Monday, 30 July 2007


Faces in everyday life,
A woman in my bus
So grumpy, shielded by a skin so red
With frozen muscles
Faces in everyday life
If you ever looked closer to view the rhyme
If you ever interfered time
You will understand
The tears she’s holding
The red grief she’d buried
In her thin yellow layer of sand

Faces in everyday life
A stranger was crossing the road
Right beside me
I liked his perfume
We all continued the motion of the streets
If you ever looked closer to view the rhyme
If you ever interfered time
You will understand
The long friendship that ended
Because it was socially banned

Faces in everyday life
Two persons or two cocks
Fighting in a damp cage
People surrounding,
The fire “HURRAY!” they wage
If you ever looked closer to view the rhyme
If you ever interfered time
You will understand
The money under the unseated seats
The love to live under the shadow of a band

Faces in everyday life
Actors on stage
Performing a play
“Beautiful art”, you say.
“Clap! Clap! Clap!” the classic cheers!
If you ever looked closer to view the rhyme
If you ever interfered time
You will understand
The scattered Actions following the words flow
Written, by one different man
The art of shams is clear, is real
Only in his mind
Only written by his hand

Faces wandering down the alleys
Faces encounter as I pass by the building valleys
Faces sending metaphoric forces
Faces appear in determined courses
Faces speaking in the name of chess
Faces, simulated traces of a mess

Faces, in their curves lay a ghost of myself
Faces, I collect
Whether love, regret or object
And place them with care,
On my long_ long shelf

-Painting By,
Telemaco Signorini, "la sala delle agitate al san Bonifazio in Firenze" 1865
Translation: "A Word of Disturbed Women in a Mental Hospital"
-Poem written By, Deema

Saturday, 21 July 2007

my lens: Amghara, Kuwait

The image is in front of you, but i'd rather describe it: Two men in a place very much like a train station, from the point of perspective there is a striking light. the two men instead, looking the other side, where nothing but dark. they are sitting in the farthest distant away from light. Their faces are exclaiming in a low degree. Their expression is very similar, despite their difference in age.

Sunday, 15 July 2007

Design Story

Photo: Qaytubai Castle, Alexandria-Egypt, 2005
Story: Design I Class [Project:Wall of Life],2004


Dear www.


as a student in Kuwait University-Department of Architecture, I invite you who are interested in architecture to this event. There will be five lecturers; two professors in architecture, a teacher assistant and two students. and there will be a small exhibition in the hall desplaying students work.

you're most welcome :)

There .. was a mosque

Thursday, 12 July 2007

my lens:The Nile through Cairo,Egypt 2005

Time is always passing with images and sounds. Images and sounds are related to our memory or imagination. Consequences are always either predicted or unpredicted.

But what happen if we cross the time line by another one, in the same place?
What if a country life found in the middle of a city?
And yet it is not an event, it is rather an adapted scene and all the rupture is in your head.

my collection


I want to share with you something i collect!

What's in my little box?


From all the places I visited and from all the friends I have (I also wish that I have photos of the brooches I had given to my friends :)
and I should also apologize from the brooches I had lost (it's only one that i remember).


1. 1991-England,Cambridge-(mother)

2. Old-(mother)

3. Old-(mother)

4. 2003-Swarovski-Kuwait

5. 2004-(friend.M)

6. 2004-(sister.S)

7. 2004-(friend.DH)

8. 2004-U.S.A-(sister.R)

9. 2004-U.S.A-(sister.R)


11.2005-Massimo Dutti-Kuwait










21.2006-Italy, Florence










31.2007-Harrods -England


Wednesday, 11 July 2007

A Nock on My Door

Dear WWW,


Yesterday, one of the wonderful friends i have brought me this:

I want to share with you those muffins and tell you that the world still have glimpses of peace and love, the world is still thankful and assert that light will always shed on the dark without a vise versa, by simply being nice.

But yesterday it was nice and SWEET!

Thank you dear friend


Tuesday, 10 July 2007

my hand: Woman

A man's face is his autobiography. A woman's face is her work of fiction. ~Oscar Wilde

Sunday, 8 July 2007

bed time: AL Sultan Suleiman

When my sister travels somewhere with her husband or when we have a family gather in there or our chalet her two daughters always beg me for a story before bed. So i close their light, lay aside of their little beds And start fantasying while staring at the dimmed ceiling. I don't know from where i bring all those stuff i told them about and how i brought them altogether!
Here I typed the last story I have told with some alteration, I am showing you the last one because the first ones were quite messy.

Once upon a time, there was a poor Man who lived on the shore. He didn't have a boat to go fishing, so he was living on the fish nets that he weaved for fishermen.
One day while the sea tide was falling, The Man decided to have a break and wander about the muddy islands appearing as the sea was leaving.
After a while he got tumbled by a rock, when he looked back to it he found that it was a golden sea shell, covered with mud. The Man likes to listen to sea shells, so he placed the open end of its fold on his ear and closed his eyes with a smile of pleasure.
Suddenly a little voice came out from it! “Sultan Suleiman ... Sultan Suleiman … please take me to him … please”.
The Man was amazed by the talking shell, and wondered about that Sultan it’s claiming for.
Thus he walked to the city and asked the traders over there and they showed him the way to the grand palace. He had walked with the shell hid in his shabby robe until he reached the over scaled gate. And as he was admiring that premier scene to his poor eyes, his ears had his attention by an old man’s voice constant and confident.
“Do you hand me what you have by one hundred freshly made pieces of bread baked with dates and sesame?” the voice announced.
When The Man turned his face he saw The Old Baker working. He couldn't recognize his face from the flour haze in his place, and he felt extremely anxious as the Old Baker knew about what he was hiding!
“I can only give it to the sultan”, The Man shortly answered.
“Usually people deny, I like your honesty” replied The Old Baker, with a smile appeared on his face as he was approaching The Man from the hot smoky shop:
“I want to help you, I know the secret”.
“How is that, what secret?” The Man enquired.
“The Sultan doesn't accept visits from anyone he ordered three guardians on the three receptions of his majesty. Each guard repeats one question to you and you should pass all the three questions, and no one ever got the answer from our people. And I will tell you how to pass”, The Old Baker said and took one hundred pieces of fresh bread, and handed it to the man and explained: “each time you are asked a question, answer the guard honestly then give him one piece of your bread.”
The Man trusted the Old Baker after he had noticed his value to honesty as he carried on his speech. He carried the bread with both hands and walked to the great gate.

