ABDERRAHIM AIT BARA

To whom I turn to whom I wail?
To whom I go and tell my tale?

It was the evening of a gloomy, chilly winter day. In the middle of bushy wasted woods, I was on my way home with deprived mind and empty hands. I was looking for something to calm my mind’s painful hunger. After the death of Ethics and Honesty in a terrible materialistic river’s overflow which swallowed life and its signs, then turned it topsy-turvy, nothing remained just a small antique hut on my brain’s left hemisphere where my poor dignity and courage are hidden for shelter. 
In a couple of days ago, my mind had witnessed a bloody revolution. After long years of tyranny, injustice and discrimination of stereotypes and wrong judgements that seduced my innocent thoughts, it comes the day in which those pure thoughts stood bravely to face the truth. To tell you the truth, not only a truth, but it is really a bitter truth. I couldn’t keep it inside for myself and only for me. But I would love to share it with you. Why not, it may help wakening someone’s mind up. I’ m sure and certain that millions of minds are still prisoners and billions of pure thoughts were already killed by that wicked bloody hands of misjudgements. 
After this huge bundle of sharpened words, some of you are wondering to ask what kind of truth I m speaking about? Who is the innocent? Who are the tyrants? Who killed the other? For this reason or another to get the answer I would appreciate if you keep reading on for a while.....

To be continued 
The full story is coming soon... 

My story, by Abderrahim

 

