The contrast of the flamboyant color of my presence and the grayness of their past was crystal in my mind.

My vision literally split into parallel mirrors. How was that possible? To this day I never quite understood what happened to me, nor why.

Women in jeans, walking the footsteps of newly found liberty. Men with big hair, and proud smiles were engulfed in an air of possible hope.

The cause was walking the streets of Beirut.

“She’s telling all her Secrets in a wonderful balloon”

It was a secret

One of rusty “romantism”.

Thirty years old.

The kind of secrets

That made you smile in retrospect;

and made people wonder.

It enchanted me.

Typical, no?

What about you? I asked.

He simply shrugged.

That’s how he was.

Nonchalant.

I didn’t care.

This one was mine.

I closed my eyes.

My illusions were racing.

Music.

Music filling a roman stadium.

Overwhelmed faces around me.

I’m the only one hiding a secret in my smile.

I’m breathless,

seeing everything through a gray haze.

I will laugh.

They don’t know.

They don’t know.

 What it’s like.

 To be here.

Along with a reminiscing breeze..

..وتكبر في الموال البلدي مساءً

by Mazen Kerbaj

*israeli ”war” planes.

She dragged her feet to the bench at the far end of the platform. Someone has left a half torn concert flyer. It was black with streaks of deep purple. She sat down, staring at the piece of paper, trying to figure out the name of the band. She decided that it was called: color purple. It sounded fitting enough. Perhaps not, that was a title of a book Nina always spoke about. Why hasn’t she read it though? Maybe she should. She laughed softly. These monologues have got to stop.

As she tilted her head back, resting it against the bench, she lit up a cigarette, took a dramatic drag and let herself be pulled into the whirlpool that is her mind.

Ps: One of the dreams I have is that one day, and I’m guessing in many many years from now, I’ll write a book. The other night I decided to give it a shot, to see if I actually have that kind of imagination. 

by Naji el-Ali