Mahmoud Darwish - Blog Posts

Every winter an absent joy pains you and you walk under the rain one in two: you and the person you were in another winter. You speak secretly to yourself words you don’t understand because of memory’s inability to retrieve a previous emotion, and because of longing’s ability to add what did not exist to what existed. Such as the tree becoming a forest and the stone a quail, such as being happy in a prison cell you see wider than a public garden, and the past standing waiting for you tomorrow like a loyal dog. Longing lies and it doesn’t tire of lying because it lies truthfully. The lying of longing is a profession. ... It is the fusion of instinct in the conscious and the unconscious. It is lost time complaining of the sadism of the present.

Mahmoud Darwish 'In the Presence of Abence' Translated by Sinan Antoon

work song by hozier / mahmoud darwish

"I am jealous of my senses. The air is the colour of gardenias, your smell on my shoulders like laughter and triumphal arches. I am jealous of the peaceful daggers lying sheathed before you on the table, waiting for a sign from you to kill me. I am jealous of the vase, which has no need of its yellow roses because you give it the full benefit of your deep red lips, hungry for my hunger. I am jealous of the painting staring greedily at you: look longer at me, so I too can have my fill of lakes and cherry orchards. I am envious of the foliage on the rug, straining upwards to see an anklet descending on it from above, and of the anklet when it rests on your knee, making the marble in the room as hot as my fantasies. I am envious of the bookshop that is out of sorts because it doesn't carry an erotic book in praise of two small ivory hills, bared before it to a frenzy of guitars, then hidden by a wave of sighing silk. I am envious of my fingers catching the dialogue of darkness and light as it overflows from your hands, the movement of a spoon in your teacup, the salts stirred up in a body that yearns for a storm to spark the fire of song: gather me up, all of you, and hold me close so I can envy my memories of you in the future. I envy my tongue, which calls your name with as much care as someone carrying four crystal glasses in one hand. I taste the letters of your name one by one, like lyrical fruits. I do not add water to them, so as to preserve the taste of peaches and the thirst of my senses. I envy my imagination embracing you, silencing you, kissing you, caressing you, holding you tight and letting you go, bringing you near and pushing you away, lifting you up and putting you down, making you submit and submitting to you, and doing all the things I never do."

- Mahmoud Darwish, from I Am Jealous of Everything Around You.

-Mahmoud Darwish, from "In the Presence of Absence," originally published in 2006

Mahmoud Darwish, King Solomon, Neil Gaiman, Nikita Gill, Mary Oliver, butterflies rising, Lang Leav, rachel h, Alexandra Vasiliu, Shayan Das : *writes masterpieces of stories and poems*

Me: *screaming, crying, suffering, etc. in bilingual frustration* WHY I CANNOT BE YOU

Mahmoud Darwish, from The Butterfly's Burden; "Maybe, Because Winter Is Late,"

My longing weeps for everything. My longing shoots back at me, to kill or to be killed.

-Mahmoud Darwish, Fewer Roses 1986

We journey towards a home that does not halo our head with a special sun.

Mythical women applaud us. A sea for us, a sea against us.

-Mahmoud Darwish [Unfortunately, It Was Paradise]

“You became like coffee, in the deliciousness, and the bitterness, and the addiction.”

Mahmoud Darwish

Arabic poetry on top>>

— Mahmoud Darwish, Mural

The wars will end and the leaders will shake hands, and that old woman will remain waiting for her martyred son, and that girl will wait for her beloved husband, and the children will wait for their heroic father, I do not know who sold the homeland but I know who paid the price.

— Mahmoud Darwish

The poem fragment I used here is from "Silence for Gaza" by Mahmoud Darwish (the poem is from 1973 but could have been written yesterday, I recommend you check it out). Stickers with this sort of vintage scrapbooking look seem popular right now, so I wanted to make a version for Gaza for my fundraiser. Products with this design can be found here.

As usual ALL PROCEEDS from my designs are for my Palestinian best friend to help him support his friends and family in Palestine and around the rest of the Levant who are being hurt directly and/or financially by the attacks on Gaza, the raids and economic devastation in the West Bank and the collateral damage in surrounding countries. He will donate anything his family doesn't need to the Palestinian charities he works with.

