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غزة عزتنا ومجدنا الأبي.
غزة البحر والأنفاق.
غزة وصمت الأرض والسماء والنهر.
غزة أعشاب البحر والأنفاق.
غزة صواريخ بالطول والعرض, من البحر الى النهر.
غزة وملكوت الله وثورة الحجارة.
غزة المجد والشهادة والأنتصار.
غزة غابة الفرح والحزن النظير.
غزة ثوب أمي والكفن.

Rain, the provider of life, life for the fauna and flora;
the forests and its various tree spices.
The Oak, pine and many others are they that give meaning to the flora.
Rocks, sand and suffering of the inhabitors are the existence of the day.
Palestine, the Holocaust and Hitler have common belief systems.
Like a chessboard even greater are their velors.
Romantic songs sang by the least notorious loving buddies inspired by the moon light of the night.
Like a peacock with green and yellow wings lovers think no one can deprive them of their sentiments.
Is it the depth of the sea? If it's the depth of the sea, but this could be the most dangerous of the depths.
Is that how you feel when is love?

Came from the far country with  white and black bags.
And with white and red nails.
It was one of his victims called Zainab, Mary and the Virgin Mary.
They  label him the only murderer.
They killed him and crucified him, but he came back again, and his hand steak and vivid magical seeking.
So the return of murder at Sana’a University is recanted episodically.
Is this the reincarnation of the spirits of the dead?

9 Minutes Before Eleven

“ On the Wings of Fallen Angels..”

-Chapter One-

Richard Ozanne c 1999

    It seemed a long time ago but still fresh in my mind, a brief glimpse, of time passed, but focused memory, those streets of Prague and those slalom structures, a thousand spires that built the city. The town breathed with the hearts of ancients as well as some surrealism left in bygone ages that were sandwiched between ages, with soft coals smell drifting through the streets and a subtle bent of newness entrenched within the Gothic parable of bygone ages, gray, mustard and tinder.

An essence of restlessness was around each corner.

I could feel the riddle written in the streets between Nove Mesto and Staromestska, a fulfillment of the treats of sausages baking on the grills between places down towards the center of the old village, still patched and scraped with memories of all who lived there.

I too was the walker and sojourner of these channels and matrix of streets wandering ever impatiently as a newcomer, feeling a fallen spirit placed here again.

I walked these streets a good dozen miles a day at times, and perhaps more on some occasions. The stone beneath my feet always played an uneven sway in my step as centuries had worn them, prominent ages, and providence giving me a chance once more having a glance at the raised towers and history which made this town drifting through my head on each walk, and journey throughout the streets from the old and grainy mustard Jewish cemetery, with its oracle crows calling “break” at the falling of another eve, to the young lovers whose hearts beat tenderly together in the magic of youth and of love which was admired as well as jealously wanted.

This was another evening looking up at the sunset between those lofty buildings so old, and long forgotten,  that one couldn’t really describe their history, those coal suited buildings that lay between my eyes and the sky as I walked, feeling those cobblestones under my feet again on such an eve. I was walking from Opalatova Street up, my valise heavy with teaching documents, my class ended in English, I a free man of sorts to think about other issues, a full 4 hours down of speaking, teaching and scratching diagrams all over the blackboard. I was tired, I moved with a quickened pace home. Still the dream like essence of Prague was insistent on my attention.

This was my nightly path between the center of Prague and the subway line to “Museum” or rather “Hlavni Nadrazi” (The train station) which was a mark half way home from the center. Usually I was taking the bus, but on some nights I walked the parallels between the crowds, elbow room only, Germans, Italians and then some Russians.

This was a real walk, far from internet, and hard stones under my feet, pounding pavement under-foot.

Tourists arrived like clockwork here, different groups every week, arriving and departing on their holidays. Somewhere here seemed at times like a city that was between spatial references, way out there in the midst of a gigantic international world. Today it was a group of Italians that were gathered walking evenly following their guide, his pole held high. They were following, I was escaping.

I could seen the last rays of light spread upon edge of the Museum out the the end of Wenceslas square, watching traffic, being especially careful of the trams that would appear out of nowhere as I moved on my special path up, crossing the street and over towards the Hotel Europa, that hotel where I had residence for many months and sometimes still resided in my mind.

Time plays tricks it is said. Was this the late 1990’s or the early 1930’s, still in an old style movie, faded color but true to the essence, a poetic movie wrought before me, through my vision, in polite integrity of real circumstance, somehow measured the details, and put upon the pedestal of time for investigation.

Suddenly a thought passed through me, and upon the wall, like a shadow; to stop by Europa and see if Dieter was working the desk. Dieter had been an old friend who made violins up in the attic of Europa during the days of residence at this legendary hotel. There was the Europa, grand in style and offering music in the Cafe heard from across the boulevard. The old Europa now demoted somehow to one star from five, by the period of reconstruction after the fall of communism. There is stood, and archangel of great gilded times past, the dim lights from within shining, one savored this time of thin harmony of music from the cafe as I approached. It was Bedrich Smetana tonight. Sometimes it was jazz.

I rolled around through the turnstile of a revolving door into the lobby. It was like a merry go round between centuries, entering the last of the 20th through a portal of the 19th.

A passing friend from the hotel tipped his gray Czech brow in welcome greetings. I could smell the cafe, something fresh was cooking that included meat, onion and garlic.

I sank myself in towards the front, half covered by the red velvet curtain that provided some covering from the doors in winter. Yes, I could feel the snap from the back of me of the cold as well as the steam from the radiator that was at my legs as I peered into the Europa Cafe from the side door, bolted shut. None of my friends could see me here. Carefully I scanned for Petra, Vossek, Dmitri, and Vera. They were not at their nightly chairs at this time, sitting drinking wine or coffee and absorbing this old expensive place and its nostalgia of the turn of the 20th century guild. No, they did not come tonight.

I turned around and looked at the front desk. Peter was tending the desk, the German-Czech with many legends, known and unknown. There were two people just receiving their room keys, and set off. Casually and with a great sense of balance he seemed to turn around and see me there, glancing straight at me as I approached, addressing me with a smile. He reached to the key box behind him and produced a key. It had been many months that I had stayed there, this was still automatic with Peter. He smiled, “My friend...you must have your room key!” I laughed and told him I was living elsewhere, in Zizkov this time and didn’t reside at the hotel but would return one day to my room. He again looked in back of him and pointed to #10, my room, “It is here for anytime..” he smiled, and then asked me about my life and what was new. We talked a bit and then I asked if Dieter was working that evening. Peter paused smiled and then shook his head. Out of the corner of my eye a familiar friend Vacek appeared. Shaking hands, we greeted each other, conversed lightly and bid farewell. I spotted the clock and I had been already almost ½ hour off my usual schedule home on this night. I would have to grab the buss at Halni Nadrazi for the trip up, making some better time. Natasha had cooked some dinner and was eager for me to come home for supper. I bid farewell, headed off into the night, up the street, catching the bus and seating myself on a crowded coach toward Zizkov, paying close attention to the bus stops as they passed not to be confused with my stop.

Soon I was at my street and viewing my apartment building, not as ancient as the old town amidst a group of 1920's era 12 story structures. The large door opened and I walked in, tired from the walk as usual, up one and then two flights of stairs and a mustard colored Mezzanine, typical of the old Soviet designs.

Ringing the loud harsh sounding doorbell Natasha was eager to see me, gracefully inviting me into the front room and setting me on the sofa for the evening Becherovka, an aperitif. My greeting home was endearing after the often cold day on the frontier, I one of the very few who seemed to have drifted through Prague, and on this occasion decided to establish an outpost here, and now with the drink of Becherovka, toasting to the day which was not easy, but difficult only now to have my kindness given to me at home before dinner.

Tatyana was a lovely lady. Her inspiration was Prague for me, her smile an effervescent light at the end of an often dark street, living and trying to make it in a totally foreign land. It was my first year. I had been lucky.

I went back in memory at that point to the first sight of Prague from the train station, the time when I stepped off the train was given a room at the Hotel Europa to stay and all of the dramatics that I had seen. Memories had their willing target, I a nostalgic person. But this was my first year and I had started teaching via a good school in Czech and was invited to teach continuing education courses at the Faculty of Pedagogy as well as at the television NOVA. It consume all my time, but these posts were work and paid a bit, though I was always open to more prosperous projects, and still a most willing subject to my own visions, as an artist and designer, independent and working for myself. In the larger picture it seemed as though everything I had done in Prague was work all the time to this fine time when I pulled forth my Becherovka to my lips, forgot about the past and brought that sweet liquid to my lips for a partial fulfillment of the present.

