Picture courtesy of Lilia Araj.
Come on Jordan, this is it.
This is your chance, change the world for the better.
Contribute to society as society has done for you.
Change Jordan, Change Jordan, Change.
My questions are almost finished, so show me the answer. Read More
Hey Jordan.
Three things you should know
Life is nothing more than a series of random occurences picked out of an infinite list
Literature is nothing more than a series of ultimate values
An artist’s job is to show us what an eye and camera can’t.
What are you gonna do with your life? Read More
Hey Jordan! Over here.
Last night was fun, we should go out more often.
My mothers washing my clothes, if you’re wondering why I’m naked. Read More
Hey there. Hey Jordan! Come over to my table, lets have a drink.
Its nice out tonight, ay?
Its been a while!
Hows everything been going?
I think I dreamed of you last night.
Or maybe I didn’t, maybe I saw you. Maybe I was with you. Not sure actually, I think I loved you. Read More
Rose water,
Rose water,
Why did she have a daughter?
Why not another boy?
Flowers blooming in the water
In a pail for the dead.
Strange these flowers,
Like limp hands;
Rubied like
Old drying wounds.
When the blood coagulates
There will be no more rose water Read More
I am not a woman who
“Handles the servants well,”
But I do not long for the strange liberty,
Or even the hotly whispered possibility,
Of leaving West Amman.
“Never look back,” Omar said,
But what if looking forward is not an option either?
The only thing you see there
Is the dust beneath your feet.
Anyway, Omar, you still married some idiot: Read More
To say that Mahmoud Darwish was passionate about the homeland would be a severe understatement. Dwelling in the longing for what may today be considered a mere construct of imaginations, the poet succinctly brought to print the thoughts on every disenfranchised or disheartened mind.
Darwish’s words extend far beyond the confines of the conflict from which they were born. They touched the hearts and minds of individuals of all backgrounds and beliefs. A genuine love so evident in every poetic expression propelled his work to capture the attention of millions worldwide.
To dissect the Palestinian poet’s words and achievements would be to separate the colors of a timeless painting, and I will therefore refrain from performing such disservice. Rather than taking apart the life and time of Mahmoud Darwish, I will instead take a moment to reflect on what can be taken away from his very existence. Read More
Introduction: He disturbed me, because he forced me to examine the reasons behind my hatred of my Chinese name (Ka Hon).
Mahmoud, Mahmoud,
Exile, separation and divorce,
You witnessed them at all,
Persecution, violence, killings,
You felt all. Read More
You see a woman holding a chalice, and think, “she looks proud.”
They say that a chalice is the woman’s weapon, or her gift.
The gift she brings to the lost traveler, burning her bare feet on the sands.
The weapon she bears upward with a steady hand, her cloak on the wind like a standard.
And what you do not know
Is that she squeezed herself for you, drop by ruby drop,
Into her chalice.
On the wings of swans I came, my love, On the wings of swans I came.
With my beating pomegranate heart, In my outstretched hand.
But the river’s dry in the vale, my love, With not a drop to drink.
In the desert the starlight stabs the sky, And dead water sighs in the sea.
You wrung the necks of my swans, my love, You picked clean their fair white breasts.
I cannot find my way back, my love, There’s no one to carry me.
Your tables are set for a feast, my love, And your stone halls are bright.
So stretch out your gentle hand, my love, And take this pomegranate heart.
