Archive for ‘“When I have thoughts, I innovate”’

April 18, 2016

A Photographic Surf inside Damascus

by mkleit

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After spending four days in the Syrian capitol, Damascus, after covering the parliamentary elections, I couldn’t but share the beauty of the city that seemed to be well and alive despite the on-going war.

The main focus of the photo-tour was the what makes Damascus great: its history, diversity, and strength to survive against all odds.

All photos were taken by me: Mhamad Kleit

I hope you would enjoy them as much as I did while taking them.

March 25, 2013

New Media Experience

by mkleit

May Chidiac Foundation – Media Institute Source:


Throughout my journalism experience, I have been part of many barcamps, trainings, workshops, and seminars that revolve around the topic of journalism, and media in general, I even gave workshops and lectures of my own to NGOs about the basics and beneficial usage of Social Media.

At the May Chidiac Foundation – Media Institute (MCFMI), a full month of Social Media training for journalism, fundamentals of multimedia, and online journalism trainings were at their peak to transfer the instructor’s knowledge to us students.

But here’s the catch; it wasn’t about actually learning three journalism-related courses in a a short time period. It was about recognizing the importance of the techniques and applying them on the spot.

Specifically in the Social Media for Journalism training, I have personally added knowledge to my previously attained information in the realm of digital media/storytelling. To be honest, it’s not about how many many friends/followers/contacts one has on any social media platform, it’s about how to inform and influence people with your own thoughts and ideology.

I’ve actually seen a passionate instructor, Mr. Roland Abi Najem, that has actually pointed out several issues that I have not noticed in social media, and I have had my modest experience in giving social media trainings. Some of the matters were to stress on visuals while sharing a thought or updating a “status”, keep an eye out for security and type of info shared, etc…

And on professional level, if I had another chance in teaching digital media, Roland has inspired me to give a new method and grant new material for my students.

The MCFMI experience wasn’t something forgettable, it has truly stressed on several issues that would’ve taken me a lot of time to, at least, practice.

February 16, 2013

Auguries of Innocence

by mkleit

I’ve felt that this poem relates a lot to our current global affairs, no?


William Blake – Auguries of Innocence


To see a world in a grain of sand,

And a heaven in a wild flower,

Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,

And eternity in an hour.


A robin redbreast in a cage

Puts all heaven in a rage.


A dove-house fill’d with doves and pigeons

Shudders hell thro’ all its regions.

A dog starv’d at his master’s gate

Predicts the ruin of the state.


A horse misused upon the road

Calls to heaven for human blood.

Each outcry of the hunted hare

A fibre from the brain does tear.


A skylark wounded in the wing,

A cherubim does cease to sing.

The game-cock clipt and arm’d for fight

Does the rising sun affright.

Every wolf’s and lion’s howl

Raises from hell a human soul.


The wild deer, wand’ring here and there,

Keeps the human soul from care.

The lamb misus’d breeds public strife,

And yet forgives the butcher’s knife.

The bat that flits at close of eve

Has left the brain that won’t believe.


The owl that calls upon the night

Speaks the unbeliever’s fright.

He who shall hurt the little wren

Shall never be belov’d by men.


He who the ox to wrath has mov’d

Shall never be by woman lov’d.

The wanton boy that kills the fly

Shall feel the spider’s enmity.


He who torments the chafer’s sprite

Weaves a bower in endless night.

The caterpillar on the leaf

Repeats to thee thy mother’s grief.


Kill not the moth nor butterfly,

For the last judgement draweth nigh.

He who shall train the horse to war

Shall never pass the polar bar.


The beggar’s dog and widow’s cat,

Feed them and thou wilt grow fat.

The gnat that sings his summer’s song

Poison gets from slander’s tongue.


The poison of the snake and newt

Is the sweat of envy’s foot.

The poison of the honey bee

Is the artist’s jealousy.


The prince’s robes and beggar’s rags

Are toadstools on the miser’s bags.

A truth that’s told with bad intent

Beats all the lies you can invent.


It is right it should be so;

Man was made for joy and woe;

And when this we rightly know,

Thro’ the world we safely go.


Joy and woe are woven fine,

A clothing for the soul divine.

Under every grief and pine

Runs a joy with silken twine.


The babe is more than swaddling bands;

Every farmer understands.

Every tear from every eye

Becomes a babe in eternity;

This is caught by females bright,

And return’d to its own delight.


The bleat, the bark, bellow, and roar,

Are waves that beat on heaven’s shore.

The babe that weeps the rod beneath

Writes revenge in realms of death.


The beggar’s rags, fluttering in air,

Does to rags the heavens tear.

The soldier, arm’d with sword and gun,

Palsied strikes the summer’s sun.


The poor man’s farthing is worth more

Than all the gold on Afric’s shore.

One mite wrung from the lab’rer’s hands

Shall buy and sell the miser’s lands;

Or, if protected from on high,

Does that whole nation sell and buy.


He who mocks the infant’s faith

Shall be mock’d in age and death.

He who shall teach the child to doubt

The rotting grave shall ne’er get out.


He who respects the infant’s faith

Triumphs over hell and death.

