Let Me Rest On Your Chest

The Rain

By sea...towards another space, shaking off my dust. Forgetting my name, the names of plants, and the history of trees.. Escaping from this sun that flogs me with its boredom... Fleeing from cities that slept for centuries under the feet of the moon.. Leaving behind me eyes made of glass and a sky made of stone. I will not go back to the sun... for I now belong to the rainstorms.

by: Nizar Qabbani

Does the world escape me like a void?

Have I given up on illusions? Heavy nights train me And the rain of melodies were epics I became aware of war after war The sound of the sword inspired and inspired me! I search my halls and call out To me, to me, O formulated dream

-Sakaina Al-sharif

The color orange and the sunset, The rope and suicide, The glass and the wound, The ocean and drowning, Autumn and farewell, The mirror and me, The windows and staring, The hand waving from afar, The road and the sudden encounter.

Paintings by: Lili Wood

Vengeance

"I deliberately read the writings of the miserable, the missing, and those whose hearts are broken, I read their cries to make me cry with them. My alphabet no longer accommodates this huge amount of sadness, so I started looking for someone to share it with me. It is a disaster to search for yourself in the writings of others, a disaster to lose yourself to this extent."

-unknown

عندما أصابني سوء الحظ و بدأ الناس ينظرون إلي بازدراء بكيت على نفسي بمرارة وصليت لكن السماء لم تستجب لدعائي و لم تشفق علي , لذلك فقد صببت اللعنات على حظي تمنيت لو كنت شخصاً آخر يمتلك حظاً و أملاً أكبر و يمتلك الكثير من الأصدقاء تمنيت لو كانت عندي موهبة هذا و فرصة ذاك و في أقسى ساعات كراهيتي لنفسي خطرت لي, و عندها تغير حالي كما هي حال القبرة التي تشدو في الصباح أغاني تصل إلى بوابة السماء- لأن التفكير بك يجعلني غنياً جداً إلى درجة أنني أرفض أن أتبادل الأدوار حتى مع الملوك

-شيكسبير

Kırık bir kütük olduğunu bildiğin sürece, neden her seferinde ona yaslanıyorsun?

| Aron Wiesenfeld

Desteğe olan ihtiyacınız arttıkça etrafınızdaki omuzlar yavaş yavaş kaybolur

The Glance That Shattered Silence

In the kingdoms of sand, where the moon lies cracked like a blade, And palaces rise from bones of sages and ruins of caravans made, There ruled a Caliph named Yazan ibn Subh, Seated upon a throne of fire, guarded by jinn and the whispering hush.

And far in a rival land, across the cursed river's sweep, Lived Princess Zahra, whose eyes could make angels weep. Her grandfather had fallen to Yazan's kin in a war of old, So between their houses, hatred ran bitter and cold.

But hearts know no borders when first they ignite, They met in a souk where shadows flirt with light. Zahra was trading with spirits, in spells and silver dust, Yazan watched, enchanted—his duty undone by lust.

"Why stare so boldly, O stranger in royal thread?" She asked, voice laced with dread. "Because," he said, "I have never seen dawn in flesh, And now I must chase it, though the world turn to ash."

And the Spirits Moved in the Shadows

The enemies of love allied: Yazan’s kin from one side, And Zahra’s sorceress-mother from the other, steeped in pride. They summoned seers of stars, bound jinn in chains of fate, Wove spells to turn passion into a poisoned plate.

The markets burned with rumor, the alleys whispered of doom, Slaves were stirred to fury, rebels were led from gloom. The witches spat curses upon the Caliph's crown, Sowing chaos like wheat, hoping to strike him down.

A secret faction rose: The Sacred Shadow, sworn to dethrone, A band of fanatics who claimed justice but wanted the throne. They whispered of Yazan's sins and Zahra's foreign blood, Till the streets turned against them, like rivers turned to mud.

An End Written by Darkness, with Ink of Starlight

The rebels came at moonrise, like wolves with steel for teeth, Yazan stood on the palace roof, the wind a dying wreath. Below him, fire and fury, above, a sky too still, And in his hands, her final note—a prayer, a will.

"If you fall today, know you have my heart in your hand, If you flee, take me far in search of nameless land: No thrones. No homeland. Just you and I— The shadow and the prayer, beneath one sky."

They fought like myths, but myths too must die, Yazan fell with blade in hand, and Zahra fled with a cry. For forty years the sun refused to shine on that sand, Till travelers claimed to see two ghosts walk hand in hand.

They say on moonlit dunes, when the stars are brave, You may see a Caliph and his beloved beyond the grave. Still they dance, still they sing, love stronger than time, A tale told in sorrow, in rhythm, and rhyme.

Thus ends the scroll—but never the longing...