And I see peasants
singing along the milky road
alongside a bull
that didn’t know
what a plow looks like.
And beggars,
desert sharpeners
like a flock of cheating...
A virtual route of creative and cultural exchange
Places
Qateef, Saudi Arabia
Contributors: Raed Al-Jishi
« The Qateef settlement dates back to approximately 3500 B.C. and is well known for its traditional markets (suqs), such as its Fish Market. »
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The language of love is spontaneous,like me, like a painting of a child. I used to draw my house on the left side of the paper. My house was so small, neither doors nor... media_text
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Unlike in Shakespeare’s verse, I felt the summer day. The sun burned my nocturnal wings and the wind tossed me away. My steps on the milky shore, my feathers in the sky ... media_text
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Surrounded by the walls of memory with no lover and nothing to remember I mock my triangular cuffs and the illusion of hands in a circle. An iron cage of emotions... media_text
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They vanished like our palm trees. Ancient open windows and old dreams. The city forgot their names while they held its memory in their soul like a candle ... media_text
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We have a modest tradition of hospitality. Our Arabian coffee doesn’t need sugar or cardamom to be tasty or delightful just like the smile we serve to those... media_text
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An autistic girl searching for the spring between the black clouds— her braids are made from a shining rose branch. Her dreams are made from a shining rose. But who... media_text
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When the distance to stillness becomes a ticket for the passenger and there is no other trip, the port of transfiguration is caught in desertification. Sound waves ... media_text
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I roll up. I smoke the pulse of the minute. I inject my hand with heroin of love. No one can shut me up. My flying poems hide themselves in the pack of hearts, ... media_text
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I cannot recognize myself If I don’t wear me. Faces are deceiving without their masks, like that bleeding white gulf. media_text
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I have seen gulls,
in holy visions,
hover and invent
the sound of horses.
I have seen them
give alms to rats
hungry for crumbs of bread,
crucified on the altar.
I have seen them
flap their wings and swallow
common...
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Our cotton didn’t take the sun’s side anymore. The wrung-out sweat was not injected inside us as if a shiver of a poem’s smoke. We are the shaved-off sugar top And the... media_text
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