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بيني وبينك

ليالٍ صيفية و لحن اهديته لك بالخفاء وديوانٌ من حروف غزلية وقهوة المساء

بيني وبينك شوارع لا تنتهي وطرق مليئة بالغرباء

بيني وبينك همس واطياف وقصص لا تحكى بالكلام

بيني و بينك نجوم الليل و مطر الشتاء و رياح الخريف و زهور الربيع

بيني و بينك اشتياق نيسان و احباء ديسمبر و سكارى يناير

بيني وبينك اسهم عشاق سامة

بيني وبينك لا شئ وكل شئ في آن واحد

şairler aşkı öldürdü

aşk hakkında o kadar çok şey yazdılar ki artık kimse onlara inanmıyor Bence çok normal çünkü gerçek aşıklar acı çeker ve sessiz kalır.

Granada

At the entrance of Alhambra was our meeting, How sweet is a rendezvous not thought of before. Two soft black eyes in perfect frames enticing, Generating after-effects from the past ages afore. Are you a Spaniard? I asked her enquiring, She said: Granada is the city where I was born. Granada! Seven centuries awoke from slumbering, In her eyes, after the clothing of sleep they wore. And Umayyad, with flags lifted high, flying, Their horses streaming by, unnumbered they pour. How strange is history, how is it to me returning? A beautiful granddaughter, from my pedigree of yore. With a Damascene face, through it I was seeing, The eyelids of Sheba and the neck of Suad once more. I saw a room in our old house with a clearing, Where mother used to spread my cushions on the floor. And the Jasmine inlaid in its stars were shining, With the golden singing pool, a picture of splendor. Damascus, where is it? I said: you will be seeing It in your flowing hair, a river of golden black ore. In your Arab face, in your mouth still storing The suns of my country from the days of Arab lore. In the perfume of Generalife with waters gleaming, Its Arabian Jasmine, its sweet basil and citron odour. She came with me and her hair behind her flowing, Like luscious ears of grain in an unharvested meadow. The long earrings on her neck were glittering, Like Christmas Eve candles that sparkle and glow. Behind her like a child I walked, she was guiding, And behind me, history, piles of ashes row after row. The decoration of Alhambra I almost hear pulsing, And the ornaments on the roof, I hear their call grow. She said: Alhambra! Pride of my ancestors glowing, Read on its walls my glories that shine and show. Her glory! I anointed an open wound festering, And in my heart anointed another that refused to go. If only my lovely granddaughter had a way of knowing, The ones she meant were my ancestors of long, long ago. When I bid her adieu, when I knew I was going, I embraced in her Ṭāriq ibn Ziyād, that Arab hero.

-Nizar Qabbani

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

Libya: From Sands of Time to Storms of Change

Beneath the blazing sun of North Africa, bordered by the ancient tides of the Mediterranean and the vast breath of the Sahara, lies a land whose story has danced with gods, kings, conquerors, and revolutionaries. This is Libya: a nation born from the dust of myth, forged in the fires of empire, and reshaped in the hands of her people.

Origins in the Whispering Sands

Long before cities rose and borders were drawn, the land we now call Libya was home to prehistoric peoples who left their mark in the rock art of the Tadrart Acacus, carvings of giraffes and hunters that tell of a greener Sahara, long vanished. By the Bronze Age, Libya was not one land, but many tribes. Chief among them were the Meshwesh and the Libu—nomadic Berber peoples who grazed their herds along the Nile’s western flanks. Egyptian scribes would scrawl their names in hieroglyphs, sometimes as foes, other times as mercenaries or neighbors. Though they lacked pyramids or written chronicles of their own, the Libyans lived rich oral traditions, passed from elder to youth beside desert fires. Their tongues were early Berber, ancestors to the Amazigh languages spoken to this day.

The Libyan Pharaohs of Egypt

In one of history’s great ironies, these wandering tribes—once dismissed as desert raiders—would wear the crowns of Pharaohs. Around 945 BCE, a chieftain of the Meshwesh named Shoshenq I seized power in a divided Egypt. He founded the 22nd Dynasty, becoming the first Libyan Pharaoh. He was no usurper in chains, but a ruler accepted by Egypt’s priests and people, a man who walked the sacred halls of Karnak and marched his armies as far as Jerusalem. For over two centuries, Libyan dynasties ruled parts of Egypt. They wove themselves into Egyptian culture, marrying daughters into temple lineages and honoring the gods of old, while maintaining their tribal roots in the Delta’s tangled marshes.

Under Greek, Roman, and Islamic Rule

Time, ever the patient sculptor, wore down Libya’s independent spirit. By the time of Herodotus in the 5th century BCE, Libya had become a vague term for "all lands west of Egypt." The Greeks founded Cyrene in eastern Libya, a shining jewel of Hellenistic culture. Later came the Romans, who tamed the coast and named it Tripolitania and Cyrenaica. Great cities bloomed, like Leptis Magna, where Emperor Septimius Severus—a Libyan by birth—would rise to rule the Roman world. With the coming of Islam in the 7th century CE, Libya joined the rising tide of Arab civilization. Arabic took root, and Berber tribes embraced the faith, blending it with ancient customs in a uniquely North African tapestry.

From Ottoman Sands to Italian Chains

From the 16th to 19th centuries, Libya was ruled by the Ottomans, often in name more than presence. Local rulers like the Karamanlis in Tripoli built their own dynasties, their corsairs feared across the Mediterranean. But in 1911, the old world shifted once more—Italy invaded, snatching Libya from Ottoman control. The Libyans resisted fiercely under leaders like Omar Mukhtar, the "Lion of the Desert," whose guerilla war against Mussolini’s fascists became legend. Though captured and executed in 1931, Mukhtar’s spirit ignited a flame that would not die.

A Brief Bloom: The Kingdom of Libya

After World War II, Libya was stitched together from three provinces and granted independence in 1951 under King Idris I. For the first time in centuries, Libya was sovereign. But beneath the crown, discontent stirred. Oil wealth enriched a few, while many remained poor. In 1969, a young officer named Muammar Gaddafi led a bloodless coup, ending the monarchy and beginning one of the most controversial reigns in modern Arab history.

Gaddafi's Rule and the Gathering Storm

For 42 years, Gaddafi ruled with a blend of charisma, brutality, and eccentric philosophy. He styled himself as the "Brother Leader", preached his Green Book, and funded revolutions abroad. At times a pariah, at times an ally, he kept Libya's oil flowing and dissent smothered. But the winds of change were rising. When the Arab Spring swept across the region in 2011, Libyans—long repressed—rose in revolt. The uprising turned into a brutal civil war, drawing NATO intervention. In October 2011, Gaddafi was captured and killed. His fall was cheered, but peace did not follow.

The most beautiful sea, hasn't been crossed yet. The most beautiful child, hasn't grown up yet. Our most beautiful days, we haven't seen yet. And the most beautiful words, I wanted to tell you I haven't said yet...

― Nâzım Hikmet

I didn’t fall in love, I walked right into it with steady steps and eyes open to their limit. I’m standing in love, not fallen in it. I want you with my full awareness.

| Ghada al-Samman

"I deliberately read the writings of the miserable, the missing, and those whose hearts are broken, I read their cries to make me cry with them. My alphabet no longer accommodates this huge amount of sadness, so I started looking for someone to share it with me. It is a disaster to search for yourself in the writings of others, a disaster to lose yourself to this extent."

-unknown