Chapter 2 - The room

 The room

The room is warmer 

as I lie below the sheet. 

The day was short, 

but I only notice it 

when the evening comes.

I haven't studied anything. 

My exam is in a week, amino acids. 

Med school is the toughest challenge 

I have ever faced. 

But instead of studying, 

I cover my ears with music. 

I bury myself underneath the landscapes of Call of Duty.

Tomorrow, the lecturer will be speaking Arabic, 

but I only understand English. 

Three textbooks on my desk, 

as thick as bricks. 

Will I ever finish them? 

I drown in the virtual worlds of Call of Duty, 

seeking refuge in melodies.

I only mean to escape. 

I am asked to lift a car with nothing but the raw strength of my hands. 

But nothing is weaker than the strength of my heart.

 

2

It takes a wink to weep

I resist closing my eyes

but I let a small lake

form in my canaliculi.

And I let the salty water leak

in fine drop on my dry cheek,

But I don't blink.

Because I still can't admit

that It takes tears to heal.

 

 

 

3

The difference

I saw how the apartment on the fourth had rotten windows, 

and the ones on the fifth are shining. 

I felt how a good morning with a smile differs from a frown, or an indifferent eye.

The difference.

That's why I left the fourth for the fifth.

They taught me how to care.

I left the crowd and joined the quiet, 

the books of wisdom on the aisle.

The stairs of the building left me breathless. 

I climb them and I gasp for oxygen.

Here, the air smells of mint, 

of the breeze at the start of the rain, 

and my lungs expand 

like a flower slowly blooming over the weekend.

I chose the fifth floor, the soothing peace, 

the silence.

 

4

Continuously

Sunlight through the room,

My lower lip is a dry desert.

One tablet for the fever. 

I try to stand, but 

My limbs are feeble,

weakened in an everlasting 

slumber .

For the man I want to be 

I can't give up. 

So if there's still a glimmer of hope 

I'll hold on to it 

With my arms and my canines. 

If I lose my grip 

and my muscles can no longer contract, 

and if my spine becomes rigid, 

I will still work. 

Because, Mum, 

I want to be a son you can be proud of. 

I want my actions to be the voice 

that carries the depth of my love, 

the sincerity of my gratitude. 

So if there is a glimmer of hope, 

I'll hold on to it 

for the dreams I care about. 

Since the bright days of my childhood, 

the midnight moons of my early twenties, 

I will stay the distance. 

I will push on, 

for as long as I can.