Nathalie C.M. Sabbagh
Bio
I don't see the world the same; none of us do, and yet, here we are, somehow connected with this greater intelligence called life, as part of the process and not as separate. These are excerpts from my books,
www.nathaliecmsabbagh.com
Enjoy!
Stories (14/0)
Book of Anubis
(Psych Ward, 2021, B.C. Admitted Voluntarily) [...] and I’m off to a better start! The other patients call me Audrey as in Hepburn. With my short hair, minus a decrepit lure, we seemingly look alike. You’d be surprised just how fast you make friends; compare stories through hollow stares carried by the masses. Bill’s your best example: old man lost his wife, 50 years married, no children, siblings…. Doesn’t take a genius! Perfect candidate for electroconvulsive therapy. Yeah! That's still a common practice. His past honourably held by fellow inmates […] irrelevant, societally erased, under new management. His forehead bears a permanent neon’d “VACANCY”. I suppose ignorance is bliss when psychiatry’s so facile.
By Nathalie C.M. Sabbaghabout a month ago in Poets
Within a Circle of Glimpses
Within a Circle of Glimpses Earth, Winter 2018, Anno Domini First Glimpse: A Random Visit She was sitting on her favourite chair: her comfy blue chair, to be exact. Enjoying a haphazard brew of pepper, raw honey, warm water, olive oil, and turmeric powder. Yum! Wearing a kyanite necklace, her choice for the solitary occasion. Another great day full of lessons, she thought. A soothing energy missing a cozy blanket and perhaps some smooth jazz for ambience.
By Nathalie C.M. Sabbaghabout a month ago in Chapters
Amuse-Bouche
A play on words: (Curtains! Cue vocals)! Breathless strides stream an array of minds. The entr'acte heeds present times. The Second Act speaks of Expressionism. A circus theatre draped in stripes. Emotions in waiting set the stage. Its shape: a shameless polygon! Backstage: the proem, (create suspense)! A coyish tongue beckons gifted rights to freedom of speech. Its monologue sways neither without proper form nor whatnots. Words of attribute purr scented furs via auditory whiffs spelling a kiss. A rose petalled row in a curtsy and a bow. Lastly, a hint of voweled pheromones in a standing ovation. Forever lost in applauding hearts. FIN. "Encore!" A fool's chant. (Curtains)!
By Nathalie C.M. Sabbagh2 months ago in Poets
Misters Finger and Toe
When I was but a young child, I placed my touch on a rainbow'd light and watched its rays pierce through my fingertips. I chased that sense of enchantment captured by amazement ever since. With an eying presence I'd blink once to take a photo, twice to remember it. Through my looking glass, I was a photographer. The spectrum of light, my subject and only focus. My imagination, a wild horse at play, possessed the undeniable ability to gallop freely through the quantum field of possibilities. I saw the world through heroic alpha waves, and I wouldn't grow to become a beta! After all, I was some sort of superhuman: I had abilities beyond adulting years. I started to study my body's strange phalanges. Why were they even called fingers and toes? No doubt from Misters Finger and Toe (no wonder things were named just so).
By Nathalie C.M. Sabbagh2 months ago in Poets
- Top Story - February 2024
SonoraTop Story - February 2024
I was but a teen blessed with the gift of losing myself. Don’t know when, where, or even how I swayed the arms of presence but I’d be gone. Just one of those habits, drifting away or off to a different planet. Knowing now, I was simply numb. Numb. What does that mean to a broken one? Nothing. No ups or emotional baggage, buried long ago and tossed away the shovel. Believing my lies to no longer be troublesome.
By Nathalie C.M. Sabbagh2 months ago in Poets
