Seeking lightness we embrace a new weight (by Aline Rahbany)

Seeking lightness we embrace a new weight
by Aline Rahbany

We all have a baggage to carry
A heavy, invisible baggage
Stuck to our skin
Stacked on our shoulders
Containing all the hard time
We passed through during the day
Our low moments and disappointments
Our worries and distress

We all have our loads and burdens
The dark thoughts that haunt our minds
The obstacles that keep staking before us
In moments we can’t help but renounce

But it all comes down to a single instant
To a single person
That friend you haven’t seen in ages
That relative you find nothing in common with
That lover whom you think is too preoccupied
Fetching his own way through his own mind load
It all comes down to that single moment
You meet that person
And lay down your baggage on their shoulders
Whether through a shocking statement
A shout, a sigh or a tear …
And then you turn your back to each other
And each of you, heavy with a new burden now
The burden of the other
Goes on to sail again
In the profound ocean of everyday life
Where each day brings its new weight

* * *

© 2010 by Aline Rahbany, all rights reserved
included in the Crisis Chronicles Online Library with the poet’s permission

She writes:

I dream. I dream when people are not watching. My dreams exist some place in the air – written in a dashing way. All I do is grab the air with my hands, wash my face with it, let it penetrate my body straight into my soul; only to come out in the form of words. A dreamer who puts her imaginings in words and plays on filtering them as an attempt to create her own little world. I only started translating my thoughts into writing recently. Upon taking writing as a way to escape from reality, I never knew I would go this far. My writings are pure thoughts and “raw emotions” mainly exploring different aspects of the human being. When I am not dreaming, I am another 24 year old distorted person living in Lebanon and indulging in – down to earth – humanitarian field of work for the past two years. I have been published in Shoots & Vines, Opium Poetry 2.0, Black-Listed Magazine, Eviscerator Heaven and soon in Calliope Nerve.

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In our dream factory (by Aline Rahbany)

In our dream factory
by Aline Rahbany

We are not made for this world
Its mundane routine and daily hardships
We are children of the stars
We feed on sun rays
Inhale the smell of raindrops
Exhale fantasy
We live in a dream factory
Where everything is possible
Where boundaries are skyline
We are conceived from illusion
And illusion we lust for?  To remain
We inject ourselves with daily doses of philosophy
We come up with impractical theories
Test our capacities to draft our thoughts
Using threads of dreams
Painting with a brush of memories
A poem
Someone somewhere will read
And will realize that
We are not made for this world
Its mundane routine and daily hardships

* * *

© 2010 by Aline Rahbany, all rights reserved
included in the Crisis Chronicles Online Library with the poet’s permission

She writes:

I dream. I dream when people are not watching. My dreams exist some place in the air – written in a dashing way. All I do is grab the air with my hands, wash my face with it, let it penetrate my body straight into my soul; only to come out in the form of words. A dreamer who puts her imaginings in words and plays on filtering them as an attempt to create her own little world. I only started translating my thoughts into writing recently. Upon taking writing as a way to escape from reality, I never knew I would go this far. My writings are pure thoughts and “raw emotions” mainly exploring different aspects of the human being. When I am not dreaming, I am another 24 year old distorted person living in Lebanon and indulging in – down to earth – humanitarian field of work for the past two years. I have been published in Shoots & Vines, Opium Poetry 2.0, Black-Listed Magazine, Eviscerator Heaven and soon in Calliope Nerve.

I write to remember (by Aline Rahbany)

I write to remember
by Aline Rahbany

I polish my nails each a different color
Hoping that this would add some colors to my soul
I cut my hair, each day a bit shorter
Hoping that this would cut out the dark feelings inside
I wear hippie clothes and walk bare feet
Hoping that this would prove my existence

In a world that is turning colorless, feeling-less and cold

I reach out to you, hug you till it hurts
Hoping that this would show you I still feel
I grab you, grasp you till you suffocate
Hoping that afterwards I will be the one to make you breathe
And then, I will go back to polishing my nails,
Cutting my hair and trying on different clothes,
Everyday.

And then, I will write about it on my blog.
And then, I will read it emotively the day after
Trying to recollect the facts that triggered this flow of emotions.

I write to remember.

* * *

© 2009 by Aline Rahbany, all rights reserved
included in the Crisis Chronicles Online Library with the poet’s permission

She writes:

I dream. I dream when people are not watching. My dreams exist some place in the air – written in a dashing way. All I do is grab the air with my hands, wash my face with it, let it penetrate my body straight into my soul; only to come out in the form of words. A dreamer who puts her imaginings in words and plays on filtering them as an attempt to create her own little world. I only started translating my thoughts into writing recently. Upon taking writing as a way to escape from reality, I never knew I would go this far. My writings are pure thoughts and“raw emotions” mainly exploring different aspects of the human being. When I am not dreaming, I am another 24 year old distorted person living in Lebanon and indulging in – down to earth – humanitarian field of work for the past two years. I have been published in Shoots & Vines, Opium Poetry 2.0, Black-Listed Magazine, Eviscerator Heaven and soon in Calliope Nerve.

Brand new soul (by Aline Rahbany)

Brand new soul
by Aline Rahbany

I pull
And I pull
And I pull
The string of my being
I hold on to it
And pull again
And I fall
On the unknown land
I drift
And I search
And I seek
A familiar face to grab
I roam
And I rove
And I end up
In the place where I first landed

No face is familiar
No words move me on
People of the unknown land
Are all distracted in shedding the thorns
That got stuck to their souls
As the years went by

I am new here
I have a brand new soul
How long will it remain intact?
How long until I am one of them?