I looked at Tatyana and gave her my full devotion with a kiss and sweet words for the dinner table was set.

The meal was phenomenal as usual with fresh baked bread and sausage, sauerkraut (Cabbage rather) and some home-made dumplings with a wedge of Pork. I loved the simplicity, but moreover I loved to return home to a kind and warm setting, appreciating Tatyana for her ability to keep a happy home, and kindness on her lips despite the storms I often encountered.

It was such an evening when lightning was crashing, and the rains were gathering puddles in the streets the water heard down below beating, as one could catch the flashes outside over the silhouettes of the buildings and dim lights along the structural walls and chasms of the apartment buildings in Zizkov.

As I finished the meal I thanked Tatyana and tipped the napkin to feel away a little cabbage on the edge of my lip. She smiled at me with a most courteous smile and told me of her deep love for me, encountering the position of romance of the highest order. I looked into her smiling eyes with a touch of sentiment, and not so shallowly to bestow a radiance of love that was sparked here. Her eyes breathed the light of a nearby candle as the softness and glow of her temperament set golden promises adrift in thoughts, both hand tenderly embraced and promises made, I knew that this was an engagement.

The phone interrupted some drift in consciousness here, as always at such subtle moments before the touch of love, bestowed an impassioned moment with intercourse following.

That gnashing ring, obnoxious, as though an old woman was letting loose her rage of not being young, that damned phone rang and the talk began. It was Lesha, and then Johanne, two students who scheduled lessons.

Afterward the desert was brought. Zmrzlina, or ice cream and cake of the best variety, followed by light coffee and then small talk, Tatyana relaying to me something she had forgotten.

She told me of a message from Dieter as well as my friends associate Vronkman who managed some of my work in Prague and was a friend of Sarka and Millionen. With all the names that went by and their difficult pronunciations I had a difficult time keeping track of the many, coming, going and in between. But the message was from Dieter asking me to accept one of his packages which I may find in my postbox and to please deliver it to an address, given in the message. It was the same as many times before, a letter or parcel or even a piece of statuary given to me to pass along. “Oh yes!” Tatyana added, “Dieter wants to meet you at the Kafka Cafe...he say you know where it is”

All of a sudden the phone rang with that almost yelling bell. I had never been use to it ringing. Tatyana grabbed it and answered, then beckoned me to come in to take the call. It was Dieter. “You must...” a strange restrained voice remained, “Meet me tonight at the Cafe ..K.” He then put the phone down. It went into a repeated tone.

“Well another night..”I said to myself as I told Tatyana that I had to meet my associate in Prague, apologizing that it would only be an hours meeting. Tatyana looked sad but we came to a halfway resolve of the issue to meet in town later in the evening at yet another cafe Gulu Gulu in another portion of Prague.

I grabbed my bag and set out. It was still only 7pm and the night was young.

I arrived at the Kafka Cafe about 7:45 a quarter to 8. The place was still open, but not as bustling as usual. Tonight they had the televisions blasting some sports game and a marginal crowd that was interested. I looked for Dieter and he hadn’t appeared yet. Ordering a coffee, I settled into a still and dim corner of the main room of the cafe. A few nice looking ladies came in, smiled and took their seats opposite me as I waited for Dieter.

Checking the time on a bold decorative clock, I paced the time. I usually paced time. It was like a ticking clock, the footsteps made on the pavement. Endless ticking,.,

He was never that late. Dieter was a man of precision though seemingly a little show on the catch, too sharp on the catch, a man of a disguise, not of face value. This was kindly Dieter. He was a man filled with a joke, forgetting the punchline only to exacerbate on the articles and syntax of the sentence as well as specific words in vocabulary as he slowed, marked it all out, and surprised one with his wit about bending words and sentences. But when Dieter was happy, he was happy, and sad...hum, I can say sad of course as he was filled with a very established diorama of gray emotions. He had a long face, kind and lost, a brilliant man at chess, and discussions and discourse on religion, pragmatics. All inclusive, a kind man of honesty and conviction having only one drawback...this time being late.

He would never excuse himself for his behaviour. I would listen to this for an hour or maybe two, or maybe he would draw back and say, “I'm sorry…” or the excuses being laid on the banner of honor, or simply laid aside. I was not this time bandit! But now I was pacing, foot-by foot, stepping down, and then stepping on the curb.

And then I went back in my mind.

I drew an envelope from my mailbox, early this morning and now from my coat sleeve and measured it, wondering the contents and placed my hand on it retrieving some news from a vacant newspaper left on another table. It was in English, a preferred language arguably since my Czech was never that good, making attempts at times to learn it conservatively. Trying not to be suspicious, I tapped it to the content, lightly as I watched each face around me, dodge, excuse and walk around to go in the cafe, the weather getting cool, a breeze coming about, stirring in another direction still, a premium on my neck.

It had been 45 minutes and now was approaching an hour, Dieter still had not arrived. I put the envelope in my coat pocket and began to think he got caught up in something, thinking our meeting wasn’t that important.

Suddenly Dieter appeared in the doorway, a 6,7 shadow, the backdrop of light making his silhouette seem strange and gnawing. I walked over to him and he stood still and acted as if he didn't know me for one minute, then gave me a word, “I cannot meet you tonight, deliver the mail to Peter...” he commanded in a silent breath, turned and walked out into the dark.

I did not ask questions. Somehow I knew.

The night passed with a strange feeling. I walked on as though the night were young, laying a whistle into the air, passing the pharmacy, and the old town square, looking up for a moment, checking the time, walking over to Gulu Gulu and meeting Tatyana there.

Oh I progressed not to think. The night was love and still to be enjoyable. Tatyana had been my girlfriend for some time. It was like the darkness was given light when she would appear.

We met, and kissed in a welcome. Our evening had consumed a few cocktails and an hour at a jazz club  and then we set off for home.

She had never met Dieter, but was constantly asking about many of my whereabouts from different times, seeming somewhat jealous.

I gave alibis for this evening, kept quiet, or even jovially attendant and of my speech, even in a childish joke. It was better that way, better to seem wandering than suspicious, no jealousy here but another life, dare I speak, or say, or tell.

Yet it was a dream. Prague was a dream and so I measured each day by practical clockwork consuming time as it was given in various ways.

The next day on my way to a teaching engagement I stopped by the Hotel Europa where I was promptly greeted by Peter and Vacek.

I was given a piece of paper in my palm with my hotel keys by Peter. “On Saturday, your reservation is made...#15” He slipped another envelope to me from the American Center in which I was invited to a formal engagement. “You are very popular!” Peter said and smiled.

I never asked and was never told about the efficiency of numbers, rooms, envelopes, or markings on newspapers as general descriptions of things which I was not supposed to know. I would appear on Friday and continue on to the train station going down to Cesky Budweis on Saturday, running as an alibi, my location as both Prague and Budweis had “Hotel Europa’s” I laughed, shuttling envelopes, the most pure white type, or the manila forms. It was the days before internet, presents being given, but underpinnings being less known for the benefit of all.

I played aloof to miscalculations of bills, especially to my benefit, wrong change..to be given a benefit​?

Alas this was only a dream, a complete dream of envelopes and documents flying here and there, unknowns being counted among shadows, or packages being delivered in the freezing cold of the night to sources that are mere fog, relating to one point where life was only normal in the Czech Republic at this time. But the enhancement, therein, might maintain a certain element of imagination.

Room Number #15 did not exist but was a broom closet. Room #10 did. Memories of that chasm of Europa's Mezzanine did provide allot for the imaginations getting.

The smiles were there at Europa, with Peter always guessing if it were #10, #5 or #47 or #356 where I would hang my hat for the evening! We laughed, and our party departed.

This afternoon was the same episode, along the same line, distributing myself to various quadrants in Prague at 2pm an hour in a basement, on an old grand piano which I was allowed to practice and at 3:35 another episode with a class in Hradczany, moving again to Biskupcova St, for another hour session with a private client, and then the rite of evening classes at the Pedagogical institute in which I would pay 2 hour dues until that 7 o'clock bell would ring, I remaining hoarse from talking the full period about vocabulary to attentive students.

