Alaa Hasanin (Egypt)

Alaa Hasanin (Egypt)
Ala’a Hasanin an Egyptian/Saudi Poet, writer, journalist, actress.
Born in Saudi Arabia 1996 with her Egyptian parents, and lived there for 22 years then went back to Egypt to study drama at the academy of art. She has published 3 books between poetry and short stories and acted in multiple short movies
Her books are:
Emerging trembling from its depths”(2018).
▪ “Totally new Testament” (poems collections)
She Has two books under printing; stories collection, and a poetry collection.
[Something like simple weariness] [p12]
I will come when night falls
once this body decomposes
in the marble tomb,
I will become blue skies
and float above the houses.
I will become wind
or a boy running
through the woods
searching for the sun
I will become a tree trunk
and search
for the old home
for the sound of breaking clay urns
for the fathers who left
in their pyjamas
and for a spot of land
where my roots can stretch.
I will come
from the cold country
to wonder
about the desert
that gave us wars
cruel fathers
dark skins
and boats for hope and drowning
I will come
to ask the friends
about the long nights of loneliness
and about wrists
that raised/brought up/reared suicides
and sad poems
I will come
to ask the friends
how they did not notice
behind our smiles
many sufferings?
I will come to ask the fathers,
who raised
warm siblings,
about our long coldness.
I will come a darkness
a sudden sadness
or a simple weariness
in the bones
that asks the friends
about life
and how they traversed
this entire lifetime
without me?
I will come
to ask the mothers
that gave us life
dipped in weariness
how they shut their eyes
at night
while we,
in the next rooms,
were loading our guns?
I am alive, please, inject me with morphine [p18]
I am alive
inject me with morphine.
For nineteen years
my heart has been writhing
like an epileptic.
I am alive
and nineteen years
are no a small thing.
The long days
the many people
and the names hard to remember
the things I see
jump into my eyes
the strange people
the people on the sidewalks
the people at the bus stops
the people I don’t know
when they stare at me
their eyes,
even when they look at something else,
stare at my face
all day long
all night long
all nineteen years long
the cold nights of October
the cold countries
the cold bodies
that shiver out of fear
or desire
the loud sound of the television
and a mother loading her gun
in the next room
a mother committing suicide
in the next room
a mother who dies every October
in the next room
I am alive
I am in life
and a man of forty
a slim man
a God fearing man
slides over my body
with my seven years
and my skinny fingers
while the feet of the passers by
play a light rhythm
on the sidewalks
on a clear day
and a man of forty
is panting over my neck
on cold tiles
I am alive
and a God fearing man
pants over my neck
whenever the day is clear
and a light rhythm
is on the sidewalks
I am alive
The days are long
my mother commits suicide every October
in the next room
and the breaths of a man of forty
are still hot
on my neck
my feet are cold
I am nineteen
and life
is like an ache in my stomach
I am alive
in my head there are cities and buses
and my body is still thrown
over cold tiles
I am alive
and nineteen years
are no small thing.
I am alive
inject me with morphine.

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