يقولونَ إني كالبدرِ بَهجةً وأنَّ الجمالَ بوجهيَ ارتَسما

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

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

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

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

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...

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

‘

Write down: I am an Arab, A name without a title, Patient in a country where everything Lives on flared-up anger. My roots… Took firm hold before the birth of time, Before the beginning of the ages, Before the cypress and olives, Before the growth of pastures. My father… of the people of the plough, Not of noble masters. My grandfather, a peasant Of no prominent lineage, Taught me pride of self before reading of books. My house is a watchman’s hut Of sticks and reed. Does my status satisfy you? I am a name without a title.

Write down: I am an Arab Robbed of my ancestors’ vineyards And of the land cultivated By me and all my children. Nothing is left for us and my grandchildren Except these rocks… Will your government take them too, as reported? Therefore, Write at the top of page one: I do not hate people, I do not assault anyone, But … if I get hungry, I eat the flesh of my usurper. Beware … beware … of my hunger, And of my anger.

-Mahmoud Darwish

The texture of your hands is still stuck between my palms, how does one remove the traces of love from one's senses?

Art by Rea

September

To sit by candlelight, To buy a new book, To start over, to go for a walk, to fall in love, to meet.. the most beautiful month.

🖊️ Esran Ersan

🎨 Muraoka Kimio