Inside the palace, he felt as a little rat in that luxurious spacious place he entered. Admiring the details and the colourful carpets that he walked aside of it not to dare stepping on those works of art. Finally he got to the first guard.
“How many/how much do you have?” the Guardian asked in a very loud voice.
“One hundred, sir” The Man answered, with rather a weak voice.
The guardian then examined the bread with his sharp eyes and let the man through his gate!
But before getting through, The Man did as the Old Baker had told him, and gave him one piece of bread from what he had. The Guardian gave him a glance of respect and thanked him with a nod.
The next gate appeared faster than the first one, and very crowded. The people were talking to each other desperately as if they were trapped there for a long time, and they were being served with food and drinks. The Guardian of that second gate mimed for The Man to get closer. As he was walking through the crowd people started to ask him questions and let him down in different accents and different languages, with the same repeated tones:

“Why bother yourself of what you have”
“No one deserve what I have”
“Nothing worth your pride”
“Why aiming for more”
“Don’t listen to anyone but yourself”

The words were vivid in his head, kept beating like the sound of drums. He moved his body into this meat fuss with eyes wide open he decided to look at each source of sound with a clear eye contact, in this clever manner he shut down any sound of exclamation. It was strange how each person couldn't look back again to the man’s sharp brown eyes. He finally got to The Guardian.
He asked him the same question:
“How many/ how much do you have?” he announced in rather a louder voice than the first one.
“Ninety-nine, sir” the man answered meekly.
And as the first guard did, he counted the pieces then smiled! And while he was opening the gate silence slowly penetrated through the crowd. And they were all suddenly sculptured in there amazement gestures.
The Man gave the guardian a piece of what he had and continued.

The Man now entered a very beautiful room with maroon furniture, golden sculptures of men scattered randomly and music beating so deep and strong with fast shifts like an orchestra with one instrument, Oud.
A graceful woman was standing with loose drape in the colour of her wavy hair. She walked to The Man like a feather kissing the marble ground by her bare feet.
She got closer and closer to him while he was planted to the room’s carpet:
“I am the third Guardian” the confident voice came out “and you should spend your night here before you present yourself to the Sultan".

The Man was speechless as he thought that the beauty of the palace was the best scenery that may meet his salty face. He stood in his place motionless. He feared this Guardian the most for he may get seduced by her fine splendour.
She arranged him a place to sit, and laid down on another sofa.
“How many/ how much do you have?” she enquired with a deep voice.
“well, I have, …, …” the man forgot the answer and he fell down to the ground from the difficult confrontation.
The poor Man sat mute on the floor for three hours couldn't say a word holding his bread in his hands looking around the room to anything other than the graceful Guardian who was walking around the room waiting for the man’s answer.
After the three hours had passed “ninety-eight” he announced with a clear sound.
The Man got his strength and serenity after he had understood what the golden sculptures are meant to say.
The woman now started to revolve round and round, shedding a very beautiful scent that made The Man feel dizzy and fell fast a sleep.

The sun embraced his tired face, and with eyes hardly open rolling his brown iris to find no one in the room and the gate of the third Guardian was open. The man freshen himself by the bowl of water which was put for him with a towel and got prepared to meet The Sultan.

The Man entered to the Sultans Court dazzled by the brightness of the place after a long dark night. He saw in the middle of the symmetry a great throne in where a man in a fine heavy gown sitting with a sad thought in his proud face.
He stepped on the marble and walked unexpectedly on the symmetrical line closer to the throne.
When he reached the middle of the court he got the attention of The Great Sultan. The Man then made a gesture of respect and revealed his message to his majesty.
“Allow me, your Majesty”, The Man declared: “to return your longing”.

A glow started to emerge as The Man brought The Sea Shell out of his robe. The blinding glow got brighter and brighter, until a fair lass appeared from that strange phenomenon. The Sultan stood up, his eyes widen and his face expression was totally changed.
“Come here my daughter, come to me oh dear”, said The Sultan.
“I am so happy for our reunite my great father”, said the young lady.
“How beautiful you become, I wish you didn't get hurt”
“Thanks to him Pa, I was in careful hands” glanced to The Man.
“How can I thank you young man, you only have to ask” claimed The Sultan.
The Man couldn't absorb the queer happening but after the last question he fell into his deep thoughts.
“I want to marry The Third Guardian, your Majesty”, said The Man “and I want you to give The Old Baker the honour of ministry”.


Tuesday, 3 July 2007

my lens: Gold Shop (Watya), Kuwait

"Use what talent you possess: the woods would be very silent if no birds sang except those that sang best."
-- Henry Van Dyke

Monday, 2 July 2007

my loom

the shore is my loom
weaving to the infinite doom
for them to be gradually drawn
repeating the unknown
rising and diving between layers of lands
precious pearls fall from the folds of hands
crawling back hoping to be a part of the legend
..and my carpet is that legend
for all the harem
with eyes got used to departure
with feet slipping into sand fracture
with all these smells
touching me with spells
with all these multiple vivid lives that called memories
based on the hypocrite moon

Sunday, 1 July 2007