Here are some product examples, again see here for all options (also shirts/hoodies have many color options besides the default if you click on them):

You can find my full shop here. To see a design on different products click on the display product and scroll down or go here to browse by design. Here is a sample of some of the other designs I have:

I have 161 designs and counting, I'm making new ones at least a few times a week so check back if you don't see anything you like yet. I'm not going to stop adding stuff until everyone my friend loves is safe. Thank you to everyone who has helped out so far!

This Mahmoud Darwish quote translates roughly to "Peace to a land that was created for peace, yet never saw a peaceful day". Design found here.

As usual ALL PROCEEDS from my designs are for my Palestinian best friend to help him support his friends and family in Palestine and around the rest of the Levant who are being hurt directly and/or financially by the attacks on Gaza, the raids and economic devastation in the West Bank and the collateral damage in surrounding countries. He will donate anything his family doesn't need to the Palestinian charities he works with.

Here are some examples of products with this design. The olive leaves stick out a bit which makes shirt positioning awkward, so I set many of the shirts to back instead of front this time since it looks a little too low on the products otherwise:

You can find my full shop here. To see a design on different products click on the display product and scroll down or go here to browse by design. Here are some examples of other designs I have:

Thank you to everyone who has helped out so far!

Yet each man kills the thing he loves,

By each let this be heard: Some do it with a bitter look, Some with a flattering word, The coward does it with a kiss, The brave man with a sword! Some kill their love when they are young, And some when they are old; Some strangle with the hands of Gold: The kindest use a knife, because The dead so soon grow cold. Some love too little, some too long, Some sell and others buy; Some do the deed with many tears, And some without a sigh: For each man kills the thing he loves, Yet each man does not die.

Oscar Wilde

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...

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.

The Samaritans and their conflict with the Jews

Who Are the Samaritans?

The Samaritans are a small religious minority living in the occupied Palestinian territories, specifically on Mount Gerizim in Nablus, and in the city of Holon in Israel. They consider themselves the true descendants of the Israelites who remained in the Holy Land when the Jews were exiled to Babylon in the 6th century BCE. They believe that they never deviated from the original faith, unlike the Jews who, according to their view, altered the religion after their return from the Babylonian exile.

Samaritan Religious Beliefs

The Samaritans only follow the Samaritan Torah, which differs from the Jewish Torah in several points, and they reject the Talmud, the main source of Jewish law after the Torah. For Samaritans, Mount Gerizim in Nablus is the holiest site, and they believe it is the true place of worship for God, not the Temple Mount in Jerusalem as the Jews believe. They view the Jews as having strayed from the true path when they chose Jerusalem as the center of their worship, leading to a deep religious divide between the two communities.

The Roots of the Hostility Between the Samaritans and Jews

The conflict between the Jews and Samaritans dates back thousands of years. Jews believe that the Samaritans are not pure Israelites but a mix of the remnants of the ancient Israelites and pagan peoples who settled in the area after the Assyrian conquest. In contrast, the Samaritans believe that they are the true Israelites, and the Jews have distorted the religion and introduced incorrect teachings. This hostility became so intense that the Jews in ancient times considered Samaritan food impure and rejected intermarriage and interaction with them.

The Conflict in Ancient Times

During the Persian period, the Jews tried to impose their control over the Samaritans and prevent them from building their temple on Mount Gerizim, leading to fierce conflicts between the two groups. During the reign of Alexander the Great, the Samaritans gained some privileges, but with the arrival of the Hasmoneans, the Jews persecuted them, and their temple on Mount Gerizim was destroyed.

The Samaritan Situation in the Roman and Islamic Periods

Under Roman rule, the Samaritans faced great persecution, especially after their failed revolts against the Roman Empire, which led to the killing and displacement of many of them. With the rise of Christianity, they became further marginalized, as the Christians did not consider them Jews, nor did they regard them as part of their faith. During the Islamic era, the Samaritans were granted some protection as "People of the Book," but they remained a minority community.

