Silence

I hear it softly, deftly playing, silently, a sound

In my mind, in my head, it’s incessantly around.

I see her spinning, dancing lightly, on the vibrant grass

Eyes are closed, reminiscing, of a distant past.

He watches, humming absently, fingers tracing keys

The piano plays his rhythm, smiling with ease.

Music bends together and nature takes its course,

Notes all flow abundantly, teeming with remorse.

For the one who’s spinning, the one who’s long been dead

Is away in heaven, so far, but overhead.

I know she hears his playing, she listens everyday

He wonders what she thinks of him, he wonders what she’d say.

She twirls for him, forever, and his words through music sing,

She wonders if he thinks of her, whenever it is spring.

I know he sees her dancing, he watches all the time,

He sees her through the morning light, she lives in every chime.

In death he lost his dancer, his music stands alone,

Yet still she spins his melody, as if it were her own.

In death he found her spirit, so alluring, so profound

Death it took for him to hear, that silence is a beautiful sound.

Enjoy

Polar Bears Waltzing. 
What could be more awesome?!

I suck at Poetry (Huzzah!)

Once lived a lad dubbed Gafled
A name as hideous as an ass (as in donkey).
Gafled was hairy and warty
And oh! All the gas he would pass.
But Gafled was cunning and crafty
he fashioned a name out of air
He called himself Gafled the Gassy,
and sold all his farts for a fare.

Oh Once there was a Peruvian Needle,
A Peruvian Needle so soft.
And butter was her name,
So smooth was her game,
That she succesfully sewed microsoft.
(pun intended)

Once born a Prince of Thinelorford,
Larry was doomed to his death,
Of murder and treachery and horror
Because Larry's mom used Crystal Meth.
And thus Larry walked kind of funny,
He trilled and he jumbled his words
Yes, Larry was Prince of the dummies,
But Larry The Awesome he preferred.

Poems are so good when I'm tired,
I rhyme things that never could fit.
My head hurts but I was inspired,
to write down the things I could writ.

So now I continue my nonsense,
I subconsciously dream of my bed.
About hereto-s and whither-s and whence-s
so I think I'll just lay down and die.

(See what I did there?)

How much you miss them..

Perusing through my Facebook friends, I can't help but wonder, how many of these people are actually my friends? What is the difference between friends and acquaintances? Classmates? Coworkers? Is there a difference? I think so.

The difference, to me, isn't how often they talk to you or tag you in stupid group pictures. It's the feeling you get when you accidentally come across their picture, smile, and think about how much you miss them. Facebook is wonderful for keeping in touch - but if you truly want to be a sincere friend, it isn't going to make or break your friendship.

I miss some of my friends so much I feel torn when I see their pictures. Torn because, on one side I'm happy that they're happy, but on the other side, I'm sad for not being with them. I wish I could fly back for just a day or two and tell them all about my life in person. I wish I could go back and hug them when they need it, or have a random picnic with pb&j sandwiches in my backyard. I wish I could just talk to them and see their faces.

I've got skype, I know, but it isn't the same. But I know I'll see them again, if later rather than sooner. I just hope that whenever they see my picture pop up, they smile, and think about fond memories. I would really love that :)

So proud to be Arab.

I'll be the first to admit that this wasn't always the case, especially growing up in Chicago. However I found that the older I grew, the more appreciative I was of my amazing heritage and culture, and the more at home I felt with all things arabic.

I'm writing this article not to extol the virtues of Arab culture and lifestyle, but of Arab nationalism. We are a people criticized in so many aspects by Western culture that I believe that many arabs have begun to negatively internalize this perspective. The youth rebel against their heritage and declare themselves "modern," renouncing all ties to their homeland. This saddens me so much that I find myself emboldened to change their viewpoints. As a proud Egyptian-American I cannot but be astounded at the rich history that I have been born with, and the legacy that I must now uphold.

All this comes at a time of political and social turmoil, surmounting greatly in my home country of Egypt. With the nation's president ardently refusing to leave - a disgusting choice that leaves you questioning his humanity, indeed if he still has any - chaos ensues in the streets of Cairo and Alexandria. Egyptian people are forced to protect their families from looters, standing outside their buildings at night wielding any weapons they might possess. Building are burning and stores are being robbed, yet Egyptians everywhere still refuse to give up their right to democracy.

I am so proud to be Egyptian. I am so proud to be Arab. If it were not for the Tunisian people standing up for their own rights Egypt might have been silent for decades more. Even Yemen and Jordan have begun to see that they deserve more than dictatorship. They deserve humanity.

Regardless of what western television and film makes out an Arab to be, a true Arab is not defined by religion and social class or beards and funny accents. A true Arab knows where he comes from, and strives to achieve more for his people. A true Arab realizes that differences do not undo centuries worth of history. A true Arab supports the rise of democracy and the proclamation of Freedom, and rejects the rule of tyrants and dictators. A true Arab would support the revolution in Egypt.

Ta7ya Masr.

How Mermaids Reproduce.

Yep, this article is pure science my friends. Pure science.

Many of you have probably been wondering for years how mermaids reproduce. In this short article I shall briefly enlighten you with a whole world of knowledge of what really occurs "Under the Sea."

Firstly, we must classify Mermaids and Mermen (the male counterpart - you didn't think both genders were maids did you?) into their corresponding genus. Although they are half-fish, one can easily notice the existence of mammary glands in the form of breasts, which, along with the presence of hair, by default places them into a mammal category.

By this assumption we can deduce that mermaids give birth to live young, as do all mammals, with exception of the platypus and echinda. Mammary glands allow for mermaids to nurse their young, who are dependent on their caretakers from infancy.

Fertilization occurs much the same way as humans, except that both male and female merfolk reproductive organs are smaller, and thus less noticeable. Male genitals in particular are hidden beneath a sheath of scales, emerging only during the act of mating. Copulation allows for the transmission of genes from the merman to the mermaid, in effect impregnating the latter. Although the gestational period is under some debate, most researchers place the range of pregnancy from 9-11 months, similar to, if not a little longer, than the duration of a typical human pregnancy. Delivery is also the same process as humans, and typically takes place in more shallow waters, allowing for the greatest amount of oxygen to be available to offspring.

And there you have it.

Oh lordy, potatoes.

Sitting in the library, I can't but help crave potatoes. Like real potatoes. Oh my goodness how I love them.

Sadly, I have no cooking ability whatsoever, nor any desire to acquire any. I am too easily tempted by the fast and instant, a quality of mine that I (somewhat) jokingly blame on our generations reliance on high-speediness. But if I could cook, I would make potatoes.

Ah, potatoes. Boil 'em, mash 'em, stick 'em in a stew, as told by Samwise Gamgee, a wise hobbit indeed. I shall begin with my love of mashed potatoes, of which there is not a quantifiable number of expression. Creamy and luscious and scrumptious and amazingly smooth and wonderful, my mouth waters just thinking about them. A warm golden color, as soft as butter-filled clouds and as light as one of the Olsen twins, if mashed potatoes were real, I think I would marry them. But I would probably have an extra-marital affair with baked potatoes, topping our love off with a heavenly blanket of sour cream and parsley. Oh God.

Undaunted by unsupportive friends who make snide remarks like "It doesn't take a genius to make potatoes" (ehm-ehm DANIA), I persevere in my imaginary creation, settling for my dream potatoes than actually taking the time to make potatoes.

So I sit here, unsatisfied in a cold and potato-less library, thinking about potatoes. Where my skills may fail at cooking, my mind astounds even me with its colorful palate of potato dishes, ranging from one potato dish, to possibly even three whole dishes. A genius for serious Dania, I know.