My legs are dry and my eyes are dry

My thoughts swam in the space of my mind as a writer chewing over his imaginations, leaving his pen to write words that stem from a collective legacy…

I chose to depict the breaths of women gasping to remove the accumulated sediments of oppression from hearts that desire to be freed from the slavery of customs and misconceptions.

There is no doubt that the issue of women is the preoccupation for the rest of humanity’s life.

From my high balcony I watch the evening of others, their closed doors during the day concealing the secrets of their hearts, the darkness of the night gives them a comfortable feeling of loneliness, so they open their pains on the balconies and allow their stifled crying to creep in with the rhythm of the minute hands that fade quietly until dawn comes, I love looking at them from a distance until I almost see them stripping without fear..

I was watching during the day from the same balcony while they were playing the game of (father and mother), a common act in childhood, so there is no biological need in that, but perhaps the reason for it is a longing to master the role of mature humans, so the glow of the feelings of (the son) towards his father by representing him as a goal for him in life, his feelings towards his mother are his romantic goal.

A beautiful mental image.. But what about that innocence that was met with malice. When the little girl wanted to play innocently, the older children wanted to play with her?

I closed my eyes to remember the chapters of the scene. There is a false heritage that made the ignition and extinction fight in my imagination as if I see a glimmer of embers among the ashes, and it is more appropriate that it has leprosy.

My continuous train of thoughts was interrupted by a loud voice from a nearby balcony, as if I know the groan of that bereaved woman, as the night breezes have been bringing it for a long time.

Screams, enslavement, and a torrent of orders and mockery, with which he derived his feelings of false greatness and power to practice them with all ignorance and arrogance on what his right hand possessed, so he poured out the cup of his tyranny and empty power on a female.

Supporting his authority over her with an integrated system of false customs and traditions that seem to still exist in a limited way despite all the updates that have occurred in our society.

She peeked at the children’s yard in the theater of the alleged game of innocence, where that tall, broad-shouldered man, whose body was not hidden by the wing of darkness, sought the needs of the neighborhood widow, so her heart began to beat and her eyes began to steal glances, but alas, for eyes accustomed to the darkness until the sudden emergence of light pained her, so she resorted to closing them.

It is the violent psychological conflict between her desires to be freed from the shackles of loneliness and what had accumulated inside her of concepts and observance of traditions and perhaps fear of shame.

It seems that the collar of chastity had saved her, as it was stronger than weak pulses and shy glances.

Perhaps I will eavesdrop soon on whether those honorable stops beside her were full of truth or another novel entitled Innocent Wolf from the Blood of the Neighborhood Widow.

Dawn was about to break and its star, as usual, seemed more radiant…

I heard the call of one of their hearts to that “stolen love.”

I meant it in broad daylight, represented by a man who was kidnapped with his full consent.. And can the property of others be stolen? Perhaps, and in that let the competitors compete.

I did not exaggerate about the man, this is the reality of some, I was only observing the events with all their contradictions and differences. I am certain that the wheel of the universe does not turn by suppressing pain.. In a word.. Boredom is the first step on the path of rebellion.

Here the rays of the sun began to creep into my balcony, the universe was noisy and life returned, the voice inside me did not calm down either.

Why did they affect the prison inside those mirrors and crouch in the sides of its walls with varying degrees of that.

My calendar indicates the twenty-third of January of the year two thousand and fifteen.

The women of the balconies were aspiring to achieve the royal desire…

And when my waterwheel was about to dry up and my source dried up, the women were filled with joy at the royal decisions to change the wrong things that were tainted with misleading despite the strength of the existing updates…

The inspiring man came and stipulated the activation of the existing rights.. A voice reached my ears confirming to everyone that he will continue the march and support women’s rights, I hear him… (I support Saudi Arabia, and half of Saudi Arabia is women, so I support women)