The Samaritans Today... Between Challenge and Survival

Today, the number of Samaritans is around 800 people, making them one of the smallest religious communities in the world. Some hold Israeli citizenship, while others live in the West Bank under Palestinian authority. Despite their small number, they continue to hold onto their traditions, language, and celebrate their unique holidays, such as the Samaritan Passover, according to their distinct calendar.

The Samaritans are a living testament to the religious and political history of the region, carrying an ancient legacy of conflict and isolation, yet striving to preserve their identity despite the political and religious transformations that have taken place in the Holy Land. Do you think the hostility between the Samaritans and Jews still persists today?

@Hayahbook

We are accused of terrorism

We are accused of terrorism If we dare to write about the remains of a homeland That is scattered in pieces and in decay In decadence and disarray About a homeland that is searching for a place And about a nation that no longer has a face

About a homeland that has nothing left of its great ancient verse But that of wailing and eulogy

About a homeland that has nothing in its horizons Of freedoms of different types and ideology

About a homeland that forbids us from buying a newspaper Or listen to anything About a homeland where all birds are always not allowed to sing About a homeland that out of horror, its writers are using invisible ink

About a homeland that resembles poetry in our country Improvised, imported, loose and of no boundaries Of foreign tongue and soul Detached from Man and Land, ignoring their plight as a whole

About a homeland to the negotiating table moves Without a dignity or shoes

About a homeland That no more has steadfast men With only women therein

Bitterness is in our mouthsin our talkin our eyes Will draught also plague our souls as a legacy passed to us from ancient times?

Our nation has nobody left, even the less glorified No one to say "NO" in the face of those who gave up our homebread and butter Turning our colorful history into a circus

We have not a single honest poem That has not lost its virginity in a ruler's Harem

We grew accustomed to humiliation Then what is left of Man If he is comfortable with that?

I search the books of history For men of greatness to deliver us from darkness To save our women from fires' brutality

I search for men of yesterday But all I find is frightened cats Fearing for their souls From the authority of rats

Are we hit by national blindness Or are we suffering from color blindness

We are accused of terrorism If we refuse to perish Under Israeli tyranny That is hampering our unity Our history Our Bible and our Quran Our prophets' land If that is our sin and crime Then terrorism is fine

We are accused of terrorism If we refuse to be wiped out By barbarians, the Mongols or the Jews If we choose to stone the fragile security council Which was sacked by the king of caesuras

We are accused of terrorism If we refuse to negotiate the wolf And reach out for a whore

America is fighting the cultures of Man Because it lacks one And against the civilizations because it needs one It is a gigantic structure but without a wall

We are accused of terrorism If we refuse current times Where America  the arrogant the mighty the rich Became a sworn interpreter of Hebrew.

-Nizar Qabbani

Qana

The face of Qana Pale, like that of Jesus and the sea breeze of April… Rains of blood.. and tears.. They entered Qana stepping on our charred bodies Raising a Nazi flag in the lands of the South and rehearsing its stormy chapters   Hitler cremated them in the gas chambers   and they came after him to burn us Hitler kicked them out of Eastern Europe and they kicked us out of our lands They entered Qana Like hungry wolves Putting to fire the house of the Messiah Stepping on the dress of Hussain and the dear land of the South We saw the tears in Ali's eyes We heard his voice as he prayed under the rain of bloody skies Qana unveiled what was hidden We saw America Wearing the old coat of a Jewish Rabbi Leading the slaughter Blasting our children for no reason Blasting our wives for no reason Blasting our trees for no reason Blasting our thoughts for no reason Has it been decreed in her constitution, She, America, mistress of the world, In Hebrew .. that she should humble us al-Arabs? Has it been decreed that each time a ruler in America wants to win the presidency that he should kill us... We al Arabs?

-Nizar Qabbani

Jerusalem

I wept until my tears were dry I prayed until the candles flickered I knelt until the floor creaked I asked about Mohammed and Christ Oh Jerusalem, the fragrance of prophets The shortest path between earth and sky Oh Jerusalem, the citadel of laws A beautiful child with fingers charred and downcast eyes You are the shady oasis passed by the Prophet Your streets are melancholy Your minarets are mourning You, the young maiden dressed in black Oh Jerusalem, the city of sorrow A big tear wandering in the eye Who will halt the aggression On you, the pearl of religions? Who will wash your bloody walls? Who will safeguard the Bible? Who will rescue the Quran? Who will save Christ? Who will save man? Oh Jerusalem my town Oh Jerusalem my love Tomorrow the lemon trees will blossom And the olive trees will rejoice Your eyes will dance The migrant pigeons will return To your sacred roofs And your children will play again And fathers and sons will meet On your rosy hills My town The town of peace and olives.