The child’s toys and the old man’s reasons

Are the fruits of the two seasons.


The questioner, who sits so sly,

Shall never know how to reply.

He who replies to words of doubt

Doth put the light of knowledge out.


The strongest poison ever known

Came from Caesar’s laurel crown.

Nought can deform the human race

Like to the armour’s iron brace.


When gold and gems adorn the plow,

To peaceful arts shall envy bow.

A riddle, or the cricket’s cry,

Is to doubt a fit reply.


The emmet’s inch and eagle’s mile

Make lame philosophy to smile.

He who doubts from what he sees

Will ne’er believe, do what you please.

If the sun and moon should doubt,

They’d immediately go out.


To be in a passion you good may do,

But no good if a passion is in you.

The whore and gambler, by the state

Licensed, build that nation’s fate.


The harlot’s cry from street to street

Shall weave old England’s winding-sheet.

The winner’s shout, the loser’s curse,

Dance before dead England’s hearse.


Every night and every morn

Some to misery are born,

Every morn and every night

Some are born to sweet delight.


Some are born to sweet delight,

Some are born to endless night.

We are led to believe a lie

When we see not thro’ the eye,

Which was born in a night to perish in a night,

When the soul slept in beams of light.


God appears, and God is light,

To those poor souls who dwell in night;

But does a human form display

To those who dwell in realms of day.



November 10, 2012

Life is NOT Worth 1000LL

by mkleit

Van drivers are known for their crazy driving and they’re ALWAYS in a hurry to reach their checkpoints. Nevermind the lives inside the automobile, they’re in more hurry though it’s their job to transport people from one place to another.

So I was going back home from Hamra last night after a long rainy day. I found van 4 (that takes a route from Hamra’s Fransabank to some place in the Southern suburb of Beirut) and mounted in, since I’m a public transportation supporter, but probably last night was my final day to be one.

The “sheuffeur” teleported us passengers using his ultra-sonic speed found in his motor, so we’d reach Tayouneh highway in a mere 10 minutes, which is relatively VERY fast, taking into consideration the estimated 20min time lapse any automobile needs to reach Tayouneh from Hamra, as well as the never-ending traffic of Bechara el Khoury highway.

This ultra-sonic speed, combined with multiple breakings of traffic laws such as THE RED LIGHT and SPEED LIMITS, resulted in reaching the edges of Beirut Mall in a jiffy.

The full packed van, minus two passengers, roamed Saida’s old highway with speed and horn honking at every 2 second stop due to traffic. It’s known that van drivers are opportunists, so seconds before the light turned red, the van raced through traffic and went on the sidewalk to cross the Zebra line.

Though the light turned red before he reached the intersection, but it didn’t matter for him… The only thing that mattered that there was a guy driving on the intersection and almost crashed to the side of the van. That really pissed him off.

The car driver started cussing his head off and the van driver parked aside to join the dude. All passengers were in a state of fear and shock that they’ve escaped certain collision, if not damaged, then death.

So, doing the “righteous” thing, I started complaining to person next to me, to result a huge querrell inside the van between all passengers against the “sheuffeur”. (Yes, I know the Lebanese mentality)

But my “righteous” acts did not stop at that point, I “threw a command” to the passenger to leave the van to its driver and take another… Because our lives is NOT worth 1000LL !

That being said, the “sheuffeur” ran back to his van ordering the ex-passengers to go back in… Sadly, none listened! and the big bad driver went to his checkpoint, probably all alone.

April 14, 2012

Angels and Demons

by mkleit

Angels and demons…

The good and the bad…

Stronger in meaning

In the dreams I had

I’m shedding a light on

A series of fictions

Where a hypocrite of nights

One that wasn’t filled with dreary.

Thy sight darkness luring in thy chamber
Light shalt over cometh and nothing more

I have forgotten the lights

I have felt weary

“Keep them on,

For this night will be long,

Ever since midnight knocked”

I’ve lost focus of the chamber’s door,

And gazed at non-moving clock

To see it heartless, as never before

Just another night of no shock,

Just a nightmare and nothing more.

April 12, 2012

by mkleit
February 15, 2012

حفنة رمال

by mkleit

كان في استطاعة حفنة رمالٍ ان تخفي عني علامتك ، حين كنت لا أفقه معناها ، و لكنني أستجليها في كل ما كان يواريها عني من قبل. فهي التي تتلون فوق أفواه الزهر، و تتألق على زبد الأمواج، و تزهى في قمم الجبال.

رسائلك تعبد دروبي، و لكني أضل طريقي… فليس في الأمواه الممتدة و لا في السماء المزرقة أثر مرسوم يقتفى. فذاك الممر مظلل بأجنحة الطيور، بجذى النجوم، بأزاهير المواسم المتعاقبة. و لكني أشحت بوجهي عنك حيناً ، لذا أخذت أقرأ رسائلك عرضاً من دون أن أفهم معانيها و أحياناً لا أريد فهمها.

فحين يمتد الليل ساكناً، و تسري النجوم، نجماً في أثر نجم، سأفتح الرسالة على ركبتي و ألوذ بالصمت، ألمس حبرك بيدي و أملسه على جبيني و أشدها الى قلبي.