It was the same regiment every single day, changing clients to Pancras and another client down in the center of Prague at periods. Indeed what was made of the day? Hours of walking, tramming and then the silent period of practice, possibly a concert for an hour waiting, as the other assembly would play, first a flutist, then a classical guitar, I pulled out in all excellence for a Chopin Etude, or set, disguised in my name for a group of anxious tourists wanting to hear Mozart, Bach and The Beetles.

One day I sat besides myself, fulfilled in the abstraction of a living breathing creator, here on this planet, to do a variety of things, not always known, nor seen, in the prejudicial variety show of commercial culture, only to be an English Teacher and a piano player where Liszt was liked, and Chopin was liked, now disappearing again to a class where I would garnish the same suit, appear in tails at times, maintaining another profile and live in Prague practically unaffected. History and tradition somehow were intact here, not played against one another like a two piano concerto where each pianist have a different score. Europe was far different in its tastes and traditions which were learned, not just assumed.

Slowly I walked on my 2pm journey to that mustard colored building and in through the back loading area, those doors reminding me of some gateway to paradise, down one level and then to another. There was a long corridor filled with seats, boxes and drama from the last century. At the end of this was a clearing and a long black piano laid with thick padding that was open, and somehow always in tune for its age. It was there that I practiced and there that I weaved my soul with music as the workmen would sometime come, smile and sit listening but not disturbing me.

I would look overhead at the thickly coated pipes and the mesh door that looked as a chasm to a corner, and then the table where there was as much music as could be had, where I stored all that wasn’t needed on my shoulder or in my briefcase for another days trial.

The hour would end, and like clockwork the busy workmen would come through gathering ladders and buckets and smile as the started their afternoon work packing.

It was like this was a hiding place for me. I could come and go if I chose in the afternoon or evening so long as those great doors were not locked. Sometimes after class I would come. Sometimes late in the evening. My refuge would change as the months passed to a similar place in Old Prague, an old school, a basement once more, or a teaching room where the perspective of a portrait of Brahms would tower over me, Mendelssohn there feeling free to express, and I insulating myself until I was finished, and closed the door behind me walking, marching to another session of teaching in another vicinity of Prague always leaving hours open to remain at my flat in Zizkov for artwork to appear, a studio and sessions like clockwork for some exhibitions, be they many, untold, and undiscovered among the cataclysm of renowned centers here and there.

This day was like others. It was a common night.Tonight I returned home tired of the day, same routine, only stopping briefly at Gulu Gulu before my return home to see if one associate of mine, a quite intelligent young fellow from Lebanon “David”, a Phd in Chemistry in residence, was available to pattern, edit, and put some of my notes on Disk, the only fellow who had computer in Prague that could proceed with this at that time. It was 1997 and the Internet Cafe was a weak commodity in Prague without signing up for rather expensive sessions. I would write everything in hand-script only for later transcription for editing on my lusciously equip 486 laptop, slow but sturdy archaic element from days when EMail was a relatively unknown thing and Facebook a dream, especially in Czech.

As I walked into the smoke filled Gulu Gulu David was present, as usual drinking a firm glass of Pivo (Beer) and affirmed that he could process some 150 pages for me at a reasonable cost on his bosses computer. The trade was a snack, sandwich, and beer, but moreover some companionship sitting, both foreigners in a place where expats and tourists unraveled their interests and travels, locals keeping busy on the relaxing timber of chat, football games and ephemera. There was interesting conversation in periods however, people gathering together by mutual interests in this place, some less common than the rest.

I had been formatting this document in what seemed as a forever time...the last part of my so-called dissertation, changed dramatically from two years process, the feeling of this anticlimactic being a little of memory.

I turned around and there were a few of my students that cheered me on from a different table, Sarka and Denis were there, George (The American) and old Zdenek who sold the candles of Lenin, Stalin and Marx was passing again around the place. Choosing to sit down and enjoy the atmosphere, a thick cloud of smoke enduring the entire cafe was layering the visual, as one friend rushed toward me and announced that Tatyana was going to come soon.

I smiled, knowing she had a phone and I was at the mercy of that decrepit payphone adjacent to Gulu Gulu. Somehow everything worked out always, like precision, as per some kind of thought mail.

I turned and there she was, neatly dressed from her work at the design shop. We greeted each other with the usual overwhelming embrace as Sarka stood and came over announcing in a giddy voice to us, “She knew the power of Prague when it came to Love” To her it Its a most amazing place...” she added, “where couples can be lost and found in the many corridors of the streets, a bench or special park where lovers would wander, find themselves and suit themselves to entanglement in passionate love making at the feet of Macha.

Tatyana seemed to know my whereabouts as though by telepathy. How she did I never could know. Tonight she was specially graced in a black skirt clear to her ankles, a high collar, the pitch of her hair, extravagant and elegant. She stood in the doorway of the Gulu Gulu, and people did wonder of the occasion when she entered, peering up in suprised at an elegantly dressed lady. She was dressed for me not for the situation, as jeans and T-shirt would be enough.

I didn’t have a phone at the time, but she always appeared many times out of the blue, in direct connection to where I was in Prague. How this was seemed amazing but kindly!

I could never get over Tatyana's incredible light blue eyes, fair skin. It was always hypnotic. As always I was taken in a kind of mesmerizer and a dream world when it came to her appearance. She always dressed well whether in tasteful dress or sneakers and T-Shirt, the latter not too well remembered as she always mesmerized my attention.

Of course she was always asking about the days events. Many days were ordinary. Same..Same teaching and of course waiting for some time to do some more, tranquil and intense work at home in my art.

We laughed a bit, I held her in my arms and we descended into conversations about world events, and living in Prague.

I remember those days with fascination!

It seemed a long time ago since I lived back in America. Actually it was only a couple of years in retrospect. During this time I had made trips back for business but only short term, a month or two at most and then I was back to Prague, which seemed then like a home, a foreign land which I assumed to be a home.

Sometimes memories would skip back to busy Phoenix traffic instead of walking or taking a bus. In my arrival back I always felt it was like a visit to a busy casino, lady luck always on my tail for the winning numbers. Life in Czech was more practical, pragmatic, but hard earned, and in ways easier, but there were difficulties being a foreigner at times. I am American, though no one really knew my nationality. I always looked back in nostalgia at things that could have been, but were not, playing the scenes that were more of a made-for-television movie than reality, and in someway nonsensical dreams, painted realities. That I was able to live, able to work here was a gift in many ways. That this was a reality far away from American dreamlands of mega-millions, big bucks and business at all costs seemed a sobre reality for an artist, painter and a musician, who in his time would live a life that was simple and endearing here without being muscled by primate concepts of keeping up with the Jones methodology and live life simply and among friends.

I was a peaceworker between people, a intellectual, visual artist, writer. I taught the young to be inspired and to inspire in a system of schematics, on others writings, and anothers goals.

Often I was pressed for time in my work here, with 10 students waiting, a class in Plzen of another eleven on the weekend, twenty more students in English as a Second Language to fill up my time, and then the saving of my own free hour I sat  in studio as a reflection.

At the cafe, I sipped cafe wrote and filled pages of my sketchbooks, worked at home, at night writing journals, reflections. The in-between pages lifting to some thought filled dreams of the past which seemingly never really went away, nor ever could.

I was present here in Prague, not at home, for this was my home, for the time being. I was working, and living life in a simple way, measurably being productive.

I would drift forward at times to wonder, if I returned to my homeland what this reality that I was experiencing would mean in the greater aspect. This did not good however, for present is the greatest gift of experience.

I would spend seven years in Czech Republic which in memory would be the experience of a lifetime, each moment assembling itself upon the next, in artistic notions, and stranger dreams, and experiences which would be irrevocable.

The morning was brisk. The late autumn air was catching a strong chill as I would gather pastry in the morning for breakfast from a little shop of homemade breads in Zizkov, on my route passing by a bookstore where I viewed the latest news from America in the Herald Tribune, or some new novel...entitled “On Wings of Fallen Angels..” by an uncommon, and unknown author of nonfiction poised in a world of the virtual.  

-End Chapter One-

Oil in the Desert, Blood on the Pavement and Bohemian Owls Resting on Skulls



Your essence is exact and delicate, and you were playing barefoot and bald-headed near a river, pond, and dam as well as in a swimming pool.

