The coffee at the airport never gives the drinker what he wants…!
He is either in a hurry to catch up with his plane, or worried about the status of travel, He might be restricted because of a problem …the weather conditions … security reasons … etc.
So it is the rarest that such a coffee would give you comfort at the airport.
Technically, the majority of airports do not offer coffee as it should be, although their prices are overstated. One of the qualities of a wise drinker is that he is “generous in his gratuity, frugal in his spending” (see the chapter on the levels of coffee drinkers- Poetry collection titled coffee).
My attitude towards travelling has changed a lot, but the pain from airports, planes and bags has not changed much
I enjoy traveling and invest in the time I spend in traveling,
I learn from my traveling, I acquire culture from my roaming, I read and I write,
But the status of traveling, the transition from residence to travel, or from travel to travel … still presses on me just like a pair of tight leather shoes, in a long walk, on a hot summer day, in a humid country, on an unpaved land!
It’s 3:00 am, and the best start to this morning, which has not yet come, is a dose of “espresso”.
The cup has arrived … Unfortunately, it hardly gets the mark of success, it just an “Espresso” no more, It does not deserve to be described, neither the quality, nor the beauty, not even the moderation, it is a cup that is not worth satire or praise.
It is a dose of caffeine in a shape of a cup of Espresso that reminds you of the good doses of this drink – things are distinguished by contrasts-
It incites you to get more of a good coffee in the nearest country you visit, and it encourage you to thank God retroactively for every perfect dose of Espresso you previously had!
I am on my way to a destination I love, and in my mind a woman who inhabited me before I was born, and colonized me until I die, threw me from above the path to the fire to complete her way to heaven, ignoring me and my pain!
A woman who does not accept … and I hope that she will accept … between me and her an eternal link like that between the coffee and the cup
She refrains to delude herself that we are as far from each other as the East from the West
She is still running away not knowing that I am a destiny, and that she is definitely coming!
This cafe is full of travelers … I still have time for a cup of coffee … I will move to another less crowded cafe, hoping to find a cup containing the essence of the Turkish coffee.
I found it … a quiet seat, ideal lighting for writing, and no one can see me here,
In this Cafe, the Turkish coffee deserves a prize for badness, the one who prepared it deserves to be whipped fifty lashes, while the one who served it deserves to be expelled from the earth!
That is exactly my mood when I drink coffee at the airport…
Even if the coffee is bad, it does not deserve all such satire,
It is the traveling status that turns one to be impatient, anxious, tensed, angry, sulky and gloomy.
Airport congestion is disgusting … unoccupied airports have more space for grief, grief needs a bit of space, room, and place
When places are overcrowded with people, tools and equipment it leads to the feeling of nauseate not grief.
The crowded airports become a prison cell filled with prisoners, where the strong crushes the weak without mercy.
Small airports are less ferocious even if crowded, while large airports become hell if they are crowded
Large airports have a space for grief … provided they are not crowded!
Despite my frequent travels, I am still determined to follow a documentary in one of the channels about aircraft accidents!
Sometimes I remember some of what I have seen in this program, but it does not bother me … What frightens me is to sit next to someone with flying phobia.
This happened several months ago, and I found myself between a rock and a hard place
I was hesitant between the stress this man caused to me and the embarrassment of changing my seat, thank God who inspired him to change his seat.
I look at the faces of people … I try to read their stories…. this man who is showing off with his watch which costs fifty thousand dollars … Are you happy?
You cannot be happy, sir … You love this watch, but you could not afford it, so you just got a fake copy for no more than five hundred dollars.
You cannot be happy… It is true that no one can figure out if the watch is original – including myself… but your imitated coat (I know it is imitative) is what proved to me that the watch is not genuine
It is impossible for those who can afford such an (original) watch to wear such an (imitative) coat!
You, Ma’am … are you happy?
Can you feel your beauty? Or do you feel that your beauty has earned anger?
Why do parts of your face looks like a tree in the winter, with fallen leaves, and sticks covered by heavy snow!?
Your hands are angry … Looking for the features of femininity by touching the face and neck
I have never seen a vine searching for its clusters before.
She reminded me of my woman who lost her poem until she was covered with prose,
My woman who ran away from me in vain, though her destiny is between my arms even after a while.
People at the airports are moving stories … crossing novels…. They are ready to reveal … their faces explain their pain … their eyes explain their hopes.
The cup of coffee is getting colder, and is getting worse.
I recording my sorrow, and do not care about the taste of the coffee, just like a prisoner who eats what the warder sends to him to stay on the road, waiting for a woman who comes and does not come … approaching and not approaching
She is half a tear away from the poem… and she is a homeland and a half away from staying in poetry
Translated by Dr. Iman Salama