 ستتلوها الأوراق المتهامسة و تنغمها الجداول المؤانسة و تغنيها أضواء النجوم المتجانسة، رسالة لم تتم لي قراءتها و قد خففت عن أعبائي و أحالت أغاني بدل أفكاري.

نصيبي من السعادة بين يديك، فهذا كان وعدك،فما لبث أن رأيت على قطرات دموعي تلألأ نورك. لذا أتردد في اتباع الآخرين خشية أن أفوتك فأصر على السير في طريق يؤدي اليك.

اذ أمشي في صمت الليل المهيب، وأقطف زهرة وأضفر منها أكاليل أضعها تاجاً لك، و أفعمها بعطرك، وأنت تنفخين بالناي موسيقى منتصف الليل و يسعى الهلال لسماعها و يبقى هائماً بين النجوم.

بتصرف: محمد قليط

January 15, 2012

I’ve Found Peace in the Voice of the Beggar

by mkleit

Hamra street made me learn a valuable lesson tonight… I was walking around, trying to find my way back home from the street corner of Fransabank, taking the van 4 back. But strangely and unusually there was something different at that time, there was a very awkward yet beautiful voice. An old man was sitting on the side walk in front of Montreal center, he was a beggar.

I was crossing the road from the front of Simply Red cafe towards the other side of the road, holding concern and burden over my shoulders and in my heart, where I was driven by a serenading voice. I saw an old man, wrinkles all over his face, grayish white hair, slightly visible beard, broken teeth, tan skin, and small weak figure. The usual scene of an old beggar in Hamra street, yet that was not the deal this time.
We got used for seeing beggars with talent in movies and sometimes in our daily lives, some old dude with a musical instrument, chanting for the passing by audience, subliminally asking for a token of gratitude, or in other words: money so he could survive the day without hunger.
The voice that dragged me towards that man was thought to be a chant, a song that he made up or performing for some famous singer, but no. It was the first time I see a beggar reciting the Qur’an with perfect voice, tonality, and no phonetic errors.

I stood a few meters away from him, just listening. I tried to take a photo of him, but he just hid his face from the camera’s lens, gesturing: Please let me be!
I respected that action, thus I just sat near him and listened.
The thing is, I have read the Qur’an and still read it, I’ve heard it millions of times before. but when it came from that man, I’ve listened to it, I recognized the meaning of the verses, I understood Allah’s message from the voice of that man when he went from a high pitched voice to a low one, as if he has been studying sound performance for many years or has been reciting holy verses at mosque since birth.

Ever felt magic racing inside yew and simply taking yew away from one unwanted place to a sanctuary, where yew sense freedom and comfort? I was there in the few minutes I’ve lived beside that man. It was another type of meditation, better than drinking the usual cup of tea in the early morning or enjoying the success of a diploma, this was spiritual not physical. I forgot what was troubling me for a long while, and I’m willing to go back the days coming, hoping to see him again, to live that experience again and again.

I’ve found peace in the voice of the beggar.

October 27, 2011

The Contradiction of Beauty

by mkleit

Lovers joined hands and shared embraces, educated began spreading their words over blank papers, and people in general paused, almost took a 20min deep breath and slowly exhaled with the dancing breeze. The life forms all seized action to stop and stare, as if they were wishing for that moment never to end, to freeze time in the smooth summer wind, as beauty showered them from the front, and gave life to the most profound image found, until they have lived inside that tranquil picture.

The serenity is bounded by the margin of the divine painting, inspired by the unassembled waves crashing on the shores and the glittery water reflecting magnificence in the blue ceiling above. Between this and that, overcame perfection when the orange disk started taking its last breath for the day.  As if it’s hanging to its life with the purple sky pillows, whispering through the sea to all creation; “come and see, before I take my­ final step to a watery grave. You’ll see the beauty in colors as I fade away, and appreciate the splendor of contradiction.”

We Gather Around Beauty
October 27, 2011

A Midnight Realm

by mkleit
The Notebook

"I Spread Knowledge, But Give Myself the Appropriate Credit"

 I opened the door to the rooftop on one midnight in my summer days. A tender breeze tickled me, spreading goose bumps all over my body. I stopped for a few seconds, placing my book on my side, just to inhale the cool summer air. I went into a transitional phase; some nostalgic childish thoughts roamed my mind, until a crow broke the silence, with a single scream, as if it uttered my name aloud, it echoed through the alleys, above the rooftops, and found way in my chest, leaving it to rumble as a teaser to my state of serene. I clinched tighter to my book until I almost felt its moisture. That was my sweat squeezing out like crazy and soaking the book.

It was a cold summer breeze, yet I did not feel its touch, what I only sensed was an infernal heat rising from my depths. My heart fiercely pounding back and forth on my ribs and sideways on my lungs forcing me to breathe hard. Seconds passed by till I comforted myself a little with the serenades of the crickets as I watched the crow’s silhouette gradually shrinking in size until it became almost invisible amongst the circumference of the moon and behind the shrouded mist. Suddenly, I heard nothing, as if that bird was life to everything here and as it faded, the thing alive remained for sure, that silence and nothing more.

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