The Sheep Barn

“The Sheep Barn”

By Ali Makki (Aliad)


I have packed my wares and belongings,

For the Sheep Barn waves at me, demanding

I pass the narrow roads of Sanad in the morning.

Gazing at the miserable, dull faces

I smile as usual, at the cats, the passing sheep,

And the selected few of human beings…  

There it is, the Sheep Barn, the School of Knowledge.10372554_10206131720162431_3642982968663535854_n




“Violena” — Composed & Arranged by Ali Makki (Amylian)

“Violena” — Composed and Arranged by Amylian.

I still remember the days when I was composing this piece.  I wanted to capture a somber tone blended with a dark atmosphere that can sting the hearts.  This piece went so many phases and changes and I think I am proud of the latest one, which I am presenting now.

However, the title “Violena” is hard to describe.  It’s derived from “violin” and as for  the “na”, it’s just my way of making it sound like a female.   In truth, I wrote this piece accompanied by female soprano, but since I am only working on a simple computer and programs, I couldn’t include it.  I am a man who loves female voices and I consider them to be heavenly and bringer of happiness or sadness. Their voice is like a world in its own, just waiting to be unleashed. At the end, I decided to include the organs to set the dark mood.  


This is the first 4 bars.  Of course in the latest version, it’s different because of all the arrangement and mixing that’s been done!  You can listen to the piece below on Soundcloud.  Remember, I am just composing music for fun and I am no professional whatsoever.

“Pearl of Love” — Ali Makki


This poem is written on Epic scale.  It’s not yet completed so I wanted to preview the first part.  It’s long though, but I hope you like it.  Feedback is appreciated.

Pearl of Love”

By Ali Makki (AKA Amylian)

Started: 4th May, 2011

The Seven Heavens I implore

To sing in me this Ancient Land’s folklore,

Of Dilmun, of Kings, of Pagan gods, and of war,

Spurring youth’s dreams, spreading witless abhor.

Oh, Arous[1], bestow upon me a miracle to chant

Sorrow’s lullaby and Sennacherib’s gristly rant

That shed blood. Lamentation overflowed Lulu Square,

The cries of children trebled, thundered everywhere.

Ah! The harrowing of the Hate-Inflammation did pace

In the cursed-loved land, against the Other Race.

Valentine was the day change staggered,  

As Other Race screamed of love, bullets rattled.

How so like the rain, it hit without warning,

Striking the gray sand and all there is, fading,

Tearing skulls bare, spouting on Lulu’s grass limbs and brains,

Oh! How impudent! Oh Tyrant, unfold the strangling chains

Off your people. All can grant death; it is wretchedly rife,

But not all can give wishful, desired, and dignified Life.

Aliad, beloved to Baharna, dear to hearts, rose with rage,

He, an unforgettable and aggressive resistance, would later wage

“I am to this resistance, this war of to be or not to be,

I shall shatter the earth beneath. I am to face that enemy;

I have no destructive weapons, but I am too furious for you

Have laid your dirty hands on our beloved women. Woe!

Wrath! I can tolerate these travesty no more, petulant fools.

Days of yore! Give me strength, give me strength to rule.


From cloistered villages within the Land, Resistance ensued,

And the mad King, Sennacherib, slew men and women,

He would linger in his lewd indulgences,

Suddenly, there was no life, no joy,

All have gone, all lovers passed away and buried.

Moans accompanied the lonely dusk in the Land,

And their laughter echoed in the ears of the dead,

No kingdom, no country offered aid, only silence.

Depravity within people deepened,

No longer were they content with a passionate embrace;

They suffered enough, thus, what lived in their heart was rage.


Aliad was laid on the ground, hands and heart to the World Maker,

Aliad, the Other warrior, thus spake, “Mine soul’s Taker:

I endow what I am losing to the cause of those who shall inherit

My death that would stem their bravery and instill in minds the wit

They lack. It explodes now; I am delighted. Oh Gentle Breeze,

Blood covers my vision; I wish to watch my allies from above so please

Make their grieves, loss, suffering clear for the World to wondrously behold,

One day, joy will be glossing, reigning supreme, our stories to be forever told.