Your neighbours Mohsana and Ward Mc Mohamed Othman complain and suffer from smallpox and frightening tuberculosis diseases, and Hageb Ali, the one-eyed, moans of pain and sometimes he makes fun of Naima, the blind, as well as of Abdullah Qurod, the unsighted person. He adds saying oh Lord, the Gentle and the Knower of subtleties.

Then whom to ask for help?

How? and he is the long, wide, an extraordinary, the most beautiful, the unjust, the ugly and the skinny.

Abdul-Rakib absented his village and left the school and the field as well as the hammer and hatchet-axe, and went to the desert of the oil and its coast. He visited the Kaaba, and Al-Qatif. He was looking for another world, as it is said that it is a high class and delicate place.

However, he returned to his homeland full of physical and mental diseases. He lost his conscious as well as his civil rights in the original homeland as well as in the country of the owner of the Kaaba, Al-Taif, Al-Jawf and Al- Afif.

In this way, rights are lost, souls are traded and blood is shed in the countries of the polluted and dishonest ruler.

Abdul-Rakib, do you remember our dog Khrushchev, the white and Popeye, the scarier of Shukri, the cat and the eater of bread?

They have lost their visions and become afraid of everything dynamic or static, and trembling powerfully of terror, hunger and thirst, their black and white hairs have fallen out in spring, summer, winter, as well as in the autumn.

In that case, the state sent a corps of its army groups, who trained in shooting from far distance and hunting, followed by a division trained to fight terrorism and a special division to throw bombs of strong and weak mustard gas in order to kill the dogs in Al-Jawf, Aden, Taiz, Saada, Riyadh, Damascus, Amman, Sinai and Al-Hofuf.

Nonetheless, their ammunition ended in vain to kill Khrushchev, the white or Popeye, the black, and the fine looking. However, they destroyed everything and contaminated fields, looted storages of farmer, embroider and the cargo space of the makers of arabesque masterpieces, and tried to flee at the night disguised in masks and clothes designed and embroidered in the Al-Saqifh and ranks awarded to them by a silly.

However, the leader sent droves of aviation and his bodyguards, led by Abdullah Aklan, Al-Okfia, Ahmed Naif and Sulttan, the rambler. Hence, they killed both loyal dogs and their bloods still be spared to bleed bleeding the pavement.

But the viruses of the both dogs have moved from the blood pavement to the Palace and to the light green coastal resort.

As a result of that, the rabies affected the leader and his nepotism and associates. Its symptoms are hallucinations, defeat of sense and loss and the identity, furthermore, cramped and nervous speech, disorders in institutions, and paralysis in the reform movements in the days of elections, holidays and business days.

They become isolated in their places and stables and unable to defend their children, and lands, including Jerusalem the holy city. They replaced battles by summits of Sharm el-Sheikh, Doha and other provinces and regions of bananas and apples in Lebanon or in Al-Qatif.

It is wonderful thing when we see the leaders of hotels, bars, and tunnels parking themselves under the white and delicate.

What is a great meeting of leaders in all museums located in the Gulf or near the line of Bar-Lev.

What really surprised the cleric, who barks, carries a holy scripture, and who calls to prayers every morning and evening, saying " Lord is the Greater and come to the success" in Cairo of Al-Muizz or in the homeland of swordfish, who frights of telling the truth in times of needs and pains, wounds and death, the scholar and interpreter of leader of the tunnels, the coward and fearful to extend his hand to shake hands of the offender Peres, who committed the Sea's Cows School, Qana's Massacres, the killer and the butcher of kids ,and who is infected by Alzheimer disease.

No vaccine benefit them, and they still and will be in convulsion and disorder till the castles become destroyed and felled in the moment of crashing violence.

What is a beautiful day, the day of Conquest?

Let us work for that morning.

In the Sura of Poets No.26, and Ayah No. 224-227 God Almighty says " And as to the poets, those who go astray follow them. Do you not see that they wander about bewildered in every valley? And that they say that, which they do not do. Except those who believe and do good and remember the LORD much, and defend themselves after they are oppressed; and they who act unjustly shall know to what final place of turning they shall turn back''.




نفط في الصحراء ودم على الرصيف والبوم البوهيمي قابع على الجماجم

,أصلك لطيف

وكنت تلعب حافياً ومقرعاً بجانب البركةِ والنهرِ والسدِ وكذلك في الكريفِ (المسبح)،
وجارتيك ورد بنت محمد عثمان ومحصنة تشتكيان من مرض الجدري ومرض السل المخيف،
وحاجب علي الأعور يأنُ من المرض واحياناً يقهقهُ ضاحكاً ويسخر من ناعمة العمياء وعبد الله قرعد الكفيف،
ويقول يالطيف.


***
فبمن تستغيث اذاً؟
كيف؟
وهو الطويل والعريض والخارق والاجمل والظالم والقبيح والنحيف.


***

ذهب عبد الرقيب من قريته تاركاً المدرسة والحقل وكذلك المطرقة والعطيف (الفأس)،
وذهب إلى صحراء النفط والى الساحل وزار الكعبة وكذلك القطيف،
يبحث عن عالم آخر يقال أنه راقٍ ورهيف.


***


لكنه عاد مليئا بالاحزان والامراض فاقداً لحقوقه في وطنه الاصلي وفي وطن اهل الكعبة والطائف والجوف والعفيف,
هكذا تهدر الحقوق, ويتاجر بالارواح وتسفك الدماء في بلدان الحاكم اللانظيف واللاشريف.
***
هل تذكر يا عبد الرقيب كلبنا الابيض خوروشوف وكذلك بوبي مرعب القط شكري واكل الرغيف؟
لقد فقدا بصرهما وصارا من الجوع يخافان من كل شيء ساكناً كان أم متحركا ويرتجفان من الخوف والجوع والعطش أشد الرجيف,
ولقد تساقط شعرهما الابيضِ والاسودِ في الصيف وفي الربيع وفي الشتاء وكذلك في الخريف.
***
حينها ارسلت الدولة فيلقاً من عساكرها المدربين على القنص والرماية من بعد, وفرقة مدربة لمكافحة الارهاب وفرقة خاصة برمي قنابل غاز الخردل القوي والضعيف,
لقتل الكلاب في الجوف وتعز وعدن وصعدة والرياض ودمشق وعمان وسيناء والهفوف.
***
لكن ذخيرتهم انتهت بلا جدوي من قتل خرشوف الابيض أو بوبي الاسود التوحيف,
لكنهم دمروا كل شيء ولوثوا الحقول ونهبوا مخازن الفلاح وصانع السفيف,
وحاولوا الانسحاب ليلاً متنكرين باقنعة و ملابس فصلت وطرزت بالسقيف,
ورتب منحت لهم من السخيف.
***
لكن الزعيم أرسل اسراب الطيران وحرسه الخاص بقيادة عبد الله عقلان والعقفية واحمد نائف وسلطان اللفيف,
فقتلوا الكلبان الوفيان ومازالت دمائهما تنزف نزفاً الى الرصيف.
***
لكن فيروسات دماء الكلبان أنتقلت من الرصيف الى القصر والمصيف ذو اللون الأخضر الخفيف,
فاصيب الزعيم وحاشيته واعوانه بداء الكلب ومن أعراضه الهلوسة وفقدان الحس وبطاقة التعريف,
وكذلك الخطابات العصبية, والاضطرابات في المؤسسات , والشلل في حركة الاصلاح ايام العيد وايام الجمعة وحتى في يوم الزفة عندما دعاهم الزفيف.
***
فعزلوا في حظائرهم وقصورهم عاجزين عن الدفاع عن اطفالهم, وارضهم و منها القدس الشريف,
واستبدلوا المعارك بقمم شرم الشيخ والدوحة واقاليم الموزات والتفافيح في لبنان أو في القطيف.
ما اروع زعماء الفنادق والحانات والمعابر القابعين تحت الظل الأبيض الرهيف,
وما أجمل لقاء القادة في كل متحف يقع في الخليج أو بجانب خط بارليف,
وما يدهش حقاً أن تمتد يد رجل الدين النباح والحاملة للمصحف,
ومؤذن المساء و الصباح, والقائل الله اكبر حي على الفلاح في قاهرة المعز أو في وطن السياف,
والذي يخشي من قول الحق في وقت الشدة واح الاح, والموت والجراح, مفتي زعيم المعبر الجبان والخواف,
لتصافح المجرم و العفن قاتل اطفال مدرسة بحر البقر وقانا بيريز السفاح المصاب بالخراف,
***
فلم ينفعهم اي لقاح فضلوا وسيضلوا متشنجين ومضطربين حتى تسقط وتدمر قلاعهم في لحظة العنف الأشد من الأعنف
***
ما اجمل يوم الفتح!
فلنعمل من أجل ذلك الصباح.
***
يقول الله تعالى في سورة الشُّعَرَاء 26 في الايات {224- 227}:
وَالشُّعَرَاء يَتَّبِعُهُمُ الْغَاوُونَ .
أَلَمْ تَرَ أَنَّهُمْ فِي كُلِّ وَادٍ يَهِيمُونَ .
وَأَنَّهُمْ يَقُولُونَ مَا لَا يَفْعَلُونَ .
إِلَّا الَّذِينَ آمَنُوا وَعَمِلُوا الصَّالِحَاتِ وَذَكَرُوا اللَّهَ كَثِيراً وَانتَصَرُوا مِن بَعْدِ مَا ظُلِمُوا وَسَيَعْلَمُ الَّذِينَ ظَلَمُوا أَيَّ مُنقَلَبٍ يَنقَلِبُونَ .