* * *

© 2009 by Aline Rahbany, all rights reserved
included in the Crisis Chronicles Online Library with the poet’s permission

She writes:

I dream. I dream when people are not watching. My dreams exist some place in the air – written in a dashing way. All I do is grab the air with my hands, wash my face with it, let it penetrate my body straight into my soul; only to come out in the form of words. A dreamer who puts her imaginings in words and plays on filtering them as an attempt to create her own little world. I only started translating my thoughts into writing recently. Upon taking writing as a way to escape from reality, I never knew I would go this far. My writings are pure thoughts and“raw emotions” mainly exploring different aspects of the human being. When I am not dreaming, I am another 24 year old distorted person living in Lebanon and indulging in – down to earth – humanitarian field of work for the past two years. I have been published in Shoots & Vines, Opium Poetry 2.0, Black-Listed Magazine, Eviscerator Heaven and soon in Calliope Nerve.

I swallow colored pills for fun (by Aline Rahbany)

View from the Surry Inn (Maine 8/25/2006) — photo by Jesus Crisis

I swallow colored pills for fun
by Aline Rahbany

I run naked under stormy skies
I feel the wet ground under my feet
Pulling me inwards, underground
I slide
Only my head is over ground
I look upwards at the sky that turned red
It is coming down
Soon it will touch the land
And my head will be in between
The reality of the solid earth
And the illusions of moving red skies

I remain naked, surprisingly unimpressed
I feel the soil soaking my skin
Infiltrating the pores, making its way into my veins
Coloring my blood chocolate brown

The sky is moving closer, too close
I close my eyes and let go
I let the colored pills take lead

* * *

© 2009 by Aline Rahbany, all rights reserved
included in the Crisis Chronicles Online Library with the poet’s permission

She writes:

I dream. I dream when people are not watching. My dreams exist some place in the air – written in a dashing way. All I do is grab the air with my hands, wash my face with it, let it penetrate my body straight into my soul; only to come out in the form of words. A dreamer who puts her imaginings in words and plays on filtering them as an attempt to create her own little world. I only started translating my thoughts into writing recently. Upon taking writing as a way to escape from reality, I never knew I would go this far. My writings are pure thoughts and“raw emotions” mainly exploring different aspects of the human being. When I am not dreaming, I am another 24 year old distorted person living in Lebanon and indulging in – down to earth – humanitarian field of work for the past two years. I have been published in Shoots & Vines, Opium Poetry 2.0, Black-Listed Magazine, Eviscerator Heaven and soon in Calliope Nerve.

Disoriented piece (by Aline Rahbany)

View from the Surry Inn (Maine 8/25/2006) — photo by Jesus Crisis

Disoriented piece
by Aline Rahbany

I breathe your voice
I feed on your facial expressions
I make a living
Out of daydreaming about you
And writing my reveries
In my red notebook
I seek sunrays
Lighting up your features
Collect them, in small pieces
Hide them under my pillow
And at night
When it is dark
I amass them in a mug
Water them with
My delirium
And slurp them
Like milk
And then I am able to sleep
With a piece of you
Living inside of me
Until tomorrow’s sun is up

* * *

© 2009 by Aline Rahbany, all rights reserved
included in the Crisis Chronicles Online Library with the poet’s permission

She writes:

I dream. I dream when people are not watching. My dreams exist some place in the air – written in a dashing way. All I do is grab the air with my hands, wash my face with it, let it penetrate my body straight into my soul; only to come out in the form of words. A dreamer who puts her  imaginings in words and plays on filtering them as an attempt to create her own little world. I only started translating my thoughts into writing recently. Upon taking writing as a way to escape from reality, I never knew I would go this far. My writings are pure thoughts and “raw emotions” mainly exploring different aspects of the human being. When I am not dreaming, I am another 24 year old distorted person living in Lebanon and indulging in – down to earth – humanitarian field of work for the past two years. I have been published in Shoots & Vines, Opium Poetry 2.0, Black-Listed Magazine, Eviscerator Heaven and soon in Calliope Nerve.

My sardonic infatuation (by Aline Rahbany)

Awake Liberty — art by John Burroughs

My sardonic infatuation
by Aline Rahbany

Today I feel like a drug addict who has just quit sniffing.
My body aches and hurts.
I have chills of cold rushing from my back to toes.
Today I decided to quit on him.
Will you scratch my back one last time?
I crave hallucinations
And sonar blow jobs
I long for the sound of him, inhaling, exhaling my poison.

Today I went to work naked.
The ashes all over my desk hypnotized my thoughts.
The gazes of people around me did not stir my self-consciousness.
I saw him in my drawer, in my cup of coffee and on my shelf.
Come take me out of here.
Somewhere, anywhere, I don’t care.
His ghost is worse than my drugs.

* * *

© 2009 by Aline Rahbany, all rights reserved
included in the Crisis Chronicles Online Library with the poet’s permission

She writes:

I dream. I dream when people are not watching. My dreams exist some place in the air – written in a dashing way. All I do is grab the air with my hands, wash my face with it, let it penetrate my body straight into my soul; only to come out in the form of words. A dreamer who puts her imaginings in words and plays on filtering them as an attempt to create her own little world. I only started translating my thoughts into writing recently. Upon taking writing as a way to escape from reality, I never knew I would go this far. My writings are pure thoughts and “raw emotions” mainly exploring different aspects of the human being.

When I am not dreaming, I am another 24 year old distorted person living in Lebanon and indulging in – down to earth – humanitarian field of work for the past two years. I have been published in Shoots & Vines, Opium Poetry 2.0, Black-Listed Magazine, Eviscerator Heaven and soon in Calliope Nerve.