Adapted from my 2016 bittersweet Arabic diary. Original Arabic version further below. Image by ROMAN ODINTSOV
Context
I wrote this text shortly after that night with Maya. She came into my bed, stripped down to her underwear, kissed me softly without crossing further, and fell asleep beside me. She let me hold her close, allowed me to touch her body, yet never allowed me to cross into full possession. She made me fall in love, then left in the morning — and never returned.
She never broke my heart — she opened a wound that made me feel alive, one I have cherished ever since. The pain was bittersweet, balanced, almost like an education: she brought me to the edge of the event horizon, without letting me be swallowed by the black hole. She taught me what it means to be suspended in love — in constant falling, in orbit, held by gravity, without drifting away, and without crashing and burning onto the ground.
BAMBERG –
Maya enters my room.
She crowns herself queen on my bed,
plants her banner deep in my chest,
takes it—
breaks it—
draws it red.
She kisses me,
and does not kiss.
She hurls me into love, then leaves me
to illusion,
to dream,
to ache and miss.
Maya vanishes—
yet does not go.
She rests, but never grants me rest.
And I remain alone below:
with her flag, my bleeding breath,
my wound laid open, dispossessed.
تَدْخُلُ مايا غُرْفَتي
تَتَرَبَّعُ مَلِكَةً عَلَى سَرِيْرِي
تَغْرِسُ رَاْيَتَهَا فِيْ صَدْرِي
تَحْتَلُّهُ ..
تُوجِعُهُ .. تُدْمِيهِ ..
تُقَبّلُني ، و لَا تُقَبّلُني
تَرمِيني فِي الحُبِّ و تَتْرُكُني ..
للوَهْمِ .. للحُلمِ ..
للهَمِّ ..
و تَغيبُ مايا، و لَا تَغيبُ
تَسْتَريحُ ، و لَا تُرِيحُ
و أَبْقَى أَنا وَحِيداً،
أنا وَ رَايَتُها ، و نزفي
وَ جُرحيَ الـمُسْتَبَاحُ
Roumani Line 