Wednesday, December 21, 2005

Searching for A burial ground

I feel as if I am an old man on his deathbed searching for a burial ground. The vision of home keeps haunting me. Sometimes, and while I am in the middle of something, a vision of a piece of desert land over looking 6abarboor, Amman, is displayed in front of. I try to hold on tight to that vision, but it slowly fades away. I don't want to fade away. I try to vision it once again, but it's just not there.

I am haunted by the vision of a home, which I was deprived of at an early age. I feel as if I am cursed to see the promised land from a distance, yet, there is a big wall preventing me from going there. There is no wall, but my cursed wicked soul put that wall in front of me. Sometimes, I feel that I wanna do exactly what the Germans did to the wall, and destroy it, but I am shackled by this big chain that is tying me to the ground. I try to break loose, but my mind prevents me from doing so.

I can see the promissed land, I clearly can see it. I see hills and I see sand. I see shepherds and I see sheep. I see tents, and I see houses. I see faces of agony, and faces of joy. I see a wedding and I see a funeral. I smell the pure desert aroma, and I hear the noise of the traffic on the streets of Amman. I smell the food aroma, the sweets, and I smell the diesel.

Sometimes I tell myself that if I can go back in time, just to when I was 17 years old, I would change one thing, one thing, and that is not to come to the states and instead, go home. But if I did so, I would be deprived from this sweet torture of missing home, or maybe deprived of such visions.
Torture is good. We fast to feel hunger and the value of food. We stay up all night praying to the one God, to feel his love and the value of rest. Torture is good. Missing home is good.

But this chain is too strong to break. This wall is too wide and high to demolish. Is there a wall or chains? Or I'm just excusing my wicked soul to endure more torture? Or maybe I'm too afraid of the future and it's uncertainty. Maybe I'm just hallucinating and seeing things that are not there. It's so damn simple to break the wall. I know it's simple. Simple only if I let my heart decides my fate. But my wicked mind is too strong to overcome. It controls me beyond imagination. True that it allows my heart and my soul to sing the blues, get drunk on the memories, or maybe live in a fantasy world, but in the end, it has the power to shut it down. Damn I hate my brain. Damn I hate my mind. Damn I love my soul.

Damn I love my soul, because only it can make me happy with the memories and the visions of the sweet things I adore. Damn I love my soul, because only it can fly, riding the clouds, overcoming night and day, beating thousands and thousands of miles, to sneak a look at my burial ground....not too far from that sweet hill in 6abarboor. Sweet agony hurt me more and more.
Oh destiny, torture me more and more, for your curse on me is just so damn sweet.


Abdelstar alslimat said...


Hatem Abunimeh said...

Very nostalgic piece, it manifests a succinct feeling shared by a surfeit of expatriates. I remember reading about a Russian scientist that defected to the United States during the cold war era & thirty years later when the cold war ended and the Soviet hegemony collapsed, he decided to return and pay homage to his native land. I remember him saying something to the effect that it felt as if he had never left.

Bo3Bo3 said...

Dude, thanks for reading.

good to see you around man. Thanks.

Hatem Abunimeh said...

Glad to see here on Jordan Planet Bo3 Bo3, over here is much more peaceful than that other [One man army] place.

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