أتى إلى حديقتنا لا ندري من أين وكيف؟
ليس لنا علم ومعرفة بذلك.
اغتصب واستولى على حديقتنا.
فدمرها وهدمها وحطمها وأحبطها.
بنى حولها جدارا كبيرا من الضغينة والحقد والخبث والوحشية.
وأحاطها بقطاع الطرق والعصابات والصعاليك والأشرار والكلاب.
وزرع الأشواك في جنباتها.
وأشاع الفوضى وا لفواحش والمنكرات والمكروهات.
ورسم وزين ونحت في جدرانها البؤس والموت وأدواتهما.
وسقى وغمر أشجارها بالدم.
و سمدها بالسموم.
وجعل من أفيون ومخدر القات أكلأ وشرابأ وملاذأ لها.
البستاني اليماني الخارق نشر ا لطوائف.
وروج الأكاذيب والشائعات.
ثم سلب ونهب ثروات الأرض والعرض.
بعدها لعب معنا وداعبنا بالخدع والتضليل حتى حجب عنا الشمس والقمر.
وأزال ودنس الأيمان وعرقل السلام والأمن .
بعدها أخذ دستوره وتلا منه قائلا "إن في حديقته حَبًّا وَعِنَبًا وَقَضْبًا وَزَيْتُونًا وَنَخْلًا وَحَدَائِقَ غُلْبًا وَفَاكِهَةً وَأَبّا مَّتَاعًا لَّكُمْ وَلِأَنْعَامِكُمْ.
فكانت كذبته الكبرى.
إنه مجرم وشرير وجالب للنحس.
إنه الحاصد والرابح من الخراب والدمار.
يا الهي! من يدخل حديقتنا سيرى ما يسر الروح والنفس.
هجم الجراد على ما تبقى من معالم الحديقة! وكانت النهاية المريرة.
في النهاية نهض الديك والهدهد من على جانب أشجار الصفصاف المتبقية في الحديقة وأيقظا أهلها ليؤسسوا مملكتهم الموعودة مملكة الديك والهدهد.

The extraordinary gardener just comes to our garden from where and how; we neither have knowledge nor information.

He does not come only but also rapes and seizes our garden.

He destroys, demolishes and demoralizes it.

He builds around it a great wall of malevolence, malice and viciousness,

and surrounds it with hoodlums, gangs, mafias, thorns and dogs.

He plants in our garden chaos, obscenities, abominations and wrongs.

Our extraordinary gardener paints, garnishes, decorates, and beautifies our garden with murdering and killing tools.

He waters it's trees with blood.

He fertilizes it with poisons.

He feeds her inhabitants opium.

The extraordinary gardener popularizes, spreads and propagandizes for the denominations, falsehoods and rumours. T

hen he depredates the garden's wealth.

After that our gardener plays and caresses with us with humbugs and delusions to

obscure from us the sun, moon and the faith.

The gardener filibusters the peace and security.

Later on the gardener takes out his constitutional book and chants saying "My land produces therein corn, grapes, nutritious plants, olives, dates, enclosed gardens with lofty trees, fruits and fodders for use and convenience to you and your cattle." Hence, It was his great falsity.

It is true that our gardener is a hoodoo, malefactor and the harvester and the gainer of both havoc and devastation.

Really, who enters our garden will see things that satisfy and amuse the soul. In addition, the locusts attack what remains of the garden, and it is outrage. Finally, the rooster and hoopoe wake up from beside the remaining willow trees to establish their Promised Kingdom. THE KINGDOM OF ROOSTER AND HOOPOE.

البستاني الخارق

أتى إلى حديقتنا لا ندري من أين وكيف؟
ليس لنا علم ومعرفة بذلك.
اغتصب واستولى على حديقتنا.
فدمرها وهدمها وحطمها وأحبطها.
بنى حولها جدارا كبيرا من الضغينة والحقد والخبث والوحشية.
وأحاطها بقطاع الطرق والعصابات والصعاليك والأشرار والكلاب.
وزرع الأشواك في جنباتها.
وأشاع الفوضى وا لفواحش والمنكرات والمكروهات.
ورسم وزين ونحت في جدرانها البؤس والموت وأدواتهما.
وسقى وغمر أشجارها بالدم.
و سمدها بالسموم.
وجعل من أفيون ومخدر القات أكلأ وشرابأ وملاذأ لها.
البستاني الخارق نشر ا لطوائف.
وروج الأكاذيب والشائعات.
ثم سلب ونهب ثروات الأرض والعرض.
بعدها لعب معنا وداعبنا بالخدع والتضليل حتى حجب عنا الشمس والقمر.
وأزال ودنس الأيمان وعرقل السلام والأمن .
بعدها أخذ دستوره وتلا منه قائلا "إن في حديقته حَبًّا وَعِنَبًا وَقَضْبًا وَزَيْتُونًا وَنَخْلًا وَحَدَائِقَ غُلْبًا وَفَاكِهَةً وَأَبّا مَّتَاعًا لَّكُمْ وَلِأَنْعَامِكُمْ.
فكانت كذبته الكبرى.
إنه مجرم وشرير وجالب للنحس.
إنه الحاصد والرابح من الخراب والدمار.
يا الهي! من يدخل حديقتنا سيرى ما يسر الروح والنفس.
هجم الجراد على ما تبقى من معالم الحديقة! وكانت النهاية المريرة.
في النهاية نهض الديك والهدهد من على جانب أشجار الصفصاف المتبقية في الحديقة وأيقظا أهلها ليؤسسوا مملكتهم الموعودة مملكة الديك والهدهد.

An introduction to the story : Black Comedy from the Happy Land, a short story, tells us about the secret world of clandestine networks that operate by killing human beings and trafficking their organs to many countries, mainly Germany. Moreover, it explains how the criminals use deception to cover their own tracks.
Mohamed Adam, the slaughterer of the University of Sana’a, is one of the criminals. He became involved in this network through both the Yemeni and the former Iraqi regime security and intelligence. Both these organizations exploited Yemen as a place to obtain wealth, and for criminal actions. Some ministers and professors were involved in committing the crimes. These people work for Sana’a University and in both governmental and private sectors.

The issues of the disappearance of students and others continues to this day despite the execution of Mohamed Adam.

The author lived at the University of Sana'a for nearly a year and knew much about what is going on in the underground and in the minds of its intelligence. He followed and participated in the discovery of the crime with a Yemenite friend, who works in the administrative board of the University of Qatar. The author worked with some Sudanese consultants during the arrest of the assassin in order to push the issue in the right direction and to encourage the Sudanese to protect their Adam Mohamed, who is portrayed by the intelligence as both a killer and a victim.

Black Comedy from the Land Of “Arabia Flex”

It started with a police rescue and deliverance. The rallied people and displayed public were shouting in a loud voice " Rescue the Sudanese from Yemenite enormous and harsh oppression because, he ceased and dragged him to a separate prison alone until his body became weak and feeble. O cats of the villages and cities of Sudan, stir up trouble against the Yemen's rats and mice, which they filled, occupied our stores, ruined completely all our expected future and made Mohamed to dress the shroud and covered with winding sheet. Then, glorify to the great Lord that either Sudanese or Yemenis people are in complete failure. Are the cheap governors will here and answered them?"

