والله اهوى جمالك يالجوهرة

اللي يحب هالاغنيه اثق بذوقه

بتذكر شو حكيوا عليي
لما نطرت وإنت نسيت
وصار الشتي ينزل عليي
وإجا الصيف و إنت ما جيت

فيروز - كنا نتلاقى

حبيتك بالصيف - فيروز.

كنا نتلاقى

Georgette Sayagh - Yay Yay Ya Nasseeny - ياي ياي يا ناسيني - جورجيت صايغ.m4a

مرفرف الدلال   فاديا طنب الحاج

Clock strikes noon, like soft perfume,
In the hum of the fridge, I taste my gloom.
Concrete thoughts behind my smile,
Steel shelves stretch in cafeteria style.
Black bread wrapped in plastic sleep,
Pork so thin, it barely weeps.
I sit alone, a quiet bard—
Wishing life had a taste less hard.

But oh… across this table sea,
Shines a gold that calls to me.
A tiny tube of fire and grace—
May I borrow just a trace?

🎶 Could I borrow your mustard, just a little touch?
A bit of sun, I don’t ask much.
To lift this meal from cold to bold,
To taste a dream before it’s old. 🎶
🎶 No, I’m not trying to steal your bliss,
Just chasing warmth in a bite like this.
So if you’d share, don’t make it tough—
I’m just a man… who asks too much. 🎶

Eyes down low, I scan the spread,
A hunter for flavors, a heart half-fed.
Each bottle and jar, like treasure gleams,
I sail this sea of lunchtime dreams.
There! A tube, a bit worn down,
Its yellow label like a crooked crown.
And still I ask, with gentle grace:
“May I borrow a bit… just a taste?”

It’s not just food, it’s something more—
A hint of joy, a little lore.
That sacred tang, that final drop—
A borrowed thrill I pray won’t stop.

🎶 Could I borrow your mustard, just a dash?
A golden echo in a lunchbox clash.
Return it? Yes… or maybe no—
But I’ll be grateful, that you know. 🎶
🎶 Some bring wealth, some bring wine—
I bring a dream I hope you’ll sign.
So pass it here, don’t judge, don’t fuss—
I’m just a man… made bold by trust. 🎶

Cold roast pork, a tired bread,
Wrapped in clingfilm like words unsaid.
But give me spice, I’ll find my song—
In mustard heat, I do belong.
Laugh if you will, I won’t pretend—
It’s flavor I crave, not just the blend.
A yellow stream, a gentle crime—
A drop of joy in borrowed time.

🎶 Could I borrow your mustard? One last time,
A little light in this lunchroom rhyme.
I’ll give it back, when dreams return—
Or when the pork no longer burns. 🎶
🎶 No pride, no plan, just hope and crust—
That someone out there lends with trust.
So if I ask, with eyes that plead—
You’ll know it’s just… a mustard need. 🎶

(“A squeeze of fire...
on black bread sorrow.
The taste of hope…
in someone else’s bottle.
Gracias, amigo…”) 🎷

تراه يهوى جمالي؟

Tala

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