Mustafa

Art ceases to be art when it loses its human and ethical value; it becomes nothing more than visual noise with no noble message and no lasting impact. Homosexuality and similar trends do not constitute art; they harm it and reduce it to a tool of societal decay rather than progress. True art, on the other hand, is that which presents a pure image of the soul, reveals beauty in nature and in mankind, plants hope in hearts, and reminds us of the great values that preserve human dignity and identity.

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐰𝐚𝐲،

𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧.

◍ 𝑃𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑔𝑎𝑠 𝑑𝑒 𝐴𝑐𝑒 & 𝐸𝑑𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑑 𝑁𝑒𝑤𝑔𝑎𝑡𝑒 ✨

𝐇𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧, 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐲, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐢𝐭𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐤𝐞𝐩𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐯𝐨𝐰.🔥✨

◍ 𝑅𝑜𝑟𝑜𝑛𝑜𝑎 𝑍𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑜

Iraq is not a land like other lands, nor a homeland like other homelands; it is the primal root of the human tree, the eternal cradle from which the dawn of civilization first emerged, where the spark of consciousness was kindled, and where the gates of knowledge opened wide. From its fertile soil arose Sumer, gifting humanity the first written script and the earliest strains of music; then Babylon, whose kings raised the Hanging Gardens and inscribed on their stelae laws that endure as everlasting beacons of justice and order; and Assyria, which unfurled its banners across thrones and stretched its dominion over far horizons. Upon this soil, nations and generations followed one another, each bearing a torch of thought, adding to the human record yet another radiant page.

Iraq is the land through which the Tigris and Euphrates flow, as if two eternal arteries nourishing both earth and mankind, one narrating the saga of valor, the other the epic of immortality. Along their banks the voices of prophets resounded, wisdom shone forth, and in their orchards flourished schools of science, philosophy, astronomy, medicine, mathematics, and literature—until Iraq became a wellspring of civilizations, a meeting ground of cultures, and a vast arena of knowledge that lifted humanity from the shadows of ignorance into the expanses of enlightenment.

A month ago

Palestine is the story that can never be fully told, the poem written by pain upon the walls of time. It is the land of the prophets, blessed by God with Jerusalem and Al-Aqsa, the land that has always been the heart of the faithful—yet today it lives as a captive wound that has not healed for more than seventy years. There, where the stones of ancient homes breathe with the spirit of olive trees, a steadfast people endure, deprived of their right to freedom and dignity, crushed beneath the weight of an occupying power that stole their land, uprooted their families, destroyed their homes, encircled their cities with walls, and turned their villages into open-air prisons.

A Palestinian is born into suffering, grows up with the meaning of oppression engraved in his heart. From childhood, he learns that the road to school may be blocked by military checkpoints, and that play in the streets may end with the sound of bullets or the sting of tear gas. The mothers of Palestine bid farewell to their children with prayers for their safe return, the fathers carve into the memory of the land that the homeland is not for sale, and the children paint on the walls of refugee camps a sun that never sets, writing in small hands the names of their great cities: Jerusalem, Haifa, Jaffa, Acre, Gaza—names that fill memory with longing and with stolen rights.

Behind the mask of dignity, he hides a tender heart—one that weeps for his loved ones and aches for the suffering of others.

A character : Levi Ackerman ✨