It's their evil atrocious crime; they identified Mohamed with the only brutal, murderous and killer. Hence, my response reaction is I carried the skull, which looks similar to him aiming to prevent the repetition and continuous process of an evil in the small country called Small Princess. But his hundred and thousand, who are semi to guardsmen, snipers and insincerity hypocrites uttered in a loud shout at me. In spite of that I was insisted to asked him, who named him Mohamed, and is he the only killer?

Then he told his visit story to the Pleasant Land, the county of councils to safe money and furniture. However; he become acted as autopsies and anatomist in the bodies and slaughtered violently alive people as he was commanded and demanded not only by influenced and controlled authorities but also by cannibalisms of humans and brides. He added he is not their only hero and knight's man.

In one hand, they added to him a descriptive name that he is looking similar to a chameleon. On the other hand, they gave to him the permission and consent to practice not only their inhuman ceremonial rites but also his cruel inhuman rites in the streets of that city, which its people are in catastrophes and affliction generation proceeding a generation.

Then in time, the delegation of the killer, murder, knight and victim came to negotiate and rescue his prey and wild man. After that, the delegation acted and treated with tribes' customs and traditions, so; they bring with them goats, cattle's and bulls armed with daggers and old swords.

As a result of this behavior, the judges, ministers and sheiks were in great pleasure and joy. Furthermore, they chanted to thank the delegation by saying: "Your goats and bulls are beautiful and adorable, they will not only reconcile and settle our disputes, resolve our retaliations, corruptions, scandals, stigmas and evil crimes, but also they will be our good examples to follow and enlighten our people. Moreover, they will be fictional for our nice theater's stages".

In addition, they ended the tragedy by their declaration that the gift of animals that the delegation offered is not only the good example of our cooperation and our mutual benefits but also for directing and to developing the individuals' and tribes' cultures and traditions. Like this the ruler of preys decided to fall down the curtain of his theater and to end the atrocious crime. While the public excited to deny and condemn the crime, and its' supporters . Then, the ruler executed Mohamed after charging him alone.

As a result of their traditions Mohamed rebirths , resurrects , incarnates and clones into Mohameds. Thus the atrocities are repeated daily before the collapse of the Great Dam of Marib.

Finally, the raven appeared, scoffed and put a curse of the black comedy of the ''Happy Land''.

كوميديا سوداء من اليمن السعيد تحكي عن اسرار الشبكات السرية العالمية التي تعمل في قتل بني الانسان والاتجار بأعضائهم , وكذلك توضح كيف يمؤه هولأ المجرمون لأخفاء أثار اقدامهم.

سفاح صنعاء محمد ادم هو احد المجرمين, أما المجرمين الكبارفهم وزراء ورجال امن يتاجرون بالاعضاء البشرية لدول عديدة على وجه العموم والى المانياء على وجه الخصوص, بعض هذه الاعضاء يحتاجها المسئولين لأستبدال أعضائهم واعضاء اولادهم , و يشاركهم في الجرائم و تهريب الأعضاء البشرية اطباء بعثيون عراقيون يعملون كاساتذة في جامعة صنعاء وفي المستشفيات الحكومية والخاصة من اجل الثراء كما أنهم يستخدمون اليمن لأغراض غير أنسانية اخري .

قضايا اختفاء الطالبات وغيرهن مازال الى يومنا هذا رغم اعدام السفاح محمد ادم. لقد عشت في جامعة صنعاء تقريبا سنة وعرفت الكثير عما يدور في كواليسها وفي عقول جهازها الاستخباراتي, ثم عائيشت بقية احداث القصة ووقائعها عندما كنت اعمل لجامعة قطر اثناء القبض على السفاح وقد كنت احد المشاركين الى جانب احد الاخوة اليمنيين الذي يعمل في الجهاز ألاداري لجامعة قطر في دفع القضية الى اتجاهها الصحيح ودفع الاخوة السودايين للعمل في نفس الاتجاه.




كانت البداية نجدة: حيث هتف المتظاهرون ورددوا بأعلى صوتهم قائلين "أنقذوا السوداني من العتهول اليماني! فقد زج به في السجن حتى أصابه مرض الوهاني. يا كدايس (قطط) مدن وقرى السوداني: ثوروا على فيران اليماني التى ملأت دكاني وحطمت الأماني وألبست محمد الأكفاني، فسبحوا بحمد ربكم فلكلّ هنا وهناك فاني، فهل يستجيب ويسمع الداني؟" ومن أهوال الجرائم لَقبوا محمدا بالسفاح الوحيد. وكانت ردة فعل هي حمل جممجمة شبيهة بجمجمته لكي يمنع تكرار ونقل الجريمة إلى بلدة صغيرة تدعى الأميرة. لكن أعوانه المائة والألف من حارس أو قناص أو منافق صرخوا عليّ. لكني سألت من سماه محمدا وهل هو السفاح الوحيد؟

فإذا به يسرد قصة ذهابه إلى "السعيدة" بلد المجالس لكى يجمع القروش والمفارش. صار هناك يشرّح الأجساد ويذبح الأحياء الفرائس بأوامر من أصحاب النفوذ ومحبي لحوم البشر والعرائس.


ثم أضاف بأنه ليس فارسهم الوحيد.لكنهم أضافوا له صفة الحرباء وأعطوه الصلاحيات ليمارس طقوسهم وطقوسه اللا إنسانية في شوارع تلك المدينة المنكوب أهلها جيلا بعد جيل.

بعدها أتى المنقذ للتشاور، ولكى ينقذ فريسته ووحشه، إذا به يتعامل بأعراف سلطة القبيلة جالبا معه أغناما وبقرا وتيوسا مزينة ومسلحة بخناجر وسيوف قديمة. فرح القاضي والوزير والشيوخ فأنشدوا قائلين "إن أغنامكم وتيوسكم زينة ومليحة وستحل لنا مشاكل الثأر والفساد والجريمة والعار والفضيحة، وستكون خير مثال لتوعية البشر، وستصور لمسارحنا المليحة".

ثم صرحوا بأن هذا خير تعاون لتطوير ثقافات الأفراد والقبيلة. هكذا قرر حاكم الفرائس بأن يسدل ستار مسرحه وانهاء الجريمة. حينها خرجت الجماهير تندد وتشجب الجريمة ومن هم وراء الجريمة. بعدها قرر الحاكم إعدام محمد واتهامه بالمجرم والسفاح الوحيد. هكذا أخفوا إحدى جرائمهم اليومية. ونتيجة لعاداتهم وتقاليدهم وأخلاقهم بُعث واستبعث وجُسد واستنسخ إلى محمدات. وهكذا تتكرر المجازر كل يوم منذ قبل انهدام السد المأربي. في النهاية ظهر الغراب وسخر ثم لعن الكوميديا السوداء "للأرض السعيدة".

Hello Hitler.

Picture more, and give me art, Mercedes Benz, and the thought of German liberal philosophers.
Hello my dear father Hitler.

Sketch more and more, because your art galleries are eternal icons that spread aroma of musk and ambergris across the time.

They contain the rainbow’s colours, which broaden from the surface of the land to the water and into the glowing moon.

They have the past, present and the future times.

They either restrain the dry fields or green townships.

They contain the beauty of grape’s fields, when the sun’s ray was reflecting and refracting.

They contain a pasture, and red and black dogs.
Hello Hitler.

You are not my real father, the frontrunner.

They have accused me of belonging to you and said that“ I was the son of you, the son of Hitler, the leader of Nazis,
the counsellor of Germany,
the Fuehrer,
and the Leader of the Alliance axis”.

However, I neither look like you nor know painting on the leaves of rubus or on the papers of the book.

They said that “My name was written on the leaves of olives trees in the country of figs and thyme.”

My father, I admire the art and I esteem it by my blood.
I do not look like you, but I have a strong sense that is similar to the sense of the Dusty German-Shepherd Dog.

I do not look like you, but I look like Mr. Franz Beckenbauer.

I was born on the tenth of June, not on September the eleventh.
My blood is red as yours, and my colour is mixed of the dark- wheatish and the yellowish.
My dear father, Hitler.

I am good in thinking and writing on planks, plates, nails and propulsions.

Yet, I neither know portraying nor writing on the yellowish materials.

I also have not any clue or any knowledge of mixing colours; moreover, I neither differentiate among the oil, canvas, water paints nor yellow , blue and green colours.

Yet, I am a professional person in riding a dusty horse.

