Once upon a time, before a magic mirror,
(Shortens the giants and makes the dwarves bigger.)
It happened to have met a giant and a dwarf,
Standing there wondered on the mirror’s polymorph:
The giant and the dwarf stood there face to face,
Barely believing how they share the same race;
The same roundish hairy head with two ears and eyes,
The same ten fingers, shaking their hands like allies.
The charm showed them things being invisible;
With a giant heart everything’s feasible,
Also, a dwarfish good deed may be source of much good;
It was the mirror of tolerance where they stood.
The mirror of tolerance is our pillar,
The mirror that’s born with every cre’ature;
Making seeing the human humane, the dwarf dwarfe,
Then, accepting their features without polymorph
What comes around,
I live in a simple city –
In that city, what you say,
You hear it back the same way.
Being a claim, you’ll hear claim,
Being a blame, you’ll get blame.
So, you should watch your tongue
Before – in return – you get stung.
Although, it is not Simplicity –
It’s a friendly city.
Whenever you say something good,
You’ll hear it back in the same mood.
Here, saying courteous compliments
Will guarantee you great moments.
Thus, you may find here felicity,
Visiting my old, simple Simplicity.
Everything’s balanced in Simplicity,
Except my personal toxicity.
Not like other citizens, I read minds,
So, I may be whom everyone minds.
You must only think of me badly,
I’ll prove you the hell is friendly.
Tho, you’d still visit Simplicity,
Avoiding me and my diplomacy.
The picture in the mirror you see,
I’ll be the picture in the mirror you see.
Surely we think ourselves less, my dear,
Since we see ourselves through just a wasted reflection;
What an eye cannot see is its sister’s tear,
So, do not doubt in your own perfection:
Now, I am your third eye – your mirroring lense…
Hear my voice as if your own mouth were speaking,
Feel my leading and hinting as your sixth sense;
Since I am a thinking being of seeing,
For me, the world is perspective, but non-sense:
Without sharing with you, my life is just wasted experience…
As all in the world is, with the world itself,
We are no more, but our own perception;
Just trick your mind as it’s tricking itself,
If there’s no, indeed it is God’s perfection:
Rejoice on being His perfection now and hence…
The joy of the mirrors with the faces passing
Turned the heart of the innocent cynically surpassing
Exposing the pain behind a firm face
Granting truth for a confused soul’s doubting
And the light sends my reflection to vain
As if I would be a start to the end closing
Invading the shades against the ego, annoying
Or just to contain an illusion that blocks the crossing
Like death, lowering its face in disdain
From the gentle twilight tone in red glowing
Sending the youth to mourning without warning
Or possessing the sorrow of a woman without resting
Said by her, in scattered voice, hopeless and insane
“These cities – just like my luck – are distressing”
She played on the strings of the mirrors inspired by her pain
As a dissonant silence in the nights while raining
Inhaling light / darkness as if been the same
She needs the miracle of the stars passing
So that it may elucidate the curse of a futile heart
Or by seconds into the past travelling
Might the mirror recognize the secret of her faces again?
That has the reflection of the deep wounding
Or might she need another face?
Until it becomes as she desired … pure and everlasting
Translated from the Arabic poem of Soumia Douifi, “سواحر” (Sawahir).
Tonight is not a particular night;
This is a night among the nights:
I woke up in the middle of darkness,
Not knowing what to do with my own darkness;
So, I lit up a cigarette and faced the mirror:
There was only darkness in the mirror,
And a half face blazing up time to time –
Sometimes, we just want something to happen, it was a time.
I was thinking of summoning Bloody Mary;
I hoped for a ghost girl appearing behind me –
Something that signs me that I’m not alone.
But, the only monster closest around me
Was me, nothing, just me alone.
No ghosts, no robbers, no Bloody Maries.
It was not new to me that monsters were not real,
But it’s always surprising that I am –
Finding myself always as my own Boogeyman.
We’re in need of Satans, devils and evil polititans
To avoid facing the mirror of darkness;
That reveals only us and us again.
These are dangerous thoughts,
Knowing about the darkness in the man;
Because we’ll see Satans, devils and evil polititans
In us, and so as in every man.
Once seen, there will be no more hiding;
We will meet darkness again and again and again.
In front of the bathroom mirror,
On the terrain of self-terror
From those eyes which window
A world – an unworldly world.
I cannot say it – as a simple poet,
That I have no words to connect
To the stance I’m standing at,
But it’s hardly describeable.
I couldn’t catch there any feeling;
My facial expressions are deceiving,
No smile, no sad droll is revealing,
Just an empty poet on his own.
There, notwithstanding, syllables are expressing
A hidden, barren world – so depressing,
That has no space, no time at all,
Screaming: I’m alone.
At the sink where my elbow’s planking,
In the plughole where the water’s ending,
My thoughts follow-follow the flow;
Sinking thinking into my ego.
Going down, oh deeply, but the hole is seen so weakly,
Deeply, oh yes deeply, but there’s a dark place below,
And I am barely seeing any, any meaning
In the sink and what I’m thinking on…