Poetry | شعر

National Museum of the American Indian Into the museum of our people, I take you by the hand, through the…

I saw youKicking cans along Makdissi StreetTurning right andIn a geometry of anglesHurling epithetsat the walls of the Mayflower Hotel:…

In Beirut, we live surrounded by dead people looking at us. Joana Hadjithomas and Khalil Joreige   In Arabic, we…

June 2014 Athens, Georgia, USA   A suicide car bomber shook Beirut on Monday            …

I would like to be part of a life-changing moment that takes me back thirty years, when my grandfather told…

The debris       rose from the fire the air thickened with the name of God I missed it      by a mile…

  to the Assy family: to my family, which means that one day, when my vital organs fail me or…

1. Dreaming in Arabic, flying red clouds hang over the high Chouf village. A young boy dresses early by lamp…

How presumptuous – this love. Waiting at the edge of my sanity. Confident in its future. Secure in the belief…

I am soaked in you, Like an old white rag drenched in murky waters. I wring myself, Hoping to watch…