Moreover, I am interesting in contemplation on the universe at the noon, night and daybreak times.

I am an innocent child, who loves dolls, toys, sweets, chocolates and sugars.
I am the dew that evaporates from each dry and green grass every morning.

I am the butterfly and the sea’s banners.

I am the thread of wool and silk on the coats of Katrina, Eve and Adam, the blonde.

Prior to the Suicide

Sincerity and loyalty was like a caution.

The exchanged love was like a fate.

Desires and self-esteem was in the vein of stone.

Adoration and marriage of Eva the daughter of Mr. Braun, the encircling.

The daughter of Braun said about Hitler that “ What a Fuehrer he was! His love like water, air, spirit’s drinks and sugar.

His lips were sharps that shatter the heart, chest and the source”. His smells was better than the smells of musk and ambergris.

In his opinion, love was like a fish, that swimming in water, another is frying in the oven, and other hanging on the nails.

She concluded her speech that she was Abla and he was Antarah”.

Hello Hitler.

Are you my naughty father?

Is your knife sharp like a sword or like a saw?

Are you the only the heroic person?
They have killed and burned their people and followers by their: hands, blind thoughts, unknown hands, the citizens, who used the masks and by people who wore the uniform of the soldiers.

Hitler.

Are you the responsible of killing and displacing the slaves and the gypsies?

Are you the person who devastates the universe and drives the mad cows?

Are you the killer of the martyrs of October the fifteenth and who hides the corpse of Jesus of Nazareth, the sincere and saviour?

Are you the person who sinks or plunges, hijacks ships, caravans and the tourists on the land and the sea?

Hurricane is coming either in the noon time or at declining day.

The voice of truth is coming too.

The voice of God is the strongest and the most capable ones.

The salvation of the spirit was such as the twinkling of an eye.

Hitler committed suicide and the daughter of the Braun, the blond committed it too.
They examined his corpse, acted as autopsies and anatomist in his body.

Then, they embalmed his corpse and put it in the grave.
The tomb was a narrow and the wooden box was more dangerous when, Hitler’s face was shown with his famous short and central moustache.

Then the news was spread whereas some people scoffed him, other praised him by poetry or prose and another revolutionized or became enormous ones.

However, they were unable to decipher the mystery of Hitler or the enigma of his younger son the leader and the Expected Prophet.

They do not make any work of art, but they left only bad and thorny conflicts.
Clans of blond, black and blind occupied of Palestine in one hand by Antrah’s tribes; on the other hand, Saadah is wounded as well as Aden on the Red Sea in the Indian Ocean.
Dead and wounded people , ambassadors and security men are falling and offering themselves for red tyrant or for these, who monopolize, commercialize or loot the oil and the sugar.
They killed the apostles like Jesus, Hamdi, Abdel Fattah and the Norwegian student Martine Vik Magnussen, the daughter of Abdul the Yellowish, because she rejected to drink their dark coffee with sugar.

They killed her hanging out not as they usually kill by a poison, a machete or by a dagger.
His Excellency Hitler.

The ax has fallen from the grip of my aunt Shuhd Al-Mansouri, the farmer when she was walking in the Alobar’s Valley.

Hence, the thieves lurk the homeland in every mountain, strait and route.
Portrait more oh you Hitler; the leader.
Because you work of art is a remedy for infected people with swine and cow influenza.

They are a medicine for Obama, Clinton and the Canadian, Stephen Harper.
After the death of the Fuhrer, was born Moshe Dayan, who are more aggressive and more criminal than Hitler.

His crimes are uncontrollable and exonerated in Qana, Palestine and Egypt.
I will not tell you goodbye, but picture more and adore more.

Sculpture on the body of Eva, the daughter of Mr. Braun and colour it with white, red and green in order to become purer and more mature and fertile.
Illustrate more and more.
Depict a child who was assassinated or kidnapped for the purpose of taking his organs for trade near the temples of the Fuhrer, and in Cowboys’ Dim and Red Holy place in :
Brazil, New York, Rome, Frankfurt and Tel al-Zaatar.
Picture a martyr and an orphan child in Saadah, Rwanda, Sudan, Palestine and Weimar, because your art Galleries are like the rain for earth,
a nutrition, water and data for fasting people.
Furthermore, they are slogans for rebels in their battles against injustice, oppression and poverty.
Picture more and more.
Ladies and gentlemen please think more about it:
The child was willing to acquire the game, doll, a Mercedes car and a red dog.
Another baby wants to eat cheese and drink goat’s and cow’s milks.

She replied to him saying “Scream more, raise your voice much, praise, applause and maximize your voice.”

At that time she repeated to him saying “Raise your voice more before they come first to seize the wealth and arrogance on mankind; the Polish people, Jehovah's Witnesses, Russians, Gypsies and the rest of the people classified by your grandfather as a nations of gentile.

Tell them that your father did not die normally by the heart attack, yet Hitler was the murder”.

Take money in hard currency, including the Dutch Mark, Franc, Euro and Dollar.
Finally, she advised him neither to listen nor to be affected by the children of Naji Al-Ali’s and Abu Ammar nor to have a friendship with children of Joseph, the carpenter.”

The Fuhrer’s Son Judgments

They said to him rocks.

He responded to them not only rocks but also trees.

They said to him the Patient.

He replied to them and also the Cement.

They said to him an eagle.

He told them a falcon.

They asked him if the crime was at the noontime.

He answered them by saying that “It’s plan started in advance and before the dawn, and the implementation took place in declining day”.

It is one of religious chauvinisms occupation as well as the nationalities perfidy parties.
After that, they questioned him if the crime happened in pin’s forest and during the rain.
He replied to them informatively, and added and it occurred next to every olive’s, dates and buckthorn trees, and over the rain.
They asked him about the veil.
He answered them yes, and the rights of the donkey.
They said to him flowers and fruits.
People are waiting and they do not harvest anything except a devastation and destruction.
They said to him the Forgiving.
He said to them the Most Lofty and Irresistible.
They told him Qatar.
He answered to them by saying “One foot was over there another one in Algeria, and other ones in Egypt and Dhofar”.
Also he was asked if the wound was deep.
He said to them saying “Yes and it was in the chest, head and back”.
They said to him, whether the judge was an ox or a donkey.

He answered them two oxen their names are Tany and Mohair, a pig, a dragon and the donkey and its son.
Afterward, they asked him about the peace.

He said to them saying “A day of will is better than a thousand of summits and a million of Conferences”.
They asked him where the guards, soldiers and the armies where, when the children, women and the seniors were killed.

He said to them they were and unmoving of night watching, and in immorality and prostitutions.

Their relationships with liberal and honest people as well as with the Lord, the Creator, the Rightful and the Fashioner of Forms in difficulty.

The leaders became seniors and they can not distinguish between the transit pass and the corridor, and the citizens are in poverty, monotony and tedium.
They asked him saying “Oh; you, the son of Hitler who do you think you are?”

He answered them “He is the Warner and Bringer of good news from the Lord, the Sublimely exalted and the Almighty and he added saying that he is the sea”.
They told him “A fire on the wall.”

He said to them saying “It was the December’s spark during the days of the Nazareth sons, and the days of victory.”
They said to him “The son belongs to his mother family, the family of pleasant and security.”

He replied to them informatively, and added and also to his father's family, the Victorians.
There is no difference among people except those people who possess skills and worthy with the science and seer.

He attached to his answer, that the son was produced from his father and his mother’s seeds, the spirit of the God and the knowledge of the Scottish gracious scientist Mr. Lewis.

The Hitler’s son was born ten years before the birth of her Excellency Sheikha Dolly, the Sheikha’s of goats and cattle, and he was produced by the same methods of Dolly and other domestic cloned animals by the process of magnetizing and dragging.”
They asked him if his birth was in the sunset time.
He whispered to them at the dawn time during the rooster’s cock, which means the origin of danger on tyrants of the times until everlasting.

They said that in his face is a light.

He answered them informatively with yes, and added and in his heart a pleasure and a joy.
Then, they said that he lived in Egypt, the country of science and light and he is a supporter to the Palestine’s issue and proud of the victory of October and the Bar Lev Line.

He answered them by saying “Neither he committed the crimes of the School of the Sea Cows nor killed people by guns, cranes, and soldiers, who do not believe in mankind.”
They asked him also that if he believed in the Holocaust and the fusion.

He replied to them “They were conspiracies, and their commitment are subjects of understanding.