Mother: Deeper I sink, into the intercepted Dark,

Discreet, but alloyed with seductive furl

Like a bird of grace that swims the heavenly sky,

And delicately dancing like an inverted butterfly,

Sennacherib prohibited our art, and slew our hearts,

Pierced them with arrows, struck them with swords.

Deeper I sink, and brighter it becomes more,

Throw at me, mother, the love you carved for me in store.

Ah! How serene,

How generous,

How lovely is this grave,

How pure are those lilies.

Here I am delighted; no repulsive pain,

Remember, I have died, to make a better future,

To shape a true, and a happy Bahrain.”


Thus spake Aliad, his eyes stopped at the sight of his mother,

Who stood dismayed, tears in her eyes, demanding clean water,

Hoping to revive the brave warrior –her son- whose head

Resting on her lap as he was long departed, covered in red.

Oh Great Zainab, your virtues are carved within, exhorted to appease

Aliad’s mother, who did mourn her son with a heart displeased.

The anguished mother, with waning spirit, not yet curbed,

Kissed his forehead and spake, “Oh my son, you have served

Your people valiantly. Oh my son! Why have you left me alone?

Me, your own mother? Your own flesh. You left so young, so soon.

How like at your birth when I first heard you cry; I laughed a little while

And now I see you enclosed with blood, bullets wretched and vile

That penetrated your sacred flesh. Oh! Look at the trees, weeping

Your death.  Look at how beautiful they are, sorrowfully wreathing

In pain over your loss. I could hear them. I hear your dirge

Being sung by branches, music plays so your soul to purge.

Thou Tyrant! Did you believe that we have become humble and contemptible

Because of our own captivity and the martyrdom our gallant people?

As you have obstructed all paths for us, and took us captives,

Driven from place to place, we have grown strong and adaptive,

You dare suppose Allah has taken away his blessings from us?

You dare suppose killing the innocents you have, thus,

Become great and respectable that Allah will treat you

With special grace and kindness? Wretch, you are God’s foe.

You have made yourself so inflated by your unbearable arrogance,

You have made yourself boastful, lost sight of all that is substance.

You have forgotten what the One says: Must not believe,

Disbelievers, that Our respite is for your good, We weave

Time to let you increase your sins, for you, there

Will be a humiliating torment, not a second to spare.”[2]

The dismayed mother ended her speech and she stood

Looking at the eyes of people. The tormented mother could

Live not without her son, which causes her deep grief,

Oh! Divinity, sweep away her tears, bless her with relief.

The gentle leaves of the weeping trees flew on calm air,

The tempestuous blore wreaked the enemies’ lair,

So stood the people and shouted, “May Heaven cripple you

Tyrant, may our victory emerge, so all shall proudly see.”

Such will, such faith glowing out of spirits like roses rise

From earth to embrace the rays of the sun, to grow wise

And to bloom to its true beauty. I heard a blue rose

Grew from the grave of that warrior. The wafted woes

of the grief-stricken mothers reached Heaven for a sign,

Far to the clear sky, Woes did reach The Throne of the Divine.

Oh Heaven! The clouds parted, the sun disappeared I heard

Divinity spake to the people as were seen many a red bird,

Of grace flying the twilight, swimming the blissful sky,

And delicately dancing like one inverted butterfly,

Deeper they sank, into the intercepted, gloomy moon,

Clouds stirred strangely, the stars were glumly strewn

With seductive furls of fiery auras and halos. So many did rejoice,

But in awe they beheld, and believed it was God’s ultimate choice.

Indeed it was. I have never seen such a wonder in life, a sign

That strikes one’s soul with fear, with splendor and awe so refined,

God spake to his creation, to nature, to all that is living,

His Divine words flowed, golden, sublime and smoothly spiraling,

“Think not of those whom death claimed in Allah’s way as dead.

Nay, they live, finding their sustenance in the presence, instead,

Of their Lord.” His glorious words echoed throughout the Dark Sky.

The Grace of God, the Kiss of Freedom for its incarnated, majestic truth

Of the triumph ahead and of attribution to pure bloom of youth.

In the middle of the night, the people, under one roof, sat together,

Telling their Stories at Pearl Square. What exactly happened there?  


[1] According to Imam Ali, Arous is the Sixth Heaven. Al-Burhan fi Tafsir al-Qur’an. V. 5. pp. 415

[2] From Zainab’s speech to Yazid. The Surat is Al-Omran.

