Middle Eastern Journal

Habibti,  he says when I am honey. And leaves me hungry for spices. He leaves  me angry and in love.  I love you. I  say it so desperately and it does not calm me. And he does not always say it back. I guess it’s too European for him to say: I love you too.   Albi,  he says when I am alone  in the kitchen, crying softly, before I cut a pomegranate. I tell him I miss him and he does not cause the lust might  devour me tonight. He only misses me  when another man’s hand is on my thigh  for my body is his  property.  Hayati,  he says when he  has spoken to his mother about my Henna tattoos. But he has not said anything to my  father about the white sheets. I say marriage. He says Insha'Allah.

In Beirut, the sound of an explosion deafened a young boy to his mothers laugh and his fathers voice. The blasts left a community stripped off any sense of security. Not a day had passed until, in Baghdad, a funeral branched itself out into over twenty more funerals, and mourners became the ones to be mourned. Hours later, in Paris, gunshots spread the news of the terror that is the world today and wounded bodies spilt in the city like yolk from an egg. Less than twenty four hours left the earth shaking with fear. Three cities grew silent, while the world shed a tear. Cities that bred love have hate splattered across their streets, as innocent souls fell victim to the brutal games of greed. What did those poor souls do for you to snatch away their heartbeat? What did their families do to deserve such misery? It is a pity, what the world has grown into, it’s a shame how little we can do to help, except hold one last thread of hope. So, here’s our hopes for Beirut. Here’s our good wishes to Baghdad. Here’s our prayers for Paris. Here’s our longing for peace.

The Small Vases from Hebron - Naomi Shibab Nye

On a dark, black night, love lights a lamp. You can’t hear the voice of the One whose love carries your heart away. Forests, marshes, and frightening swamps, where one fears tigers with every breath. Those whose love is perfect, Bahu, cross deserts, seas, and jungles.

أريد أن أكتب رواية عن الصمت عن تلك الأشياء التي لا يحكيها الناس I want to write a novel about silence. The things people don’t say.

.الجيات أحسن من الرايحات What is coming is better than what is gone.