Foto cortesia del prof Kareem Abdullah -Iraq
La canzone del crollo – Racconto breve
Karim Abdullah
21/10/2025
Canzone del crollo
“lui” si è svegliato in una mattina diversa da tutte le altre. La luce che fuoriusciva dalle crepe delle finestre non era luce, ma cenere pallida che cadeva sugli oggetti. Si sedette sul bordo del letto, sentendo il terreno rotolare lentamente sotto di lui, come se qualcosa dentro di lui si stesse silenziosamente sgretolando.
Non sapeva da quanto tempo fosse in corso questo crollo. Forse dal giorno in cui ha perso il viso in uno specchio che non gli restituisce più i lineamenti come erano prima. Vide in lei un uomo pallido con gli occhi di vetro, simili a due buchi pieni di paura.
Uscì in strada.
La città era terribilmente silenziosa e i volti sembravano spettri anonimi. Cercò di ricordare i nomi delle persone che amava, ma trovò solo voci lontane che si frantumavano nella sua memoria. Si sentiva come se stesse camminando in un sogno pesante e infinito, e che ogni passo che faceva lo stava immergendo sempre più in profondità in una nebbia interiore e infallibile.
All’interno fu una piccola guerra, ma più feroce di tutte le guerre.
Non era tra lui e il mondo, ma tra lui e se stesso. Ci sono eserciti di paura che si muovono nel suo petto, cavalieri di vecchi ricordi che gli trafiggono il cuore in ogni momento. Salil riusciva a sentire i suoi pensieri contrastanti, a vedere il fumo uscire dalla sua anima, a sentire l’odore del suo bruciore e non riusciva a urlare.
Si fermò davanti a un muro grigio e fissò la strada. Sembrava che tutti i passanti camminassero nella stessa direzione, ma lui era bloccato in mezzo alla strada, senza sapere dove andare.
All’improvviso intravide un volto tra la folla — il volto di una donna che era stata una giornata primaverile. Non era sicuro se fosse davvero lei o se il suo cuore l’avesse inventata per sopravvivere alla sua solitudine.
Lei gli sorrise, o lui pensò che sorridesse, così lui si mosse verso di lei, ma man mano che si avvicinava, l’immagine si allontanava, svanendo a poco a poco, finché non si scioglieva nell’aria come vapore.
Fece una pausa, tremò, rendendosi conto che l’amore era solo un’altra illusione… una nuova ferita aggiunta alla sua vecchia guerra. Quel volto, che pensava fosse la sua salvezza, non era altro che uno specchio della sua tristezza, e così sapeva che non stava scappando da nessuno, ma da se stesso.
Tornò a casa dopo che la giornata si era spenta nei suoi occhi. Si sedette davanti alla finestra, guardando il cielo. Era grigia come il suo cuore e le nuvole camminavano lentamente come soldati stanchi. Chiese a bassa voce: La guerra è finita? Oppure sono ancora all’inizio?
Non ha ricevuto risposta.
Tuttavia, all’improvviso il suo cuore batté come se qualcosa dentro di lui fosse crollato definitivamente. Sorrise un piccolo sorriso — era come un’ammissione nascosta di sconfitta.
In quel momento tutto si sistemò. Non sentiva più i suoni nella sua testa, né la guerra lo colpì al petto. Lo sentì sciogliersi lentamente, come il ghiaccio che si scioglie nelle mani calde.
Quando il mattino riapparve, tutto era com’era —la città, il muro, il cielo grigio — tranne lui, perché era diventato un’ombra che camminava in una luce che nessuno poteva vedere.
Lettura in italiano a cura di Elisa Mascia -Italia
أنشودة الانهيار- قصة قصيرة
كريم عبدالله
2025 / 10 / 21
الادب والفن
أنشودة الانهيار
قصة قصيرة
استيقظ “هو” في صباحٍ لا يشبه الصباحات. الضوء الذي انسرب من شقوق النافذة لم يكن ضوءًا، بل رمادًا باهتًا يسقط فوق الأشياء. جلس على طرف السرير، شعر أنّ الأرض تميد تحته ببطء، كما لو أن شيئًا في داخله يتهدم بصمت.
لم يكن يعرف منذ متى بدأ هذا الانهيار. ربما منذ اليوم الذي فقد فيه وجهه في مرآةٍ لم تعد تُعيد ملامحه كما كانت. كان يرى فيها رجلاً شاحبًا بعينين زجاجيتين، تشبهان حفرتين امتلأتا بالخوف.
خرج إلى الشارع.
المدينة كانت هادئة على نحوٍ مفزع، والوجوه تمضي كأنها أطيافٌ بلا ملامح. حاول أن يتذكر أسماء الناس الذين يحبهم، لكنه لم يجد إلا أصواتًا بعيدة تتهشم في ذاكرته. كان يشعر بأنه يسير في حلمٍ ثقيلٍ لا نهاية له، وأن كل خطوة يخطوها تُغرقه أكثر في ضبابٍ داخلي لا ينجلي.
