Friday, February 27, 2009

Rain -I think- is the tears of the world.


Rain -I think- is the tears of the world.

Thunder -I think- is its groans...

Yesterday, I felt depressed when I saw people running from "Its" tears. Running vehemently as if it hurts us to watch it crying. I stood for some time to see cars moving harshly over the remnant of the tears that filled the patient street. Tears that filled the world. Full of pain accompanied by anger and groans. But, I saw people running as if the drops of water were drops of coal falling from hell. What hell? Have they ever seen it? But, they saw the tears and ran from them. It kept raining. I bent and tasted the water, it was salty. Exactly like our tears. Human tears.

Some tears do not affect us, so never pretend that we Humans do care. Never do that. It is an illusion.

© Ahmad Magdy - 2009

Tuesday, February 24, 2009


24th Feb 09

With hope we lived and with a smile we cried, who dared to tell him, that he was about to die ...

© Ahmad Magdy - 2009

Saturday, February 14, 2009

When the Light Dies out...

Light. What will happen if all of a sudden the light that shines the world dies out? With no electricity to help or even batteries or anything, what will happen?

As to myself, I no longer fear darkness, but do animals understand this. Some animals wait for darkness in order to strike or hunt, and some -like us- will just hide waiting impatiently for the dimness to come to an end. I might not fear this dark-like-death atmosphere but lots of naive people -they will be called so- will panic. I can see them all fearful and uncertain. I can see them clearly. The world will become as dark as if the world in locked in a closed box. People may become more aggressive and more impatient. They might become intolerant, anxious and vehement. It is darkness that will be the reason for all this. Darkness that will make them feel their blindness and inability to be in control. This unexpected-by-them behavior will not be out of fear in general, but it will be out of the fear of the unknown. "What will happen next?" they will wonder, but they will receive no answer.

Some will swear they know the reason of all this, and some will be lured by their wisdom. Some will swear they can light all the world, and some will believe them. Some will just wait; wait for it to end...

Someone will take the initiative and light a match. This human will be called a god or a fool. Only then, they will be able to judge that initiator. Everyone will be able to see and inspect the exposed body. They will say this one is tall, thin or may be beautiful or ugly or a scientist or an artist. The match will eat through the fragile peace of wood until it burns this one's shivering hand. Then, one will also be called a fool or a fake artist or a crazy magician. In fact, they will also gossip about this "bastard's" faults and disabilities. "The bogus scientist is now stripped" they will triumphantly say to each other in the dark. No one will ever dare to light a match afterwards. It will only be darkness and loud whispers and humans and animals fighting...

In a world of darkness, no one is judged, only those who light a fire are seen, but they will hurt themselves. It is darkness that will prevail, darkness, the toughest force...

© Ahmad Magdy - 2009

Wednesday, February 11, 2009


Like the sweet taste, it lasts for a minute or two. Like that great taste that you feel blessed to experience. These are memories.

Once you fully digest that sweet taste or add a different one, you erase the remnant of that sticky distinguished aroma. You may try to extend the pleasure by chewing and chewing but chewing only makes food smashed more and more so that it disappears easily. Nothing is going to last. These are memories

Everyone tries to capture them; photos are a great way but who can turn the clock back? and who is ignorently silly enough to want to turn the clock back? I think some are ready to kill to turn the clock back, maybe I am the one who is "ignorently silly". Fantastic aren't they, these things that are called Memories? No matter good or bad, I believe memories are past, they are only made to be written and kept, never to be re-lived or cried over. Some are obsessed by collecting these bits and pieces, but remembering and trying to live these smashed past is like collecting broken glasses, yes, you collect some of them but you sacrifice cutting your fingers. Old books, old diaries, dead ancestors, works of art, statues, castles, laughs, moments, and pictures, these are memories...

We are humans. We cry when we lose friends. We are humans. We kill. We smile when a kid smiles. We hate. We sing. We swear. We flirt. We rape and get raped. yes, we are humans. Why should our past be as beautiful as our dreams? Yes, we miss those days when we were younger, but when we were younger we knew we were going to grow up and we could have never done anything to stop that, we are humans. My advice is, burn the house you move from. Kill those snakes of the past that will crawl and squeeze your brain from time to time, they will make you cry, they will make you sick. Kill these snakes, for those are memories.

They are made to be kept, but never recalled, for those are dangerous, for those are memories...

© Ahmad Magdy - 2009

Monday, February 9, 2009

The Day I Saw the White Giant

Stunning, isn't it that thing that is called sight? We never respect that gift until we wake up with red-eye or a blurry vision. But sight is a burden that is not endured by all those who can "see". I never was sure about this except when I looked at It that day.

It was a ship, that I always saw as "a ship" but that day it was different. It was a piece of a tree ruthlessly cut a long time and a piece of metal melt long time ago connected by man's viciously smart mind. I saw it a giant fish killer. Fish, who are like any other species, except that they are weaker. They are like humans, birds and animals, but as some reckless "human" explained -justifying killing- that only the strong survives. "It is just a ship." I exclaimed, but the white giant gazed at me arrogantly sailing calmly assured that those who see it as a massive killing machine -those who really "see"- were few. Thus, it was as proud as ever and blind people were as blind as ever. I thought about and I found that we indifferently eat fish, animals and birds, and birds eat worms, worms eat poor leaves, trees feed on water, water feed humans. What an abominable cycle.

