Edition XIV

April 2019

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Oddity - by Hanna Abi Akl (Photo by Wladislaw Peljuchno)Photo credit: Wladislaw Peljuchno


By Hanna Abi Akl

The oddity

Is that

I may wake up

One day

Feeling like

A groggy

Little dog

That has not yet

Been fed

And another

Like a



By the


Of the saints.

Stone Jeddo - by Omar Kayyal (Photo by Omar Kayyal)Photo credit: Omar Kayyal

Stone Jeddo

By Omar Kayyal

Grandpa doesn’t know how to cry.

His ma used to smoke,
relieving stress in lazy Sunday tokes,
exchanging love for the nicotine in Marlboros.
Soon Sundays became everydays-
Nicotine fills no hole. It digs new deeps.
Although he had mama Fatima,
a sweet, motherly-

Grandpa wishes he could cry,
that he, should he choose,
could burgeon a volcano of tears from his eyes,
and relieve himself of a pain in his life.

This aspect of him, still a child,
Grandpa cries,
inside- a little him, lost, in the dark of his mind.
Yet to big Grandpa, it is but a sharp phantom knife
stuck in the reserves of the inner ear,
damming the water so tight-
it never even squeaked.

In moments where he sits with us,
one leg over the other, calm, reserved,
Grandpa’s eyes telescope down to that little him,
so little he might peer in,
so he might know in us,
in mundane conversation,
from where within this,
springs the first sprouts of emotion.

Who lies behind those stoney eyes,
surrounded in veined cobblestone,
wetted with wet from the inside?

Broken Feet - by Ahsan Niat Khan (Photo by Reza Hasannia)Photo credit: Reza Hasannia

Broken Feet

By Ahsan Niat Khan

and what if I told you this
that the man finally asked himself that question
after being forced, kneeling on the ground, crying in defeat

That, were those battle scars that were bleeding him out
or were they wounds inflicted by his own, a question he asked himself

A time so familiar to him, a time where the light was lost
A time which forced him to break the own temple that he had built
on the basis and beliefs on inspiration, humility and kindness
a person who promised would be there for others
taking the pain away, becoming a light of hope, just wanting people to smile

What if I told you this
that the man gave up on this battle
and who told him to be the one

He who makes sure others are alright, not thinking of himself
He who made sure that a person didn’t forget that there was light at the end of the tunnel
He who made people believe in their dreams, sacrificing his own in the process
A person who tried to inspire, teach and above all make someone believe that times will get better

For remember this, it is selflessness that makes character, but it is the selfishness of the world that
breaks the very belief of that person

And this person cried at the blood on his hand
after breaking the very mosque, he built with his heart
a place he built on his very heart not for himself but for others
because he believed that no matter the person
a friend a foe or a brother
he was obliged to be there for them
and the belief was made into reality when no one that he helped
came to stop him, ask him, or even be there at the time he needed them
for within the tears of the man were the ruins of a dream
a dream he dreamt of helping people
of raising a voice
of inspiring a generation

he cried that night, a pain that had become too foreign to him
a pain he feared, a pain that shook his very beliefs
a pain that he remembered yet again
and that night he laid in the ruins of the broken church that he made himself
that he made as a promise to that person that was in pain
that man gave his heart and body to share the pain
a promise was made, a promise was delivered
however, the person somehow left the man in the very state he found him in
broken and lost, not believing in the sunset or in sunrise

what if I told you
that within the ruins of the broken temple, mosque and church
that very man is waiting
on the broken walls
on the broken stairs
waiting on the fallen sealing
yet none of them came
not even to check or to ask
or even to make sure that he was doing alright
finally, the man gave up at his final breathe
and the final words that were written on his tombstone were
that “I tried my best, but did the world try theirs?”

Hear My Message - by Reem Waleed (Photo by Fatima Al Nabouda)Photo credit: Fatima Al Nabouda

Hear My Message

By Reem Waleed

They say that girls find men
Who remind them 
Of their father
That is not the case with you
For in you
I see my mother

This comparison
I do not make lightly
But I must say I make deeply
As the hole you are digging
She has already emptied

So hear me now
As I wish she had
And try to listen
Please understand
That a word is not always
Its definition:

You cannot show me God
And forbid me to pray
You cannot paint me black & white
And fade away my grey
You cannot put your weight on me
And expect me not to sway
You cannot hurt my mind
And ask my heart to stay

Do not give me love
If you will choose when to take it away

عملةً واحدة - by Sobhi Al-Hazzouri (Photo by Hakim El Haj)الفنان حكيم الحج

عملةً واحدة

بقلم صبحي الحزوري

عروبةً مُزيفة
بِلادها مُحايدة
حكومةٌ مُسيسة
شعُوبها محّزبة
سُلطةً مُأدبة
دبلوماسيةً زائدة
مازالت لسلام تسعى
تنشُر السُم دفعةً دفعة
لنُصبحَ لُقمةً سائغة
على مائدة
أفرادها فاسدة
غربً كانوا أم عربً
وجهانِ لعُملةً واحدة

القُدس عربية
لكن لو نطقت
من عُروبتها لتبرأت
القُدس فلسطينية
لرِجالٍ قد صدقت
بأفعالها إنتفضت
لعِزتها ثارت
لكرامتها إِعترضت
في وجهِ العدوِ وقفت
أن تُدنس الأرض التي قدّست
طوال حياتها مجّدت
فلأجلها إِستشهدت

أخرُهم كانت
طِفلةً رحلت
بصمتها نطقت
نظرتها قالت
كلُ شيءٍ شرحت
فبأي ذنبٍ قُتلت

الأبصارُ غضّت
ضمائرها باعت
رائحتها فاحت
إُمةٌ الرايةُ سلّمت
عن تاريخها تخّلت

واحدةً تلوا إُخرى توالت
ألا ترون تكررت
أيدي العدوَ على أرضنا تمّردت
لولا تخاذُلكم
بل لولا تعاونكم
على نقل السفارةِ ما أقدمت
أنفُسُكم الثمن قبضت
أيديكُم صُفدت
بِكُم جميعاً كالفئران تلاعبت

فِلسطينُ تجّزأت
معالمَها تبعثرت
شُعُوبها تفّرقت
لواقعٍ مريرٍ رضخت
قضيةٌ إُتلفت
هكذا ظنوا
لكن إلامور إِستّبقت

فأرضنا واحدة
شعُوبها واحدة
يداً واحدة
في وجه العالم ستبقى مُتّحدة

هكذا أنا ظننتُ
هكذا إلامورُ لي خُيِلَت

لكن غربً كانوا أم عربً وجهانِ لعُملةً واحدة

Check out our previous edition from 2019:

Edition XIII