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Home2022 (Page 7)

May 2022

"Passenger" by Nour Annan October 10, 2019  Dear Aysha, I have finally got my driving license. I know I will be leaving this place soon, but I couldn't stand the immobility anymore. Let me tell you about my first lesson with this old man-Clifford.  "Drivers here are courteous, you know. Don't be alarmed if a car waits for you. I know you're not used to this back in your home country," he said, and I let myself feel small, glancing away so he could not see the look in my eyes. I never responded to his comments about my home country, which he had

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Letters, prose
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"Built Sea 3" by Lina Hassoun "The true image of the past flits by. The past can be seized only as an image that flashes up at the moment of its recognizability, and is never seen again." - Walter Benjamin At night, you can usually find bats doing playful death dives across the Cairo skyline. Bats usually scare me, but in these moments of stillness they are my comrades. I imagine that they welcome me into their nocturnal journeys. That they can sense I too prefer to fly at night, fighting the coming of daylight. In my anthropomorphic imaginations, I

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Non-Fiction, prose
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Note  I was hospitalised for fifteen days at the AHEPA, Thessaloniki's General Teaching Hospital. The diagnosis: pneumonia and empyema; that is, pus-filled lungs.  The treatment: surgery.  The gaze: eighteen pictures.  In medical terminology, Personal Anamnesis denotes a patient's medical history. For a photographer, it means the itinerary of his gaze through the domain of darkness. And when you look at darkness straight on, it's somewhat tamed.  Paris Petridis       Published by Agra and University Studio Press, 2017

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Photo Essay
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"Crescent Shy" by Nour Annan       Astronaut, I don't remember before. Just that I was aimless, conjoined with an aching that began to cease as I descended. The moment we crashed into each other, I reached out my hand, engulfed by a wave of familiarity, and at our collision point bloomed a birthmark that never blanched. I was overcome with the scent of something sweet and solar as I entered the epipelagic, forsaking breath and buoyancy. I knew, somehow and all at once, that we were on course towards something significant. I free-fell through hues of blue and black and marine snow suspended,

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Letters, prose
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"The Unseen" by Bilal Tarabey I wake up late today, near noon.  A ray of sun shines through the narrow space between my curtains, leaving my bedroom otherwise in darkness. These days, I either sleep too much or too little. But no amount of sleep seems to matter; I never feel well-rested the following day.  I sigh and rub my face, massaging my eyes and forehead, and I get out of bed. Nothing cures the headache that often comes. Sluggishly, my feet carry me forward. Moving them feels like lifting blocks of cement. After I brush my teeth and wash

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Fiction
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"I've Got the Love Handles, But I Can't Handle Love" by Tanja Van Deer some dayscaught between clamping down onprocessed food or not eatingat all; ferociously demanding rightsor considering the futility of change in front of this pageI am a sell-outashamed of my falteringwords, the aftermath of a burnt out mind I am a sell-outthese are not the wordsI meant to write, but i can'tstop themfrom escaping their confines I cannot halt this exodus some days I recklessly spew things outor repeatsayings from other giants but at times my words are emptyblurted out in hasteor by means

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Poetry
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"Magic in Bones" by Rafik El Hariri We made great neighboursyou and I. Like the time   I lobbed string frommy window to yours, forging a zip-line,a tight rope-bridge  stretched wall-to-wall.We held on, feeling the tug of each other's hands. Puzzled,you mouthed me a question I answered in mime, and in no timeyou were in on the scam. On my side. Soon we were synchronous:licking frayed ends,  lacing them through the basesof pierced tin cups. Our fingers ringed with twined fibres, we bothtied knots on top of knots until the cups held, as obviousyet genius as a bathroom

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Poetry
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"Pillow Memory" by Nour Annan Bella, It is a windy Saturday. I took Tommy on his favorite morning walk. I got him apples from the cocktail bar in Sassine Square and some grapefruit juice to mix with my gin. Tommy loves to watch the Christmas lights dangling from the shops and the buildings. There are fewer this year. They only glitter when the government electricity is on, at most three hours a day. The generator only lights the holy tree in the square. It's decorated with angel wings this year, a mercy call to the Holy Spirit. You would

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Letters, prose
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About Us
Rusted Radishes: Beirut Literary and Art Journal was founded in the English Department of the American University of Beirut in 2012 with the intention of creating a space for both emerging and established writers who have a connection to Lebanon.
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