ostrich’s head in the sand,

One hides from the other.

Like fullness,

We are pulled to earth.

Like emptiness,

We are no where.

To see or to be,

We hesitate for a moment.

But life must go on,

Whether we see or be.

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Tags: Poemless, Sea, Land, See, Be

Not with a Title

Ziad Aazam — Mon, 04 Aug 2008 19:54:19 +0000

The river of life is drifting us apart. Good for you your newly ridden stream.

Life is a struggle of various degrees. As of today, I remain at the very high end.

Sleep will never make us live longer, nor lack of sleep shall make us live less. We feel tired when we have less of it, because of the tiring thoughts that prevented us from sleeping. Happy thoughts that keep us awake never make us tired.

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Tags: Life, Sleep

In-between Land and Sea

Ziad Aazam — Tue, 06 Nov 2007 20:07:04 +0000

My soles feel the wet sand

In-between sea and land.

My bearable heaviness of being

Stuck between gliding thin sheet of water and moving sand.

My soul is reconciled

In-between land and sea.

I escape not towards one nor the other

No way my mind’s eyes can see.

Such a life of rest and joy,

When one knows no direction but in-between flows.

No will to step on burning sand,

Nor courage to dive in unknown seas.

Such a life of happiness and floating of being

When one knows no destination.

And have no desire to escape from dream

But to walk the walk in-between.

My soles and soul are yearning

In-between land and sea, and seawards and landwards

For there is joy in rest as there is fulfillment

In folding lands and voyaging seas.

Race Alone

Ziad Aazam — Sun, 04 Nov 2007 23:54:46 +0000

When birds sing for each other,
Can they sing alone?

When trees stand in the forest,
Can they stand alone?

When leaves fall on the ground,
Can they fall alone?

When pages are bound in a book,
Can they bind alone?

When words are uttered,
Can they make sense alone?

Why is it then,
We race alone?

Answer me,
And I leave you alone?

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Wordless Tree

Ziad Aazam — Mon, 15 Oct 2007 23:27:12 +0000

O Tree! Leafless, wordless you are.
How I speak of you from afar.
Or let my words invade your silence,
And query your leaves’ absence.

O Tree! Leafless, wordless you are.
Give me a leaf to touch and a word to know.
Show me a sign to think of the lost presence,
And a knowledge of the day to come from the day that gone.

O Tree! Leafless, wordless you are.
You know how saying and doing can become one.
Your leaves are your words and deeds.
You show them with pride but you let them be gone.

O Tree! Leafless, wordless you are.

Your being is your leaves growing and falling.
And my being is my words singing.
What am I, if not for the words I say,
And the deeds I play.

O Tree! Your little green leaves,
Are a joy of life’s springing.
They are little words that speak of light,
And their deeds of living.

O Tree! You let them yellow,
And from their highest places you let them fall below.
You stand bare and leafless,
For your words are spoken and your being is wordless.

O Tree!

You let go of what is precious,
For the unknown to become.
You say the word of lifelessness,
For the word of life to begin.

How little I know of myself,
When to your leaves I turn my face away.
And how sad that in my being,
My words and my deeds are gone astray.

O Myself! Make my words, my leaves.
And my utterance, my deeds.
And let there be life,
In the words that die.

Encounter

Ziad Aazam — Mon, 15 Oct 2007 23:17:44 +0000

It was part of Odysse’s daily routine to walk through the park early in the morning. He had been doing this for years without ever questioning the banality of such an act. Everyday was as normal as the day before. Morning sun rose from the east; birds sang on trees; people walked on pathways. Odysse breathed in and out every morning with no need for an explanation. He was merely living a grey life without colors; and worse, without ever realizing how grey it was.

Odysse’s heart was resting in peace, till that colorful moment when he saw her. At that moment he had a chance to understand the meaning of beauty; but he missed it, because he was too close. He did not perceive that the meaning of beauty could only be realized from a distance.

She was sitting quietly on a bench hidden behind dry branches. There were colorful birds around her. He looked and his eyes could not see anything but her. She was graceful, colorful and beautiful. He had a strong desire to come closer but there was always this fear of scaring her. He had to watch in silence. But the silence was so deep that his heartbeat seemed to break the silence and reveal his presence. He stepped closer risking the chance of disturbing her calm posture.

She was elegant in every aspect of her posture, beautiful in every inch of her being. She was the captive of his heart, the pulling gravity towards the undeniable power. He stepped forward with a trembling heart just a moment before she turned her head away from him. He stopped suddenly in his place as if the blood seized to circulate in his body. The moment seemed to last forever. She turned back and looked to his direction. Odysse was completely frozen in space and time.

She was looking towards him but their eyes did not meet. She seemed to look through him, beyond him. Her eyes passed him to somewhere else. He thought that the leaves might have hid him from her alerted eyes. Her ignorance of his presence confused him. He didn’t know whether to walk away or to stay. He was in between somewhere and nowhere. That made him uncomfortable. He expected a sign from her hinting to his status; a friend or a foe. She was nothing but oblivious to him.

Odysse didn’t expect her acknowledgment; all he expected was a chance to appreciate the beauty of God’s creation. Very little he asked. Feeling of courage overcame him. He stepped forward with confidence to have what he thought was his right. He moved closer, but the branches didn’t yield, and the leaves refused silence.

Suddenly, she spread her wings and looked to the sky. Another bird landed next to her and started singing. She sang back and in an abrupt move she spread her wings again and flew away. The bird was flying along with her above the trees. She flew higher and higher till she disappeared among the other birds in the sky.

Odysse walked away on the long pathway to his daily destination carrying with him the memory of a bird.

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Tags: Bird