Under the threshold (writing fragments) – Page 3

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The hardest part of a plant’s life is the burst of the green bud, the sprout of the stalk upward reaching the sky and downward, the roots establishing a foundation. It is this part that is my life, now. But soon, the sun will warm my face and I will sleep in my… Continue reading Untitled

The fireworks light the sky

when the fireworks lit the sky and the children gathered to celebrate another festivity lo que sea my Palestinian friend, who sat by my side, reached out for the light and turned it off an automatic response a physical response the heart palpates quickly followed by shame from the eyes staring in the dark. this… Continue reading The fireworks light the sky

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when i wash my face i empty myself for sleep; the words i’ve learnt the expressions ive resgistered and visions of unattainable future are drained down the sink. when i dry my face -i take my time- i trace every furrow down its pore i accept the loss with regret and tears. when… Continue reading Untitled

The Waste Land

I remember reading this poem when I was in my first year of English degree, and I was under its spell for quite a while. The Wasteland is a masterpiece for its intricate, elaborate and quite sophisticated language that attempts to ask difficult questions about existence, life, love, and war. It also attempts to offer… Continue reading The Waste Land

the Death of an Earring

The Earring dangled from the ear lobe gracefully. Yellow and green, it glitters against the light on Thursday evenings while watching the sunset. It has witnessed many horrendous thing, most of which is the penetration of the flesh in the ear, to establish sovereignty. Power can be violent, or power is always violent. The dominion… Continue reading the Death of an Earring

Write!

Day v: On the Renovation of Occupation

Nearing Kalandia’s checkpoint, the wall accompanies our bus ride. Sitting next to the window seat, and neck craned upwards, aiming for a clear October sky, but failing to see the clouds for the wall is high. The famous checkpoint, known as the site for many confrontations, deaths, traffic jams, anger frenzies, and births too (not… Continue reading Day v: On the Renovation of Occupation

day iv: what can it be?

Today I took the bus home instead of walking. The bus ride didn’t last that long, so much so, that I did not press the stop button on time, and I missed my station. Instead, I had to climb up the street to get home. Now on my ascend up the steep asphalt, I ruminated… Continue reading day iv: what can it be?

day iii: philosophy of laziness

I should have wrote something yesterday but i was tired. I failed.

day ii: the semantics of hesitation

the words have rebelled and took matters into their hands. They write themselves, arrange each word: each has the sacred role divined by God. The syzygy of moon and sun: of friend and friend, of coffee and tea, weed and cigarette, of writing and entertaining a conversation. But it is okay; I will do both:… Continue reading day ii: the semantics of hesitation