Look Milena,

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

في أحضان السكون

هنا أنحرُ الليلَ، أغني الزمان هنا أتلقَّى حديث القمرْ هنا أقتلُ الشِّعرَ عند الغروبِ وأبعثهُ حينَ يأتي السحرْ هنا أصهرُ النورَ حتَّى يذوب وألقي في عيون الزهرْ هنا يرقد الهمُّ في خاطري ويسلبني أملي المنتظَرْ

هنا يومض اللحن في أضلع وينزع أسرارَهُ من دمِي وينحتُ من مقلتيّ الرؤى وتطربُ أوتاره أنجمي ويغرقني في الشقاء اللذيذِ وتملأ أوهامه عالمي

محمد الثبيتي -

Don't hint, say it like a thunderbolt.

Do you have to shed tears to cry? Can't one cry when lips are smiling? Do you have to look beautiful to love? Can't a beautiful soul on an ugly skin bind the heart? Should a weapon be a dagger to kill? Can't eyes be a gun, smile a bullet?

Let the coffee cool...

Don't answer the phone.

Put both hands in your pocket.

Watch the opportunities pass by.

Let anxiety take what it takes from you.

Get close to what you fear.

accept the fact that not everything is necessarily going to be okay, and that you don't mind it anyway, nothing matters now.

Don’t juggle the weather with clothes.

Never buy an umbrella for sun or rain.

shorten your words.

Make sure that everything that is likely to break, already broken.

After trying every possible defeat.

You will return with a heart that has experienced disappointment, and no longer fears it, with a face that has had a moment of bruises, you will feel for the first time real courage, you will proceed undisturbed, and you will sleep peacefully at night.

- Farid Emara

A Night Beneath the Palm’s Shadow

The wind hums secrets through the date-laden trees, whispering names of those who once walked this dust, where footprints fade but never truly leave, pressed deep in the memory of the earth’s quiet trust.

Oh, moon of longing, hung low and bright, do you still remember the songs we sang? Verses embroidered in the fabric of night, soft as jasmine, where old echoes hang.

A mother calls, her voice a prayer, threading through the hush of dawn, her hands—cracked, but full of care— building futures from threads long gone.

And here I stand, between past and now, a daughter of sand, of stars, of sea, asking the wind to teach me how to love, to lose, yet still be free.

Bin yıldız değerinde bir şaheser olduğumu söylüyorsun, bir hazine ve şimdiye kadar gördüğün en güzel tablo benim.

Bana içinde sadece birkaç dakika yaşayabileceğim bir illüzyon sarayı inşa ediyorsun.

sonra bir kaç kelimeden başka bir şey olmadan kendi gerçeğime dönüyorum.

Painting - Edward Povey

Dünden hiçbir şey geri gelmeyecek, başka başlangıçlar için dua et ve geçmişin bağını yak