NIGHTS IN AWAL

The crammed cafeteria,

On the corner of that street,

That place I used to go to,

Where all my friends would meet,

Nothing more than four chairs,

And a stool for a table,

A dingy affair by looks,

But food of lore and fable.

Have a Shawarma, or two,

Or perhaps three or four,

My stomach, packed to the brim,

The taste buds desiring more,

A king's feast by portion,

A pauper's cost to be paid,

Have some laughs and a giggle,

Hold on though, more fun’s on the way.

Skipping along the pavement,

A little something at every stop,

My favorite though, by far,

That ridiculous video game shop,

The lithe Khaleeji man,

Ever present, adorning his Thob,

Managing that little haven,

The Game Stop for the poor.

Always smiling and talking,

About his passion, his sports car,

More a friend, less a businessman,

The Robin Hood from Saar,

Leave the tens and twenties at home,

Notes of one will more than just do,

Grab a couple of titles on the fly,

“Here my friend, have this one too,

It's a new one I just got,

Not many copies, maybe one or two,

Give it a shot, no cash habibi

On the house, just for you.”

The fun's not over yet,

What's a night without a movie,

How do you like them done up,

On the big screen, or your TV,

Both right here, side by side,

Take your pick, there’s plenty to choose,

An action trope to get the heart racing,

Or comedy medicine for a case of the blues.

Again, it’s easy sailing,

From not much cash you’ll be parted,

Swipe the catalogue, scan the walls,

You’ll find it all, Spaceballs to Departed,

“Yalla habibi, I want these three”

“Zain, that’ll be three BD”

The best things in life may be free,

The rest may as well be,

Priceless and invaluable,

Awal, you’ll remain to me.

A MORNING ADVENTURE

If ever I picked a bittersweet feeling

Then this would surely be the one,

Sweet for all of but a few moments,

But bitter for far longer after gone.

The refreshing sensation of the morning air,

I called it ‘my own’, back home in Mahooz,

Comfort to be had in it’s utter routineness,

A perfect blend to hush a snooze.

The lemony tinge of that gentle breeze,

Whisking away the remains of the night,

The tired droops, and lazy feet,

Swept away by a smile, and steps so sprite.

The pearly whites and soft demeanour,

My neighbour, “lady from Riffa” I was told,

A delightful welcome, in so soft a tone,

Every morning, “Sabah al-noor!”

The harmless pace and soft complexion,

As if it were carved from butter in whole,

Swiftly sailing along it’s surface,

Such was the dance down that road.

A pass at a snake of concrete and steel,

Scaling it’s back and sailing back down!

A glorious sight in the morning light,

On our trail towards Isa Town!

The merry go round, or so it appeared,

To my parents no merry was to be made,

A game of nerves, to step to the curve,

And race on through the great white gate!

Such wonder and thrill and utter amazement,

An encore would be a sure thing to mull!

Alas, from then, I would only await,

The final bell to be freed from school.