Living a Memory

I scroll through the pictures in my album,

Pause at our last photo together—in the hospital.

Our final visit to the doctor.

Our last walk in the garden.

Your last birthday…

My last birthday with you by my side.

I didn’t know those days were your last with us.

If I could go back, I’d hold you tighter,

Tell you a thousand times how much I love you,

Tell you how you’ve left a hollow echo in my heart.

I miss you—

Your scent lingering in the air,

Your voice calling my name,

The sound of your footsteps in the hallway.

The house feels empty now.

I fill my days with distractions,

But every night, as I return to bed,

You haunt me once more.

Tears fall freely as memories flood in.

Loss is painful.

Loss is grim.

The images always end the same—

With a photo of you, holding my hand in the ICU.

I placed your palm over mine,

Forced your fading grip,

Just to feel one last trace of your tenderness.

Now you’re with your beloved parents.

And I—

I dream of the day I join you.

Wait for me.

Through My Life

Throughout my life, I’ve learned—or rather, I’ve been taught—not to have regrets.

No regrets about decisions, relationships, or even silly purchases.

But today, I feel regret.

Regret that I don’t regret regretting.

Today, I think of all the times I rushed to my room—

to watch a movie, to pet my cat, or to simply lie on my bed.

I realize now: cherishing those we love in our hearts isn’t enough.

We must show them.

Be with them.

Touch them.

Real regret is born from losing what can never be replaced—

from wishing we could rewind time but knowing we can’t.

So instead, I rewind memories.

Cherished memories.

As I lie on my back, tears hidden from the world,

my cat snoring gently in the background.

Fading Light

 

I place your hand on mine

to feel your warmth.

I wrap your fingers around my wrist,

feel your pulse in your index finger—

for an instant, I forget myself

and look at your face,

expecting you to scold me,

only to find you

motionless,

emotionless.

One tube in your throat,

another in your nose.

Oxygen pumps through—

your chest inflates,

rises like a breath from a distant memory.

You are in deep sleep.

I try to tickle you,

squeeze you,

scratch your hand.

I place your swollen palm on top of mine—

warm as always,

though missing your tight grip.

The fluids you’re fed are cold.

A heater blanket wraps your frame.

Temperature: 36.2.

Dialysis steals your heat,

drops you to 31.

I’m glad you don’t feel the cold,

the tubes,

the injections,

the holes.

The AC blows over your head.

We pulled on the tight wool cap you hated.

I’m sorry.

I just gave the nurse a looser, softer cotton one.

I hope you can hear me.

I hope you can see me.

I hope you can feel me.

We all miss you—

so much.

You are the definition of love.

I say my goodbyes

to what’s left of you:

a few remaining electric sparks

in your head.

You are fading.

And the more you fade,

the more your love

pulls me back

to your arms.

Sleep.

Rest.

Dream of me.

Dream of the good old days.

Dream of the united family you built

and kept whole.

I love you,

always,

Baba.

A Prayer for My Father

Baba,

I sit here by your side,

watching you sleep in silence,

and I pray.

I pray you can hear me, somehow —

feel my hand in yours,

feel my heart aching for you.

You were always my protector,

my shelter,

my quiet, unwavering strength.

You gave me love without asking for anything in return.

You gave me a home inside your heart.

And now, I give you all the love I have.

I pour it into the space between us,

hoping it finds its way to you.

I miss you, Baba.

I miss the sound of your voice,

the way your eyes lit up when you smiled,

the way you made the world feel safe just by being in it.

Please, come back to us.

Please, find your way through the darkness.

Please, fight your way back to life,

to laughter,

to light.

But if you are tired, Baba —

if you are too tired to stay —

then know this:

I love you beyond this life.

I will carry you in my every breath,

in every step I take,

in every dream I chase.

You are a part of me forever.

Your love is stitched into my soul.

Ya Allah,

wrap my father in Your mercy,

ease his pain,

grant him strength,

or grant him peace —

whatever is better for him.

I leave him in Your hands,

but I will never let go of him in my heart.

Ameen.

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جرحتني نسمة عابرة

18 and 80

18 till I die doesn't mean staying at that age and not growing up, you can grow up and remain 18. Growing up is part of life, something inevitable. Age is something you can choose. If you like a certain age, you can decide to be that age. Years will wrinkle your skin, hairs will grow white, but age is how much love for life you fill your heart with. You can be 80 while you're truly 18. You have one life to live, live it to the max.

Furat

كيف أنسى،

ولن أنسى،

ولا أريد أن أنسى،

لِم أنسى لحظة تمجيد،

زفرة تنفيه،

لسانك اللاذع المارق يهمس في أذني، خنتكِ

خنتكِ أيتها السيدة السميدة في عرض جُبي،

تلقيتُ السهام الضالة في عنقي الرقيق،

أصبحتَ كالذليل على حجرات قلبي تتردى وتتمنى مغفرتي،

لن أغفر لكَ والله واحد في كتاب البوذا،

في قطرات الماء المقدس،

تمنيتُ الوصال عنوة فتكسّر كل ما بي حتى أقوى عضلاتي،

قلبي،

اذهب لن أغفر لكَ حتى تنام عينك في مقلتي،

حتى ترميني وتحتويني حتى آخر يوم في حياتي،

مماتي،

أحبكَ أقولها بأعلى صيحاتي،

أودعك وداعا حارا حتى نلتقي في الفرات،

حتى وإن كان اللقاء مع رفاتي،،،