He added to his answer that he neither killed nor crucified Him, however; they were in confusion and thought that he appeared so unto them like Hitler and the son of Hitler.”

The truth that they were done by the devil, and Moshe Dayn, the blind, who lead his flock to Palestine despite the fact that it did not know any thing except the illusionary danger of the ancestors of the followers of the Messiah, the Sir Christopher, the Admiral of the seas and oceans.

Finally he added to his respond saying “ The first Holocaust was in Berlin, and the others were in Deir Yassin, Gaza after they changed their direction from Madagascar. Because of their fear of lemurs and they preferred crying on the wall, digging tunnels and storing the weapons.” Really, it is the peril.
Then, they asked him “What is it about Sarah and Hagar?”
He replied to them saying creatively“ They were in the desert during the rains and the storms.”
Additionally, they asked him about the meaning of life.

He responded to them by saying t “ It is an ebb tide, which contains tragedies; ornaments, treasures and abundances, and the evil on it will amputate.”
Into the bargain, they asked him about the Banu Qurayza , Qaynuga and also about the Banu Al-Nadir.

He answered them “ Neither they belong nor had ties with Nazareth, Akkah, Jahava, Jerusalem and the short and narrow river of Jordan.

However; they belong to the desert of the Empty Quarter, the provinces of Najran, Jizan and Asir.”

As well as, they asked him about Gaza and Jericho and the province of the Rocket.

He responded to them by saying “ The crimes for some are narratives, for another people they are art and photography, then; a distortion and recycling. Consequently, the Palestinians are killed, surrounded and incarcerated.”

The cynics and crimes of the evil are not for the God an easy obsession.

He, who move his machines and recycling them.

All things that occur in the universe are fascinating. Both major and minor prophets preached the holocaust of Hitler, and his name also exist in the Books of Psalms and Esther.
It was a barricade, a fusion, an evil, and an ins and outs from the mouth and nose.
The media in every place that you go by became a resource of lie, and the most dangerous thing than the serious jeopardy since the time of Abdul Kidder, Abdul Halim, Najeeb, Sultan, Hail, and Jeha and his both small and big donkeys until the days of returning and self-determination.
These, who teach me the madness, fantasy, imagination and writing poetry and prose and they are:

my aunts Shuhd and Muniara,
my uncle Abdu-Jabbar, the little and the short,
my mother Nooria Mc Owia’s ,
my aunt Ambrod,
my uncle Amin, the handsome man,
my father Abdulhamid,
my grandmother Khawzaran and their neighbours in Al-Ofiaf and Al- Mihdar and they are the following:
Nema the daughter of Ahmed Ghanem the Raven,
Ahmed Al-Zaift, and his brother, Abdullah Kurood,
Ambah the Raven,
Al-Sharama,
Mohamed Ahmed, the miller,
Darhem Al-Majeedy,
Abdulnassir, the son of Sheikh,
The Mermaid of the sea,
Donald S. Throop, the king the forest with its rodents, deer and donkeys .
These, who perfect and master my skills after the exodus, the ebbs of the sea and the land during the night and the days of Eid-Ul-Ghadeer and they are the follow:
the ancestors of Pharos, Ramesses the everlasting and the respectful character, and the ancestors of Adam Miskiewicz, Mary Skladowska-Currie,
the Pope,
Christopher Columbus ,
William Shakespeare,
Sir Alfred Yules Ayer , and
Eric Honker, the great.
I have already learnt the myths of first nation not only in Mercury, Mars and Saturn, but also in the Temples of Bihar and Rabbis, Centres of Crowds and Guards, Museums and Victories and Laboratories of Perfume, Pottery, Alcohol and Tin in Warsaw, Cairo, Ottawa, Berlin, Brussels, Rotterdam, Italy, Spain, Romania, Bulgaria and in each country that possesses a wilderness or a heavy rain.

But also at Anglo-Saxons, who identify the code of the falcon, lion, tiger and the secret of mankind and the universe.

Moreover, in Doha, the beautiful and the capital city of Qatar, where I put my feet near the sea, the desert and in the city of the great Al-Khor.
At the end, Oh God forgive Hitler and his the biggest and the smallest sons, if You have already forgiven Yadas Iscariot, the greatest treasonable apostle, and the biggest evil, because of his betraying Jesus, the Victorian of Palestine.

They said this is not for the God an easy thing. Because of the existence of the Lord in tunnels, crossing borders, fences and corridors.

Picture more and more, because the art and writing are incarnations for destiny and fate, and neither of them have any threat, and who prohibited them is a disbeliever, even if he is the owner of Holy See, or the Sheikh of Al-Azhar, or who has a strong army like the rock.

اتى من أقصى البلد يسعى .
بحقائبه البيضاء والسوداء.
وباظافرَ بيضاء وحمراء.
وكانت من ضحاياه زينب ومريم والعذراء.
لقبوه بالسفاح الوحيد.
قتلوه وصلبوه , لكنه عاد مرة أخرى, وبيده عصاء وحيةً سحرية تسعى.
هكذا يعود سفاح جامعة صنعاء من تارة لتارة أخرى.

قصيدة غزة للشاعر الكندي بيرد ماكنيل: ترجمة دكتور إم.تي المنصوري 

غزة

فشل جديد....حماقة محزنة
ربما كذلك قد فقدوا الشهادة
نكران الذات
طيور الكراكي*... طيور الكراكي

مجموعة كبيرة من الأناشيدالريفية الملحمية والقصيرة والهزيلة
حلوة الشمائل لعصر ماقبل التاريخ
خشنون ومرتدين القلنسوات
حادة المناقر
ترفرف أجنحتها بالتبادل
تُشوّهُ مشاريع الكون وعناصره
القوة... القوة...القوة
طيور الكراكي تحلق فوقي
صراخ...عاقد العزم وبرعاية الرب
مشاهدة إبتكاراته ووسائله الغريبة
زيارة تفقدية...التحقق من الإحداثيات
لقد ولوا وولت طيور الكراكي
ومازال صوت الطائرات هوالقائد
وكذلك جواهر الأشياء تقاد بالمذهب الاّلي
هزيل, نفق تلسكوبي طائر, لاتلتصق به الأشياء والأفعال
أمرد وبه نظام (الجي بي أس)** المحمول والخاص بي
لقد ثبتت خطوط تصويب الهدف بدقة
طائر الكركي يحلق فوق المجلس الإستشاري المُصدّئ

 يطوف خارج وفوق مسلك الجسر الأفقي
مبتهج ,بلا ريب وكذلك بغير يقين
سوف تسقط علينا جميعا

البيضة ذات الشكل البيضوي للحياة الجديدة وضعت في الوميض الظلامي للتفسخ
حتي غرفة نومي هدمت
أنه الفشل لقد سقط من جديد
نكران الذات

بيرد ماكنيل:أحد شعراء العاصمة الفيدرالية الكندية, يقراء قصائده بانتظام في مجلس وإجتماعات قراءة النصوص الأدبية المتعاقبة في مدينة أوتاوا

الكراكي*: نوع من أنواع الطيور الكبيرة توجد في مختلف بقاع العالم وتعيش معظمها في إفريقيا , وآسيا , وأوروبا ،ولكن هناك نوعان فقط يعيشان في أمريكا الشمالية .، يتميز طائرالكركي بجسمه المستطيل المنتصب ، وبساقيه الطويلتين ، وعنقه الممشوق ، ومنقاره الطويل المستقيم.

الجي بي أس**

Global Postioning System: نظام التموضع العالمي

GAZA

failed again, dreary ineptness

might as well have lost the ticket

Abnegation

the cranes, the cranes, a flock

slender idyls

graceful prehistory

jagged, capped heads, razor bills

swapping wings

bruising the universe's drafts and elements

power, power, power

the cranes are over me

a squawking , earnestly-caring God

watching over his strange contrivances

surveying, checking coordinates

they're gone, the cranes are gone

the leader remains - a drone

nature led by mechanism

a slender, flying telescopic tube, teflon smooth

and it has my GPS

the cross-hairs steadying

the crane towers over

the rusted cabinet floating out and over

horizontal on the gantry track

buoyant, sure, unsure

it will fall on all of us

the ovate egg of new life lays in a blinding flash

disintegration

even my bedroom is gone

failure, failed again

abnegation.


Baird Mc Neil is about of Ottawa. He is a regular reader at the tree reading series.