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A Piece Of Night
De Hadi Umayra
Actions du livre
Commencer à lire- Éditeur:
- Fulton Books, Inc.
- Sortie:
- Mar 2, 2020
- ISBN:
- 9781646541867
- Format:
- Livre
Description
The transcription of words within this collection of short stories brings the reader into the mind of the writer as he leads them on a journey of life, love, fear, despair, and hope. The truth of Ahmed Al Khamisi’s life experiences is reflected poetically within this collection of short stories to entertain his audience, and entertain his audience, he did. I sincerely enjoyed perceiving the events of this man’s life through his eyes while I experienced his mind, heart, and emotions firsthand as he laid them forth through the stroke of a pen.
The content of each story highlights original authenticity, and each short story reflects a unique experience of life perceived by the writer. I learned about Egypt and many of the experiences that transpired in the life of Ahmed Al Khamisi, including the depth of his spirituality and devotion to God, family, and self-integrity. This collection is a must-read for all audiences interested in the events that transpired in the life of Ahmed Al Khamisi, as well as connecting to universal experiences that we all undergo in this life of love, loss, fear, and hope.
Informations sur le livre
A Piece Of Night
De Hadi Umayra
Description
The transcription of words within this collection of short stories brings the reader into the mind of the writer as he leads them on a journey of life, love, fear, despair, and hope. The truth of Ahmed Al Khamisi’s life experiences is reflected poetically within this collection of short stories to entertain his audience, and entertain his audience, he did. I sincerely enjoyed perceiving the events of this man’s life through his eyes while I experienced his mind, heart, and emotions firsthand as he laid them forth through the stroke of a pen.
The content of each story highlights original authenticity, and each short story reflects a unique experience of life perceived by the writer. I learned about Egypt and many of the experiences that transpired in the life of Ahmed Al Khamisi, including the depth of his spirituality and devotion to God, family, and self-integrity. This collection is a must-read for all audiences interested in the events that transpired in the life of Ahmed Al Khamisi, as well as connecting to universal experiences that we all undergo in this life of love, loss, fear, and hope.
- Éditeur:
- Fulton Books, Inc.
- Sortie:
- Mar 2, 2020
- ISBN:
- 9781646541867
- Format:
- Livre
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A Piece Of Night - Hadi Umayra
Time
I Happened To
I happened to see two wide eyes fastened to femininity, confiding in them a strong sense of force and clarity as they suddenly appeared, leaving no doubt of their existence. A young poet wrote about these eyes at two o’clock in the morning, early in the month of January, in the year 1943 while sitting in his chair at a café. Turn your eyes away. I can’t handle the flame that they ignite inside of my soul.
This young poet found himself displaced from the countryside with all his wealth in poetry’s form, holding on to overwhelming hopes and his deep voice. While reciting poetry at the College of Arts at King Fouad I University, they were united by chance. Anxiety devoured his soul as fire flushed his face. Turn your eyes away. I can’t handle them.
From the moment the young poet saw her, she admired him as he gently read his poem. This girl was clothed in beauty and strength, radiant from the light that possessed her. She fixed her eyes on love as she moved between women’s arms and house to house, from poem to poem without end. Her gaze was steadily fixed on him with desire. She knew he was the truth she had been searching for.
I met her in 1948 when I was young, five years after seeing her eyes at the café for the first time. While I sat with her, she quenched my thirst, and she used her fingers to feed me tiny circled bites. I sat on her couch inside of her home, swinging my legs back and forth. I lifted my head to see her face staring back at me with those two wide eyes that shined light and vitality into the depths of my soul.
Twenty-four years later, in 1972, I had to leave Egypt when my lady was approaching fifty years of age. Afterward, I was unable to see her for many years. As she continued to age, her body slowed, and her appearance changed. Her back and shoulders bent slightly from when she was younger. Connected to her beauty, she kept her head raised, and her eyes stayed fastened to the strength and clarity as to when I first saw them.
The owners of the shops where she lived grew accustomed to seeing her walk alone in the street every morning dressed in a long black cloak. She would purchase newspapers and bread before returning to the third-floor apartment where she lived. Getting tired from climbing the stairs, she used the handrails to catch her breath and rest until finally, she arrived. When entering her apartment, she would empty her arms of whatever she was carrying at the time, throwing items down on the small couch of her living room. Then pushing the window of her balcony open with two hands, she watched as the people came and went in the street and observed the hawkers stand by their selling carts to face life’s routines. At the end of her observations, she went back inside to sit at her tall table and drink tea. She reached forward to grab the teapot from the tray in front of her and prepared two cups, mixing the first cup to drink with milk but drinking the second cup plain.
After many years, I returned to Egypt, but I was no longer the young poet, and poetry had left me. Her sons had also left her. She lived alone in her large quiet apartment where some memories were beginning to fade, but she clung to the ones that she remembered. If my memory was correct, I visited her in 1990, or maybe after, to find her almost exactly the way that I had left her. The violin box was cracked, but the strings still sounded the same, combining with old melodies and passion. She kept a collection of poems that he had written her, and the hairbrush that he had used to comb his hair with, near the table that she sat down at every morning. She also kept old letters dating back to 1946, 1947, and some that were sent to her while he was detained in 1953.
Her eyes were the same wide eyes, joyfully challenging laughter, but something had changed in them after the poet had gone. They fled toward departure and dimmed as her soul moved closer toward another life. I was surprised at the look in her eyes. It was the same look as before when I had first seen them, a look of a woman joyfully challenging laughter. Her beauty was unchanging, like the light of the stars that died long ago.
The woman was now older with wide eyes still young, resisting time as she fought to recover from illness after many long battles. She did not allow anything to darken the light in her eyes or remove the glitter from them as her strength gradually faded. The light finally left her on Monday, the first of May.
At three-thirty in the morning, before the woman died, she opened her bedroom door to join her daughter in the living room where she and her cousin were playing cards. Standing happily at the door, she enjoyed the time, saying, I want to play cards with you.
Her body became heavy as she sat on the couch in front of them, struggling to place herself in front of the table. Could you please turn on the ceiling fan?
she asked her daughter as they played cards. Her daughter stood up to turn on the ceiling fan, but before she returned to her mother, she heard the sound of her mother’s head bump against the wall.
Ah!
she screamed as she saw blood drip from her mother’s nose.
Around four in the morning, the phone rang and woke me up. After half an hour, I arrived at the lady’s apartment on the third floor, and I saw that the apartment door was opened. I entered the apartment and found her daughter and cousin sitting in silence in the living room with a doctor in deep silence, surrounded by the light of
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