aicha bint yusif

10 Podcasts that I have been listening to

they say that the visual era is receding, and the audio era is predominating. Today, we’re trying to squeeze out the most of the day, so we seek the audio that allows us to multi-task. For example, we listen to audiobooks on our long drives, or to a podcast while running or doing the dishes.… Continue reading 10 Podcasts that I have been listening to

TRAVELING

A friend once told me about this ritual in Argentina, Where people get in their cars and travel as far north as they can get. they stop by small villages on the way, and explore the pristine land, Some would end up in Venezuela, and in Colombia, the others. He told me this story as… Continue reading TRAVELING

The War writes its Poems: Review of Asmaa Azaiza’s book of poetry Don’t Believe Me If I Talk To You Of War

Asmaa Azaiza’s newest collection of poetry is bold, dark and triumphant. The young Palestinian woman poet’s third collection of poetry Don’t Believe Me If I Talk To You Of War was published by Almutwassit in Milano earlier in 2019. It has been translated to Dutch, Swedish and English. Azaiza’s book is an attempt to make… Continue reading The War writes its Poems: Review of Asmaa Azaiza’s book of poetry Don’t Believe Me If I Talk To You Of War

The Blessings of Okra

I deem the end of the summer beautiful. When the okra plant is stripped from its leafs and fruits, and only the tall stalk is left: An elongation of the stem, reaching the sky coronated by the last seeds. As we drive past Shfaamer, where a family grows bamyeh**, I witness the stalks -so many, gathered… Continue reading The Blessings of Okra

Olive Picking Sonnet

High backwards swerve with a reed stick, he hits The olive branches, thick and heavy rain Of oil capsules falls heavy as it pits The black tarp with beads of Zaton that remain There until removed, and sifted bit by bit. Green and black olives filling the bags strain The backs of my mom,… Continue reading Olive Picking Sonnet

On the evolution of a bus station

First, a man with a penetrating gaze stops people and rummages through their bags; second, the man is joined by a grey frame that beeps when a metal is detected; third, a conveyor belt is added and another woman is placed to watch the screen and sometimes to press a button to re-watch the… Continue reading On the evolution of a bus station

Memories of Dirt

Mixed with wet mucus I knead the earth and eat it In hand-fuls And arm-fuls. The video camera zooms in as I slowly swallow the soil; Engrossed and joyful. My logic drew a continuous circle from the time my mother told me we’re made of mud, as God said in the Quran, to the place… Continue reading Memories of Dirt

If ATP were to be human

If ATP were to be human, It would be a baker Providing bread; providing life. In another dimension, ATP is: The regal Adenosine, His sweet Ribose queen, And an entourage of Phosphates at their flank; Willing to give away their life For the kingdom of bread and honey Once called by the duty of an… Continue reading If ATP were to be human

I spend most of my time

begging others to be vulnerable To be weak; to be open; to be ample And to be read. But sometimes, I don’t. Sometimes it’s different Sometimes it’s not the same with everyone And everything. Sometimes it changes. Sometimes there’s not enough time nor light To put on a fight. Sometimes crying doesn’t help Sometimes running… Continue reading I spend most of my time

Anti-Zionist protest sonnet

You scream, I scream in defiance and rage Against the machines of occupation. Walking in Haifa, the smell of jasmine and sage, leads our feet to the demonstration. Flags held up by kids on their parents’ shoulders confronting armed policemen and horses. We gather slowly, never starting on time to shout and let them hear… Continue reading Anti-Zionist protest sonnet