Manal Ibrahim

There is no royal road to any thing. One thing at a time, all things in succession. That which grows fast, withers as rapidly. That which grows slowly, endures.

Be not afraid of life. Believe that life is worth living, and your belief will help create the fact

There was a shift in the dark mutterings of the Devil,
Who now refused to sleep as I refused to sing,
Almost an anticipation in his voice,
As if he needed this newfound attention,
And as he waited I wondered how quickly
He sought to leap into my dreams
The nights I recalled of late were billowed in sick reservoirs of resentment,
Hatred, cruel agony and, as always,
Plot overlapping plot

Yet, there was,
In every vagrant heart, a beat,
A thrumming of movement,
A strum of bass, and a shrill of strings, stings, screams
Voices moaning in strange harmonic rhythms
It was very much alive—
A hell much exultant in the night’s hour
And as day broke, it seemed as if hell,
And all of its inhabitants therein,
Mourned

The Prison of Plot silenced at my awakening,
And even the Devil ceased his mutterings to gaze at me
I lifted my body out of the pool of warm water,
Studying his fixed gaze

...She was the kind of girl that women loved to hate. She was an adult I suppose, but so young that she still had the exuberance of youth. She had that movie star look, not overly tall and willowy, but more like an action star. Her muscle definition was perfect and she walked with the confidence of someone a decade older. She wasn't just flawless in her bone structure, her skin was like silk over glass and she radiated an intelligent beauty.