[سَفِينَةُ الفَضَاء (safinatou al-faďa’)]

[my mother used to say that there was a path i could follow beat the dirt, the violence of trying to blend in and make a place for yourself in this world i’d argue, with my youthful innocent mouth that there were wheatfields in which to skim your hand roaming gently planting new seeds inContinue reading “[سَفِينَةُ الفَضَاء (safinatou al-faďa’)]”

The colour of wheatfields (Full story)

A matter of importance   Tiny little flower growing in the dry land The only green shade in the desert How did it find a way in this arid empty place To emerge from the sand?   Perhaps it’s here to be noticed by the little prince When he falls down. When he can’t standContinue reading “The colour of wheatfields (Full story)”

The forgotten colors

From “The colour of wheatfields” I. كُل وردة عندها ألْوَان جميلة حمر، زرق، صفر أولا فنيدي تا يولي الوقت فَاتح ملي كَيتلاقى قلبي مع رَوَائح جديدة .ملي مكينش صداح في مخي   البارح بكيت، اليوم كنشطح كل نهار يقْدَر يكون غامق أولا فاتح ولكن مع الشمس عند بشرتي و القمر في ذهني كنحس .و كنستحقContinue reading “The forgotten colors”