When Milena Confessed To Kafka And Said To Him, “I Love You,” Kafka Then Said: "She Said 'I Love

Do you think when you burnt me

then danced like a devil upon my dead body and left me for dust storms to bury me; Do you think you obliterated my identity? or that you've erased my history and beliefs! In vain you try…No Death There is for a rebel I’m like The Resurrection; one day I shall be, Like Jesus I'm coming back with strength, from every storm I shall gather my parts, I'll come as the oldest rebellious lover, I'll come with the mightiest of the greatest revolutions, A man from the Ditch I am, I must return !

Poem by : Muhathil Alsqor

Orientalist Paintings

Jean-Léon Gérôme - The Carpet Merchant 

Jean Leon Gerome - Pelt Merchant of Cairo

Frederick Arthur Bridgman - An Afternoon in Algiers

Osman Hamdi Bey - Islam Priest Reading Qura'an

John Frederick Lewis - The Midday Meal, Cairo

Ludwig Deutsch - The Tribute

Frederick Arthur Bridgman - The Messenger, 1879

Jean-Léon Gérôme - The Harem in the Kiosk, 1870

Frederick Arthur Bridgman - In The Souk, Tunis (1874)

Jean-Léon Gérôme - Prayer in the Mosque

John Frederick Lewis - The Kibab Shop

(The Reception) by John Frederick Lewis

Frederick Arthur Bridgman - Return from the Festival, Algiers

Gustav Bauernfeind - Forecourt of the Ummayad Mosque

Ludwig Deutsch - At Prayer (1923)

Frederick Arthur Bridgman - Young Woman On A Terrace

John Frederick Lewis - The Harem 1841

Ludwig Deutsch - The Qanun Player

Rudolf Ernst - The Carpet Seller

Martinus Rørbye - outside the Kilic Ali Pasha Mosque

Léon-Auguste-Adolphe Belly - Pilgrims going to Mecca

Amedeo Simonetti - The Rug Merchant

Eugène Fromentin - Windstorm

Jean Leon Gerome - The Whirling Dervish

Giulio Rosati - The Dance

Jean Discart - The Pottery Studio Tangiers

Osman Hamdi Bey - Young Woman Reading

When parting…

On the first night,

You will feel that this night will not pass,

and that the night is unusually dark,

Silence has become an unbearable noise,

your bed is a cemetery, your cover is a shroud,

your heart is moaning, your mind is struggling,

and your tears are a flame,

The noises on the street will piss you off, your brother's jokes will piss you off, your mother's insistence will agitate you, the food is tasteless, and the water is salty, you will notice how small your room is, and that these four walls are not enough to accommodate all this mess...I mean the one inside you. You will feel that you are all alone.

My advise

Do not resort to anyone!

On the first night specifically, don’t reach out to anyone. and don’t sleep early, this is where the surrender begins. don‘t say " I'm fine " when you're broken, and stop yourself from looking into old messages, they don’t mean anything. Don't listen to any songs, because that's a trap! And don‘t take any medicine because that kind of pain cannot be numbed. feel and live your pain in silence, alone in a room or by the sea.

Most importantly…by yourself.

- Farid Emara

I HAVE NO POWER

"I have no power to change you or explain your ways Never believe a man can change a woman Those men are pretenders who think that they created woman from one of their ribs, A woman does not emerge from a man's ribs, not ever! it is he who emerges from her womb, like a fish rising from depths of water

and like streams that branch away from a river It's he who circles the sun of her eyes and imagines he is fixed in place.."

- Nizar Qabbani

Don't hint, say it like a thunderbolt.

This sea is mine

What was mine: my yesterday. What will be mine: the distant tomorrow, and the return of the wandering soul as if nothing had happened. A slight cut in the arm of the absurd present, History mocks its victims and its heroes, It glances at them in passing and goes on. So i tell you ; This sea is mine. The fresh air is mine. And my name, though i mispronounce it over the grave, is mine. As for me, filled with every reason to departure, I am not mine. I am not mine. I am not mine.

| Mahmoud Darwish

يقولونَ إني كالبدرِ بَهجةً وأنَّ الجمالَ بوجهيَ ارتَسما

يحيطُ بي المدحُ مثلَ الهَواءِ ولكنَّ ذاتي تُرددُ: "لا" نَسَما

يأتونَ خاطبينَ، وبالعَينِ شَوقُ كأنّي كنزٌ على الدربِ مُبتَغى

وأسمعُ ألفاظَ ثَناءٍ تُقالُ كأنّي لؤلؤةٌ لا تُضاهى سَنا

ولكنَّ نفسي – غريبةُ دربي – كأنّي ظِلٌّ بلا نَورِه اتّقَدا

كأنَّ المرآةَ تُخفي حقيقتي وتُظهرُ وجهاً غريبًا عني بدا

فهل في المرايا كَذبٌ خَفيٌّ؟ أمِ العيبُ في العينِ إذ لم تَرَ الصَفا؟

أجيبوا سؤالاً سَكنَّي طويلاً لماذا الجمالُ إذا لم يُصدَّقا؟

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

اللون البرتقالي والغروب الحبل والانتحار الزجاج والجرح المحيط والغرق الخريف والوداع المرآة و أنا النوافذ و التحديق اليد والتلويح من بعيد الطريق ولقاء الصدفة

🎨 : Miaamanman1995