Category: Poetry

Notes from a Narcissist

Posted on by Mani

From my December 2005 Arabic diary.
This English version is an adaptation, created with the help of AI. The original Arabic text appears below.

This is not a poem of pride, but of shame.
It was never sent to the woman addressed here. It remained private — a dark mark in my own history.

I keep it as a reminder of how easily love can be overreached:
how an energy meant to give and gift can be twisted into a tool of control,
how devotion can slip into manipulation,
how care can disguise the urge to rule.

Image by Ferdinand Studio

Damascus —

Brown-eyed girl, don’t play the proud—
you’re drowning in the open sea,
and I alone am what you have,
my ships the only shore you see.

Continue reading “Notes from a Narcissist” →

To a Woman Whose Name I Don’t Know

Posted on by Mani

Written in Arabic in November 2005. This English version is an adaptation created with the assistance of AI. The original poem follows.
Image by NEOSiAM 2024+

Damascus —

To you, my lady—
with flowers I write my greeting clear.
I love to start all love with flowers,
and even wars with flowers here;
for flowers, to me, are the spine of courage,
the quiet core of what is dear.

Continue reading “To a Woman Whose Name I Don’t Know” →

To My First Girlfriend

Posted on by Mani

(Originally written as “to my first love”) — This poem was written in November 2005 as a love letter and breakup letter to my first girlfriend. The English version is a faithful adaptation of the original Arabic poem, with the help of AI. The original Arabic text appears below.

Damascus —

Because words get lost,
and talk keeps branching wide,
and every time it branches,
the goal drifts farther aside.
Because history gets written,
I chose to fall silent—
and write.

Continue reading “To My First Girlfriend” →

Flore

Posted on by Mani

This piece is an English adaptation of a poem from my Arabic diary (2005),
developed with the assistance of AI. The original verse is included below.

Damascus —

Flore—
a flower born in France’s plains,
she speaks to me through seas and rains,
past countless isles and distant shores,
through harbors, tides, and open doors.
Her eyes are green with dreaming sight,
of justice framed in living light,
of freedom born at life’s first breath,
and carried on beyond all death.

Continue reading “Flore” →