Sputnik Sweetheart

Sputnik Sweetheart” By Haruki Murakami


“My Impression”

Another of Haruki Murakami’s masterpieces is Sputnik Sweetheart.  It’s not strange for Haruki to use psychological metaphors and simple narrative devices to create an effect that would instill in the readers some twisted emotions.  The plot is simple, it’s about an aspiring writer, Sumire –which means Violet — who craves to be successful.  Yet she finds it difficult to cope with society, a misfit to say the least. “K”, the narrator is an interesting person beyond any means. Period.  Haruki discusses the theme of loneliness — which is his greatest assets– sexual desire,  and friendship.  Not to mention the love triangle.  It’s interesting.

The flow of the narration is sweet, and enjoyable.  Filled with images, metaphors, dark humors is Haruki’s Sputnik Sweetheart.   I am still half way so I don’t want to talk more about it, and in fact, I am reading it for the second time, but this time in English.  The first was an Arabic translation .  The English one is far more superior.  

Well, Haruki Murakami can be a wanker at times, but him being one is worth it.

The Art of Music

“The Art of Music”


In the past two days, I’ve been thinking of a certain philosophy to the way I create music. Well, I am not professional, but I create music as a hobby.  An amateur you might say.   However, I can say, music is simply in our mind.  If you can get it out of your head down on a paper, or any software out there, is enough.  Unless of course you can let a studio mix it for you, or you’d rather rent a whole orchestra to perform it is entirely up to you. Haha.  Reasons behind music is what makes it alive just as there might be a reason for living. 

I’d like to share today two pieces of music I have created.  They are not exactly what I had in mind, for I had a bigger vision, but, unfortunately, limited resources and software.


#1 The Beast Awakens – Composed & Arranged by me.

Well, I cannot ignore the fact that I have been influenced by Chopin here. However, the title bears meaning, and I guess it broadens the imagination.


#2 Blue World — Composed & Arranged by me.

The fact that I live in a hazardous environment, surrounded by oil factories is the reason I composed this one.

Embrace the Hour


I’ve just wanted to share this short and simple poem with you.  I have read it once in the ASC center at the University of Bahrain. What do you all think?

“Embrace the Hour”


Ali Makki AKA Amylian


Listen to my story and wonder,

To the man who saw the deep,

Everyday, I wake up, clinging to high hopes

That I would cherish the morning breeze.


Embrace the hour, be free,

For time will have vanished

by the time the void holds

this world, lay it in ruins.


All that is must be known though,

Embrace the hour,

That is, before you go.

Welcome to my World


This is my first post here and I would welcome everyone from across the world to my own world.  My name is Ali Makki and my pen-name is ‘Amylian’.  I come from Bahrain.

No wonder that my world is filled with amazing desires for literature, specifically Greeks Classics and Bahraini Mythology in which I will try hard to approach the latter. I do write my own poems and stories, which, I am sure they will be to your liking.

The Fallen

From the piece, ‘Beatrice’

Having a dream of becoming a composer is also an apparition I had literary followed.  I composed few music and of course non-profitable and non-professional, but just as a hobby. I crave to be a composer and I am self-studying Music Theory and Composition really hard as much as I could. My favorite instrument is the Violincello, which you may notice in every track I compose!  You can check my sounds in Soundcloud and of course give your feedback.’

Moving on,  I am currently an English Teacher at Al-Tawon Secondary School for Boys. It is 5 minutes away by car. I guess my dream has come true, but teaching is an exhausting business, but if there is one thing or two this profession has taught me is learn how to stay ‘vigilant’ as well well ‘well-planned and prepared’


Part of a plan ‘Our Students are our Teachers.’


This is me, Mr. Ali

I cannot say that I am not enjoying the way the students look at me and calling me ‘Mr. Ali’ or in Arabic, ‘Astad Ali’.  This feeling has so much weigh; that is, if it falls on your shoulders, you must be strong enough to carry it.  Will I be strong enough to do so? I wonder.

Anyway, I hope my next blog will be less introductory and I will try hard to bring you interesting works of mine, be it literature, philosophy, music, videogames, and more…!

Thank You.