Granada

Senin sessizliğinde kanıyordum.

Bak Milena,

"En çok seni seviyorum." diyorum ama belki de bu gerçek aşk değildir.

"Sen bir bıçaksın ve ben hep o bıçakla kendime saplarım",dersem belki de gerçek aşkı anlatmış olurum.

Ve Milena, kalbimde seninle her şeye katlanabilirim.

| Franz Kafka

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

During times of war

I want to say: I only love you, And I cling to you, Like the peel clings to a pomegranate, Like the tear clings to the eye, Like a knife that clings to the wound, And like a bullet that clings to my heart,

I love you…

~ Nizar Qabbani

Neşe

Gittiğim her yere neşemi hep yanımda taşıdım. Sevincimi en çok çevremdekiler sever, biliyorum çünkü; Hüzünlü sessizlikler ve çökük gözler insanlara kendi küçük acılarını hatırlatır. Son zamanlarda, "neşem" yavaş yavaş kayboluyor. Bir süre konuşmayı kestim, ruhum yorgundu. İnsanların sustuğunda ortadan kaybolduğu söylenir. Keşke bir iki kelime söyleseydim, saçma da olsa, çünkü kendi sessizliğimde boğulmak üzereyim gibi geliyor.

My tormentor came in the dead of dusk

As if it were the bright star on the horizon So I said, “Enlighten me, O best visitor.” Were you not afraid of the guards on the roads? She answered me with tears in her eyes. He who sales the sea is not afraid of drowning. I said, “These are fabricated tales.” She said, “The truth of my heart is greater than any oath. As long as there is some spark in my eyes, I love you with an endless love.

I removed the veil and saw the full moon embracing So I stood up and kissed her.

By : Lisan al-Din ibn al-Khatib

"Onu ölesiye seviyor musun?" diye sordular.

"Mezarımda ondan bahset ve beni nasıl hayata döndürdüğünü izle" dedim.

- Mahmoud Darwish

The occupation of Palestine documented in photographs

Proclamation of Marshall Law in Jerusalem by General Allenby. 1917

British forces enter Jerusalem, December 9, 1917 with Brig. Gen. Watson and Col. Bailey at the Jaffa Gate.

British occupying army in Jerusalem. 1929

Palestinian leaders meet to discuss the 1929 revolt against British occupation. 1929

Mufti of Jerusalem and Palestinian leaders at the Al-Aqsa Mosque, Jerusalem. 1921–1937

Palestinian delegation in London to demand Palestinian independence. 1929

Palestinian citizens searched during the uprising of August 23 to 31 at Jaffa Gate. 1929

Palestinian women’s delegation demonstrating against British policies outside of the high commissioner’s residency. 1929

Palestinians demonstrating against the occupying British army at Jaffa Gate. 1933

Palestinians protesting British occupation, Jerusalem. 1933

Palestinians at Abou Ghosh take oath of allegiance to protest British occupation and reject Zionist immigration. 1936

Fire scorched the Armenian Quarter in the old City. 1936

British occupation soldiers stand witness to their destruction in the City of Jenin. 1938

Jenin after British occupying soldiers destroyed a quarter of the city with dynamite. 1938

Palestinians lined up by British occupying police for identity card check. 1939

Australian soldiers marching down Jaffa Road. 1940–1946

British military recruits parade across Jaffa Gate. 1941

Photographs published by: https://www.palestinephotoproject.org/Gallery-Folder/Occupation-and-Resistence/i-3bPjRwR

We are accused of terrorism

We are accused of terrorism If we dare to write about the remains of a homeland That is scattered in pieces and in decay In decadence and disarray About a homeland that is searching for a place And about a nation that no longer has a face

About a homeland that has nothing left of its great ancient verse But that of wailing and eulogy

About a homeland that has nothing in its horizons Of freedoms of different types and ideology

About a homeland that forbids us from buying a newspaper Or listen to anything About a homeland where all birds are always not allowed to sing About a homeland that out of horror, its writers are using invisible ink

About a homeland that resembles poetry in our country Improvised, imported, loose and of no boundaries Of foreign tongue and soul Detached from Man and Land, ignoring their plight as a whole

About a homeland to the negotiating table moves Without a dignity or shoes

About a homeland That no more has steadfast men With only women therein

Bitterness is in our mouthsin our talkin our eyes Will draught also plague our souls as a legacy passed to us from ancient times?

Our nation has nobody left, even the less glorified No one to say "NO" in the face of those who gave up our homebread and butter Turning our colorful history into a circus

We have not a single honest poem That has not lost its virginity in a ruler's Harem

We grew accustomed to humiliation Then what is left of Man If he is comfortable with that?

I search the books of history For men of greatness to deliver us from darkness To save our women from fires' brutality

I search for men of yesterday But all I find is frightened cats Fearing for their souls From the authority of rats

Are we hit by national blindness Or are we suffering from color blindness

We are accused of terrorism If we refuse to perish Under Israeli tyranny That is hampering our unity Our history Our Bible and our Quran Our prophets' land If that is our sin and crime Then terrorism is fine

We are accused of terrorism If we refuse to be wiped out By barbarians, the Mongols or the Jews If we choose to stone the fragile security council Which was sacked by the king of caesuras

We are accused of terrorism If we refuse to negotiate the wolf And reach out for a whore

America is fighting the cultures of Man Because it lacks one And against the civilizations because it needs one It is a gigantic structure but without a wall

We are accused of terrorism If we refuse current times Where America  the arrogant the mighty the rich Became a sworn interpreter of Hebrew.

-Nizar Qabbani

Write down: I am an Arab, A name without a title, Patient in a country where everything Lives on flared-up anger. My roots… Took firm hold before the birth of time, Before the beginning of the ages, Before the cypress and olives, Before the growth of pastures. My father… of the people of the plough, Not of noble masters. My grandfather, a peasant Of no prominent lineage, Taught me pride of self before reading of books. My house is a watchman’s hut Of sticks and reed. Does my status satisfy you? I am a name without a title.

Write down: I am an Arab Robbed of my ancestors’ vineyards And of the land cultivated By me and all my children. Nothing is left for us and my grandchildren Except these rocks… Will your government take them too, as reported? Therefore, Write at the top of page one: I do not hate people, I do not assault anyone, But … if I get hungry, I eat the flesh of my usurper. Beware … beware … of my hunger, And of my anger.

-Mahmoud Darwish