aicha bint yusif

TAHA in Haifa – personal review

The parallel between the personal tragedy of an individual and the collective tragedy of a people is clear in TAHA play. It is a gripping show, a one-actor monologue that made the audience weep in sorrow, empathy and compassion. Numerous, and great, articles and reviews have been written about the show, especially since it was… Continue reading TAHA in Haifa – personal review

Dear poetry

I am waiting for you- I have left the door ajar and I planted the way with lavender-scented incense. poetry, I’ve waited for you under the pelting rain, and the blazing sun no other refuge but your sudden embrace that grips me off guard and puts a plate of jasmine in front of me-… Continue reading Dear poetry

blindness and the death of Tahseen

blind means one is not able to see. the deprivation of seeing manifests itself as the lack of eyesight, mind-sight or soul-sight. The Greek seer that sees the future is almost always blind (in the traditional way of being blind). Can one say that everyone is blind- only each person is blind in its own… Continue reading blindness and the death of Tahseen

[Fragments of return #2]

Though she has never admitted it, but it was one of her healing rituals to go to the meadow with her father. When she was little, she hated going to the meadow because that meant lots of field work, and she only wanted to play. But sometimes she loved working, only when all her… Continue reading [Fragments of return #2]

هنا (مترجمة)

هنا خطواتي في هذا الشارع تعيد الصدى في الشارع الاخر حيث اسمع خطواتي تعبر هذا الشارع حيث الحقيقي هو الغيمة فقط.… Continue reading هنا (مترجمة)

home

the dry fig leaves crushed under footsteps- Home is here.

poem on the side, please

I will have my poetry on the side; along with the worries of the day the stretch of the neck and the scream of the seagulls in the sky. I will have my poetry on the side, its savory smell sustains my forbearance.

[fragments of return]

On her ride back home from the airport, after three years of comfortable living abroad, the new wall that was built at the entrance of the neighborhood accompanied her. She could not see past it, and it stayed there, a grey, solemn slab of concrete looming after another, for about twenty seconds. But she thought… Continue reading [fragments of return]

the dark side of a poem

I hate poetry because when I’m angry i write a poem about blood, fury and the chant. then, satisfied with it; I stay home and sip my tea. (painting by David Caspar Friedrich)

intentions and a poem

Today I will just speak to you about the sound of the water falling, and of the yellow, dry cattails that break under my footstep when I’m sitting down to see the sun setting. Tomorrow I will tell you of the swallows soaring in the sky, to which i raise my gaze abandoning… Continue reading intentions and a poem