Distances are empty
between us.
Prayers are love,
and when I get drunk
by desire
I forget from which amulet
I wrote myself
using its bloody saffron
and which I...
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. »
|
media_text
|
My body regularly erupts and it hurts when it does but it terrifies me with its painful time delay. My legs don’t tremble my back doesn’t groan, and I don’t distort my... media_text
|
In the theater of time crucified on my language, watching the birds falling onto my song, stealing pieces of bread from my melody, what does its meaning Prepare for me... media_text
|
|
My kid is playing nearby and he stuns me, how he chooses my right breast and sucks my age till it swells. I try to surprise him with my left but he squeezes the nipple... media_text
|
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
|
I drink the low-fat morning death. I begin it by eating dates. How many times did the dates immigrate us? How many times did death strip the conscience of silence... media_text
|
|
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
|
If the core of rising Is the core of kneeling, where will I direct and to what will I surrender my eyes? From the collection Bleeding Gull: Look Feel Fly media_text
|
Their identikits are a mystery. I couldn’t recognize them by the reflection of the wind Nor by the sensors On my blind stick. They walked by me with sympathy. ... media_text
|
|
I cannot recognize myself If I don’t wear me. Faces are deceiving without their masks, like that bleeding white gulf. media_text
|
I am a Tuareg child. My blue turban drowns me in the waves of sadness, then expels me like seeds of ivory. O! great Tin Hinan, your brave knight lost his way among... media_text
|
Since the night of shooting stars, the night of travail, the call to prayer calms me. Some people chant, “Hale Loya.” It was the last supper and the birth of a certain death. My... media_text
|