في داخله كانت حربٌ صغيرة ، لكنها أشرس من كل الحروب.
لم تكن بينه وبين العالم، بل بينه وبين نفسه. هناك جيوش من الخوف تتحرك في صدره، فرسان من الذكريات القديمة يطعنون قلبه في كل لحظة. كان يسمع صليل أفكاره المتعارضة، يرى الدخان يتصاعد من روحه، يشمّ رائحة احتراقه، ولا يستطيع أن يصرخ.
توقف عند جدارٍ رمادي وراح يحدّق في الشارع. كل المارة يبدون كأنهم يسيرون في اتجاهٍ واحد، أما هو فكان عالقًا في منتصف الطريق، لا يعرف إلى أين يذهب.
فجأة لمح وجهًا في الزحام — وجه امرأة كانت يومًا تشبه الربيع. لم يكن متأكدًا أهي هي حقًا أم أن قلبه اخترعها لينجو من وحدته.
ابتسمت له، أو ظنّ أنها ابتسمت، فتحرك نحوها، لكن كلما اقترب، تراجعت الصورة، تلاشت شيئًا فشيئًا، حتى ذابت في الهواء كالبخار.
توقف، ارتجف، أدرك أن الحب لم يكن سوى وهمٍ آخر… جرحٍ جديد يضاف إلى حربه القديمة. ذلك الوجه الذي ظنّه خلاصه لم يكن إلا مرآةً لحزنه، وهكذا عرف أنه لا يهرب من أحد، بل من نفسه.
عاد إلى بيته بعد أن أُطفئ النهار في عينيه. جلس أمام النافذة، ينظر إلى السماء. كانت رمادية كقلبه، والغيوم تسير ببطء كجنودٍ متعبين. تساءل بصوتٍ خافت: هل انتهت الحرب؟ أم أنني ما زلتُ في أولها؟
لم يأتِه جواب.
غير أن قلبه خفق فجأة كما لو أن شيئًا ما في داخله انهار نهائيًا. ابتسم ابتسامة صغيرة — كانت أشبه باعترافٍ خفيّ بالهزيمة.
في تلك اللحظة، سكن كل شيء. لم يعد يسمع الأصوات في رأسه، ولا وقع الحرب في صدره. شعر أنه يذوب ببطء، كما يذوب الجليد في يدٍ دافئة.
وعندما أطلَّ الصباح من جديد، كان كل شيء كما هو — المدينة، الجدار، السماء الرمادية — إلا هو، فقد صار ظلًّا يمشي في ضوءٍ لا يراه أحد.
The Collapse Song – Short Story
Karim Abdullah
2025/10/21
Literature and art
Song of Collapse
short story
“he” woke up in a morning unlike any other. The light that leaked from the window cracks was not light, but pale ash falling over objects. He sat on the edge of the bed, feeling the ground slowly rolling beneath him, as if something inside him was silently crumbling.
He didn’t know how long this collapse had been going on. Maybe since the day he lost his face in a mirror that no longer restores his features to what they were. He saw in her a pale man with glass eyes, resembling two holes filled with fear.
He went out into the street.
The city was terrifyingly quiet, and faces looked like featureless spectres. He tried to remember the names of the people he loved, but he found only distant voices shattering in his memory. He felt like he was walking in a heavy, endless dream, and that every step he took was plunging him deeper into an inner, unfailing fog.
Inside it was a small war, but fiercer than all wars.
It was not between him and the world, but between him and himself. There are armies of fear moving in his chest, knights of old memories stabbing his heart at every moment. Salil could hear his conflicting thoughts, see smoke rising from his soul, smell his burning, and could not scream.
He stopped at a gray wall and stared at the street. All the passersby seemed to be walking in one direction, but he was stuck in the middle of the road, not knowing where to go.
Suddenly he glimpsed a face in the crowd — the face of a woman who had been a spring-like day. He wasn’t sure if it was really her or if his heart had invented her to survive his loneliness.
She smiled at him, or he thought she smiled, so he moved towards her, but as he got closer, the image receded, fading little by little, until it melted in the air like steam.
He paused, trembled, realizing that love was just another illusion… a new wound added to his old war. That face, which he thought was his salvation, was nothing but a mirror of his sadness, and thus he knew that he was not running away from anyone, but from himself.
He returned home after the day had been extinguished in his eyes. He sat in front of the window, looking up at the sky. She was gray as his heart, and the clouds walked slowly like tired soldiers. He asked in a low voice: Is the war over? Or am I still at the beginning?
He didn’t get an answer.
However, his heart suddenly beat as if something inside him had collapsed permanently. He smiled a small smile — it was like a hidden admission of defeat.
At that moment, everything settled down. He no longer heard the sounds in his head, nor did the war strike him in the chest. He felt it melt slowly, like ice melting in warm hands.
When the morning appeared again, everything was as it was —the city, the wall, the gray sky — except him, for he had become a shadow walking in a light that no one could see.
Kareem Abdullah -Irak
Magiche Emozioni dell'Anima 