ﺍﻧﺎ ﺍﻣﺴﺎﻓﺮ ﻓﻲ ﺍﻟﻌﺪﻡ ﺑﻠا ﺫﻛﺮﻳﺎﺕ

ﻓﻲ ﻳﻮﻣ ﻣﻦ الﺍﻳﺎﻡ, ﺗﺤﺖ ﻏﻂﺎﺀ ﺍﻟﻠﻴﻞ ﺍﻟﺪﺍﻓﻳء, ﺑﻴﻦ ﻧﺴﻤﺎت ﺍﻟﺼﻴﻒ ﺍﻟﺤﺎﺭ ﺕﺠﻠﺲ ﺭﻭﺣﻲ ﺗﺼﺎﺩﻕ ﺍﻟﻠﻴﻞ و ﻫﺪﻭﺋﻪ ﻭﺗﻌﺎﻧﻖ ﺍﻟﻘﻠﻢ و ﺍﻓﻜﺎﺭﻩ. ﺗﺸﺘﻜﻲ ﻫﻤﻬﺎ ﻟﺎﻭﺭﺍﻗﻬﺎ و ﺗﻤﺴﺢ ﺩﻣﻮﻋﻬﺎ ﺑﻜﻠﻤﺎﺗﻬﺎ. ﺗﺠﻠﺲ ﺭﻭﺣﻲ ﻣﺴﺘﺎﻧﺴﻪ ﺑﺴﻜﻮﻥ ﺍﻟﻀﻠﺎﻡ ﺗﺮﻭﻱ له ﻗﺼﺘﻬﺎ ﻣﻦ ﺍﻭﻟﻬﺎ ﻟﺎﺧﺮﻫﺎ. ﺗﺠﻠﺲ ﺭﻭﺣﻲ ﻣﺘﻨﻬﺪﻩ ﺑﻌﺪ ﻃﻮﻝ ﺍﻟﻌﻨﺎﺀ و ﺍﻟﻤﺸﻘﻪ ﺗﺤﺎﻭﻝ ﺍﻟﺘﻔﺴﻴﺮ و ﺍﻟﺘﺤﻠﻴﻞ ﻟﻤا ﻓﻌﻠﺖ ايادي ﺍﻟﻌﻮﻟﻤﻪ ﻭﺍﻟﺘﻘﺪﻡ باﻠﺎﺧﻠﺎﻕ ﺍﻟﻔﺎﺿﻠﻪ ﻓﻲ ﻫﺬﻩ ﺍﻟﺎﺭﺽ البشريه. ﺑﻌﺪ ﻣﻮﺕ ﺍﻟﺎﺧﻠﺎﻕ ﺗﺤﺖ ﺯﻏﺎﺭﻳﺪ ﺍﻟﺤﺮﻳﻪ والتفتح, ﺗﺠﻠﺲ ﺭﻭﺣﻲ ﺛﺎﺋﺮﻩ ﻣﺘﻤﺮﺩﻩ لتبني ﻗﺼﺮﺍ ﺗﺨﺘﺒﺍﺀ ﻓﻴﻪ... 
ﻫﺬﻩ ﺳﻨﻴﻦ ﺗﻤﺮ و ﺭﻭﺣﻲ وحيده ﺗﻌﺎﻧﻲ ﺑﻴﻦ ﻫﻮﺍﻥ ﺍﻟﺠﺴﺪ و ﻋﺬﺍﺏ ﺍﻟﻘﻠﺐ ﺑﻴﻦ ﺩﻣﻮﻉ ﺍﻟﺤﺐ ﻭﻟﻔﺤﺎﺕ ﺍﻟﺸﻮﻕ, ﺑﻴﻦ ﺍﻟﻢ ﺍﻟﻬﻮﻯ ﻭﻣﺮﺍﺭه الﺣﻘﻴﻘﻪ ﺑﻴﻦ ﺣﺮﻭﻑ ﺍﻟﺮﻭﺡ و ﻟﻐﻪ ﺍﻟﺤﻴﺎﻩ, ﺑﻴﻦ ﺻﻔﺤﺎﺕ ﺍﻟﺪﻧﻴﺎ و ﺳﻂﻮﺭ ﺍﻟﻤﻮﺕ. ﺑﻴﻦ ﺣﺒﺎﺕ ﺍﻟﺨﻴﺮ و ﺍﻭﺭﺍﻕ ﺍﻟﺸﺮ. ﺑﻴﻦ ﺻﺮﺍﻣﻪ ﺍﻟﻘﻀﺎﺀ ﻭﺑﺴﻤﺎﺕ ﺍﻟﻘﺪﺭ ﺍﻟﺘﻲ ﺍﺳﺪلﺕ ﺳﺘﺎﺋﺮ ﺍﻟﻠﻴﻞ ﺍﻟﺴﻮﺩﺍﺀ ﻓﺤﺠﺒﺖ ﻋﻨﻬﺎ ﺍﺷﻌﺖ ﺍﻟﺸﻤﺲ ﺍﻟﺬﻫﺒﻴﻪ و ﺯﺭﻗﺖ ﺍﻟﺴﻤﺎﺀ.
ﻟﻢ ﻳﺒﻘﻰ ﻟﺮﻭﺣﻲ ﺍﻟﺎ ﺍﻥ ﺗﻌﺼﻒ ﺑﻜﻞ ﺍﻟمﺎﺿﻲ ﻓﺘﻤﺤﻲ ﻛﻞ ﺍﻟﺬﻛﺮﻳﺎﺕ و ﻗﺮﺭﺕ ﺍﻟﻘﻔﺰ ﻋﻠﻰ جدﺭﺍﻥ ﺍﻟﺼﻔﺤﺎﺕ ﻟﺘﺼﻌﺪ ﺍﻟﻰ ﻋﺎﻟﻢ ﺍﻟﺎﺣﻠﺎﻡ ﻓﺘﺤﻘﻖ ﺍﻟﺎﻣﻨﻴﺎﺕ و ﺗﺮﺳﻢ ﺍﻟﺒﺴﻤﻪ ﻭﻟﻮ ﻓﻲ ﻋﺰ ﺍﻟﻤﺋﺍﺳﺎﺕ و ﺗﺠﻌﻞ ﺍﻟﺎﻣﻞ ﻳﻀﻴﺀ ﻓﻲ وﺳﻄ ﺍﻟظﻠﻤﺎﺕ...ﻟﺘﻌﻴﺪ ﺗﻠﻚ الايام ﺍﻟﻤﺸﺮﻗﻪ. ﺍﻳﺎﻡ ﺍﻟﺎﺧﻠﺎﻕ ﺍﻟﻔﺎﺿﻠﻪ. ﻟﻜﻦ ﺑﻌﺪ ﻟﺤﻆﺎﺕ ﻋﺎﺩﺕ ﻟﺮﺷﺪﻫﺎ ﻓﻌﺠﺰﺕ ﻋﻦ ﺍﻳﻘﺎﻑ ﺍﻟﺎﻋﺼﺎﺭ ﺍﻟﺬﻱ ﻓﻴﻪ ﺍﻟﻤﻤﺎﺕ... ﺍﺩﺭﻛﺖ ﺣﻴﻨﻬﺎ ﺍﻧﻪ ﻟﺎﺟﺪﻭﻯ ﻣﻦ ﺳﺮﺩ الكلمات. ﻟﺎﻥ ﺍﻟﺤﻴﺎﻩ ﻛﻠﻬﺎ ﻭﺑﻤﺎ ﻓﻴﻬﺎ و ﻣﺎ ﻟﻬﺎ و ﺣﺘﻰ ﻣﺎ ﻋﻠﻴﻬﺎ,ﺩﻣﻌﻪ, ﺷﻘﺎﺀ,ﺍﻟﻢ و ﺗﺤﺪﻳﺎﺕ. ﻣﺌﺎﺳﻲ ﺍﻥ ﻛﺎﻧﺖ ﻓﻬﻲ ﻧﺎﺭ . ﻟﻢ ﻳﺒﻘﻰ ﻟﺮﻭﺣﻲ ﺳﻮﻯ ﺍﻥ ﺗﻜﺴﺮ ﻗﻠﻤﻲ وتمﺰﻕ ﺍﺧﺮ ﺍﻟﻮﺭﻗﺎﺕ ﻭﺗﻨﺘﺤﺮ ﻓﺘﻨﺘﺤﺮ ﻣﻌﻬﺎ ﺍﻟﺎﻣﻨﻴﺎﺕ و ﺗﻤﻀﻲ ﺍﻟﺎﻳﺎﻡ و ﺗﻨﺴﻰ ﻛﻤﺎ ﺗﻨﺴﻰ ﺍﻟﺎﻣﻮﺍﺕ... ﻧﻌﻢ. ﻫﻲ ﺍﻟﻤﺴﺎﻓﺮﻩ ﻓﻲ ﺍﻟﻌﺪﻡ ﺑﻠﺎ ذكريات.

ﺍﻟﻰ ﻛﻞ ﺭﻭﺡ ﺑﺸﺮﻳﻪ ﻋﺎﻧﺖ ﺍﻟﺎﻣﺮﻳﻦ و ﺳﺎﻓﺮﺕ ﺑﻠﺎ ﺫﻛﺮﻳﺎﺕ.

ﺭﺣﻠﻪ ﻋﺒﺪ ﺍﻟﺮﺣﻴﻢ ﺍﻟﻰ ﺍﻟﻌﺪﻡ ﺑﺎﺳﺮﺍﺭ الحياه