-Nizar Qabbani

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

We used to meet at dusk Sitting on the old bridge While fog surrounds the hills It covers the road past our sight

No one knows where we are Only the sky and the autumn leafs When you said "I love you" The miserable clouds disappeared

-Al Rahbani Brothers

I tell my neighbor: Come and spend the night with me, I have figs, and almonds, and sugar. We sing, because you are lonely, And singing will ease your longing. I have a home, and a small area of land, So I am safe now. The land of my country is land from heaven, And on it sleeps the painful time. I tell our house: If I am alone, And snow and cold blows, My house is as fire to me, And the winter passes, friendly as a field of roses.

-Al Rahbani Brothers

Self-taught

The failed echo will help me And the tyrannical secrets inspire me! Times of resounding anxiety And a storm hugs me tightly Here the cities of contradiction contain me The countryside of art precedes it I am drawn to the current by self-taught people My heart is steadfast in the war alone

And despite the hatred I prepare for the feverish blindness!

Sakina Al-Sharif

kaçak kız

Telaffuzunu elemeye ve geliştirmeye başladı.. Ve bir takımyıldız gibi kendi yörüngesinde süzülüyor! Ona suikast düzenlemeye çalışan bir dünya var. Kalıntıları arasında dolaşıp, savrulup dönüyorum Yıkıcı bir retorik savaşı yaklaşıyor Kanıyla ve toprağıyla çarmıha gerilecek! Çöken dünyada makalem özgür kaldı. Evren bilgisayarlı! Beni nasıl kendi inlerine sürüklemeye çalıştılar Özgünlüğün baltalandığı bir bağımlılık Kimliklerini inkar ediyorlar... Benzerlik kalıplarıyla şekillenmeyeceğim! Sanatım doğanın sesini dinlemek Ve uzuvlarım düşenlerden gizli Ruhum karanlıkta tek başına savaşır

-Sakina Al-Sharif

Runaway

She started sifting and refining her pronunciation.. And she floats around her orbit as a constellation, There's a world that tries to assassinate her! Wandering among its ruins, tossing and turning A devastating rhetorical war is brewing She will be crucified with her blood and soil! My article remained free in a collapsing world. The universe is computerized! How they tried to drag me into their den An addiction where originality is undermined They deny their identity... I will not be molded by similar patterns! My art is listening to the voice of nature And my limbs are hidden from those who fall My soul fights alone in the dark

-Sakina Al-Sharif

Does the world escape me like a void?

Have I given up on illusions? Heavy nights train me And the rain of melodies were epics I became aware of war after war The sound of the sword inspired and inspired me! I search my halls and call out To me, to me, O formulated dream

-Sakaina Al-sharif

Kabil

Kabil şimdi şistten yapılmış bir kuşla atıyor Yeryüzüne iner ve onu muazzam ateş yağmurlarıyla yağdırır. Onun ıssızlığından önce kuleler ve evler çöküyor Ölüler toprağın kucağından yukarılara kaçar Cain şimdi tankında dolaşıyor Koyunlar dehşete kapıldı Kabil ahırının duvarını yıkıyor Köyde gece sabaha döndüğü için ahırı uyumaya uygun değil Aşağıya inen ışığın yaydığı Bir ejderhanın dili gibi Kasırga dünyanın yüzünü harap etti

Cain

Cain now beats with a bird made of shale He descends to the earth and showers it- with tremendous rains of fire. Towers and houses collapse before its desolation The dead escape from the embrace of the earth upwards Cain is now floating around in his tank The sheep were terrified Cain is tearing down the wall of his barn Since night turns to morning in the village, the barn is not suitable for sleeping. Emitted by the light coming down Like a dragon's tongue Hurricane ravaged the face of the earth

by: Mohammad Al-Buraiki