Bak Milena,

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

Amores Perros (2000)

what have you left us you disgraceful leaders?

what have you left for us beside destruction?

distortions of our history and a crippled nation,

who made you masters?

who made you our masters when we were born free?

who replaced history?

who changed the title?

who increased our pain?

who divided us?

you are worse than traitorous spies

No more obedience to you after today, no more.

- Adel the freeman

History repeats itself

Let you be...

Let you be the sea, and I will be the first to drown.

You’re the destination, and I'm the first to arrive.

let you be the house, and I will be the first to dwell.

Be the poetry, and I will be the first to listen.

Be whatever you are,

and I will be yours with everything I have.

Vengeance

You say that I'm a masterpiece

that’s worth a thousand stars, a treasure, and that I am the most beautiful painting you had ever seen.

You build me a palace of illusion, in which I can only live in for a few moments.

Then, I return back to reality all alone with nothing but a few words.

Painting by - Edward Povey

“ Lions are the prey of deer “

“…And there are Arab women on the trip They deceive the hearts of the alert They misled me, so I followed the devil of desire Women are the traps of Satan I didn't know before the dawn broke Lions are the prey of deer”

By: Mahmoud Sami Al-Baroudi

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...