A letter to Mr. president in his blue night :

Kamal Riahi
T. Feyza Boudabbous
Mr. President, where will you spend this night ?int-2
What will you say after shutting your new room’s door, taking off your suit and carelessly throwing it away as if taking revenge of the room’s tidiness, a room you have never dreamt of, a room that used to be forbidden? will you remember the people moaning under the roofs of their shacks ? will you remember the child hurrying bare-footed to his school with a hollow stomach ? will you remember the greedy bellies which swallowed his little lamb ? what will you have in dinner ? meat or fish ? will you spend a red or a blue night ? or perhaps victory causes impotence too and masturbation would be far enough ? will you remember the martyres’ fragmented flying organs everywhere or the casualties’ amputated limbs while comfortably taking your bath and softly stroking and fumbling your whole and sound body in the cosy water ? will you forget that your bed tonight was once that of a dictator who, like you, with the same carelessness had thrown his suit and shoes distorting the order of the place fostering more and more his primitivity and barbarity ?
. Hold up your head, we, all your people, are there stuck to the ceiling, watching you, in the trap, laughing at the first silly and dull night of you! we are not leaving there, you have to get used to that. Try to sleep then ! you can discard your clothes ; don’t be embarrassed of your nakedness as real nudity, my president, is rather when you are stripped of your promises and when you start weaving your sins !
I beg your pardon, Mr. the president don’t throw your socks on the sofa as the General did. Get them out to the hall for we hate seeing your disgust. Keep, rather , the flowers in. We want to smell some of your hypocrisy through the roses’fragrance.
Mr. president don’t cuss your comarades, they have the right to be in the list of hypocrisy too. Mr. president don’t fart at the end of the night ; the people in the ceiling do not bear lying anymore. Mr. president I forgot to tell you to be wary while getting into bed ;below, there is a sheikh who would lead you down the right path.

Mr. president, who runs alone, wins alone, sleeps alone, open the door, here are the children toys you recommended . Did you like the bed ? sleep now, sleep as long as you wish, you are a lifelong president now, a lifetime of whales.
Mr. president there are three women knocking on God’s door : a veiled one ; another wearing a niqab and a third unveiled one. they are asking for their portions from the booty too. Mr the president will you go to bed early ?
Mr. president, the African Ghandi, our goat is fleshy, all our sheeps are fleshy too, Sir . we know well that your burnoose is costly and we know too that you are, unlike Ghandi, not abstemious. You are neither Omar Ibn Khattab nor the Mahatma! Below that expensive burnoose there is an expensive suit and beneath it there are underclothes. They are as high-priced as our spirits and blood. Our blood which dyed your scarlet carpet hastily leading you towards our usurped palace. Sleep peacefully, sleep calmly to wake up a president in the early morning !
« Mr. president, thank you for your speech, however , Your excellency, let me tell you that we no longer believe in speeches after trying our bodies as firewood in the flame. Mr. The president ; we swear to God that we love you, but we hate « the president » !
Mr. president, congratulations on what you achieved ! congratulations on betraying yourself ! You toppled nine presidents all at once and won over them. You struck down nine zealous candidates and ruined their very well-known names.
Mr. president ; congratumations ! You will, like Bilal, the first muslim muezzin, moan under the burden of the heavy rock : « one God, only one God ! » but will oath and unification be of any avail to you then?
Congratulations ! congratulations ! we are there dangling from the ceiling praying to you. Yet, if you, on the morrow, break your oath ; only cursing you would rejoice our frustrated selves.

Mr. President, prove to me that Abdullah Quousaymi was mistaken when he said that : «the arab rebel converts levels of weakness, deficiency, dullness, obscenity, triviality, from being possible levels and hidden or stagnant, silent, humble, indolent or unspoken into being factual, tumultuous, thrilling, energetic, seen, legible, and ferociously declared. He turns the invisibility and inertia into revelation and defamation. The arab revolutionary displays his handicaps and imperfections plainly everywhere ; in the marketplaces, in the clubs and in the streets. He displays them worldwide »

Prove to me that he was unfair to the arab rebels. Show me that he was merely raving and bearing grudges against us even before our birth when he said : « every arab rebel must be much more violent in his primitiveness and barbarianism, and in his scientific, intellectual, psychological, ethical and also linguistic mindset than in the former era, against which he rebelled or the rule which he knocked down. Every arab rebel must be more tyrannical, aggressive, ridiculous, trivial, arrogant, and psychologically more barbarian ». How could you lead me not to scream : « oh shame…glory is to you ! »

Sleep, sleep well , sleep peacefully Mr. The president, We are here to look after you, all the people are here, up in the ceiling. We are the ceiling, don’t think of striking us down as we will collapse on you !
Mr. the president, congratulations !

A propos kamelriahi

KAMEL RIAHI Kamel riahi: tunisian novelist and journalist , born in 1974. He works as a cultural correspondent for prominent universal broadcasting including; newspapers, televisions and news agencies. He worked as the head of translation department at Arab Higher Institute for Translation in Algeria .In 2010, he returned to Tunisia where he joined the ministry of culture and took charge of the cultural panel in important spaces in the Tunisian’s capital. In 2007, got the “Golden Alcomar” prize to the best novel named “the scalpel” in Tunisia.In 2009 he was the only winner in “the Beirut 39” literary contest organized by high festival foundation to choose only 39 best arab novelists .One of the best five writers under the age of forty selected to participate in “the Bouker’s competition for two rounds. He issued a set of literary and monetary books such as; “Gulls memory” , “Stole my face” , “the scalpel” , “the gorilla” , “the movement of narrative fiction and it’s climate” and “thus spoke Philippe lejeune” and “the novel writing of wasiney al aaradj”.Some of his works have been translated into French,English,Italian,Hebrew and Portuguese languages.
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