Some call this evil sight, because those who see life in this way see humans' hideous deeds only, but what if we humans are in face hideous. It is that ship that we made that can fire rockets to kill humans. It can kill fish; lots of fish. A killing machine that is one of many products of evil minds.

It is not light that we miss, it is sight, real sight...

© Ahmad Magdy - 2009

Thursday, February 5, 2009

Eleven minutes of observing the clock ...

Eleven. Only then I notice the clock. Tick. Tick. Tick. Sluggishly it moves but how come it is so accurate? I look at it moving peacefully. Very Peacefully no worries at all. Tick. Tick. Ticks are firm, consistent and never faulty. How amazing the work of mind is! Ten. I decide to follow it for eleven minutes. Maybe I can learn something about life. It is a shame that it never misses its path, man-made path. Tick. Tick. But, our path in life is not Man-made -I think. Why do we miss ... Nine. Did you notice it? Two minutes have passed. They have passed already. Time is a fascinating mind-controlling tool. Tick. Tick. How can one think when one is followed by time? Time, as firm as mountains as controlling as shackles. Eight. Smoothly it moves. Very accurate, damn, how can anything be so accurate? Even our minds are not that accurate - I think. What if I put my finger before its path? It will stop for sure, but, what will happen then? It will be back again moving. Seven. Steadily it moves. Very steady and provoking moves. I am curious, who made you? and why are you so so so so surprising? Six. It is a tool. It is a machine. I start consoling myself. It cannot be that marvelous. At least it cannot see. Yes, it cannot see. "Hey, can you see me?" Tick. Tick. Tick. I think I am not sure if it cannot see by now. Its numbers are staring, threateningly. With a punctual movement like heartbeats. Four. Oh, I missed a minute. And a sound too. I am starting to re-organize my thoughts. What if the clock is nothing but a human, but more punctual? No Some people are punctual as well. Time. Time. I think it is an angry runner. Always running furiously not noticing that there are foolish people who have their lives depending on it. Its ticks define some aspects of our live. One. I missed another minute. See, it is even fooling me. Time is tricky.. Time. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Minutes and seconds -I am sure- constrain creativity...

© Ahmad Magdy - 2009

Tuesday, February 3, 2009

My Shadow

Have you ever thought about it. Your shadow is your most faithful friend and the most devoted follower you have. It is there now. Look at it. Stare at it. Touch it and yet faithfully it will touch you back. Even when it is tired of following you all day long doing the silly things -I admit- we do, it never stops. It never quits. It never deserts you. Some days I become very angry to the point that I curse it, but -as always- it looks back as silent as a good friend; a great friend.

Have you ever had a friend who is your shadow? No, one "might be" but not like your shadow, because it is the most faithful friend ever. But, some days I get pissed and I scream "TALK. Why are you always silent?" Yet, my Shadow never replies. I even feel followed. You know sometimes you hate it when some one is always monitoring you, even your shadow, even your friend. But as faithful as ever it is always silent. You even step on it but your shadow is a friend who never complains.

One day I trusted it but when lights went out, it was no longer there. It abandoned me. I screamed "EVEN YOU?". I was appalled. Even my shadow can abandon me...

Only then, in the skies of dark clouds, in the depth of nothingness, when I was abandoned even by my shadow, I touched my body calmly and smiled, I knew it I still exist, I am still there, I am my best friend.

© Ahmad Magdy - 2009

Sunday, February 1, 2009

Trash Collectors

They come at night, trash collectors. Yes, they do. This ensures them that they are unheard, unseen and uninterrupted by the people. Common people, who wake up early to go to work and return home at about 3 or 4 they have their dinner, nap, watch TV, phone calls, and sleep early to wake up early to go to work again.

When I think about it, I see this an effective way to deal with the trash. Maybe those people never think about the view of society, but who knows what alternative they have. If they saw it as inappropriate, well, it is still a job. What if these things are done by machines? Why do "Humans" collect other "Humans'" trash?

Their looks are depressing and inspiring as well. They are almost always looking down, they see what busy us never witness. They patiently scrutinize the road, land, asphalt, and park that we walk across or sit at indifferently. I believe they see things better than we do or will ever will. They see life in the dingy tiny pieces of handkerchiefs, empty packets, remnants of bread leafs, brownish-yellow-stepped-on leaves, twisted cans and used-to-be-important crumbled papers. We never notice these things because once we exploit a thing it becomes no longer important to us. We lose interest in it. It turns into past . We humans prefer to neglect our past, or to be specific the no-longer-important incidents in our past. Even if they are still there smashed and fractured. We are exploiters of purity and life as well, I believe. Only trash collectors see it. They see it all. But, to be accurate -unfortunately- even them, sometimes, they fail to see it. Even when you do not have a broom and a box you can be a trash collector, I am trying to be one...

We only take the new unexploited pieces of life, exploit them and they are no longer significant in our life...

© Ahmad Magdy - 2009