We Are Accused Of Terrorism

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.

I feel the urge to shout to the world

the anguish of my soul,

The torments I’ve experienced,

all my sorrows-

I’m speaking of my suffering.

I’m speaking from the heart.

~ Close-up, Abbas Kiarostami

The Rain

By sea...towards another space, shaking off my dust. Forgetting my name, the names of plants, and the history of trees.. Escaping from this sun that flogs me with its boredom... Fleeing from cities that slept for centuries under the feet of the moon.. Leaving behind me eyes made of glass and a sky made of stone. I will not go back to the sun... for I now belong to the rainstorms.

by: Nizar Qabbani

"Eğer kaderinse, bütün dünya karşı da gelse kavuşursunuz."

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

seni sevmeyi ağır ödüyorum...

Ayrılırken...

İlk gecede,

Bu gecenin geçmeyeceğini hissedeceksin,

ve gece alışılmadık derecede karanlık,

Sessizlik dayanılmaz bir gürültü haline geldi,

Yatağın mezarlık, örtün kefen,

kalbin inliyor, aklın mücadele ediyor,

ve gözyaşların bir alev,

Sokaktaki sesler seni sinirlendirecek, kardeşinin şakaları seni sinirlendirecek, annenin ısrarı seni sinirlendirecek, yemekler tatsız ve su tuzlu, odanızın ne kadar küçük olduğunu fark edeceksiniz. Tavsiyem...

Kimseye başvurmayın! özellikle ilk gece, kimseye ulaşmayın. Ve erken yatma, teslimiyetin başladığı yer burası, kırıldığın için iyi olduğunu söyleme ve kendini eski mesajlara bakmaktan alıkoy, onlar bir şey ifade etmez çünkü onlar eskidir. Ve hiçbir şarkı dinleme, bu bir tuzak! Ve ağrınız organik olmadığı için herhangi bir ilaç almayın çünkü o tür ağrılar uyuşturulamaz. acınızı hissedin ve sessizce yaşayın, bir odada ya da deniz kenarında. En önemlisi… kendi başınıza

- Farid Emara

‘

The color orange and the sunset, The rope and suicide, The glass and the wound, The ocean and drowning, Autumn and farewell, The mirror and me, The windows and staring, The hand waving from afar, The road and the sudden encounter.

Paintings by: Lili Wood

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