Her şeyden Bir Istifa Mektubu Yazmak Istiyorum,

Had I told the sea

What I felt for you

It would have left

it’s shores

It’s shells

And followed me

- Nizar Qabbani

Let me rest on your chest

Because I'm tired, just like you. let my name, address, who I am and my past years…all drown in our silence. Behind this door, a storm is chasing me, a dark winter is suffocating me, and the feet of the night are crushing me. I have no lover, nor a house to protect me from the flood. The winds of doubt carried me to you. So, shall I rest a little on your chest? 

Or should I go back to my sorrows?

You who pass between our fleeting words

Like bitter dust, pass wherever you want, but do not pass between us like flying insects

Take the past if you like, to the antiques market

Stack your illusions in a deserted hole, and go!

And reside wherever you like, but do not reside among us. It is time for you to depart and die wherever you wish, but do not die among us.

So get out of our land, from our sea, from our wheat, from our salt, from everything that has wounded us, and be erased from the vocabulary of memory.

kardeşim

Annemin rahminde yedi dakika boyunca beni terk ettiği için ikiz kardeşimi asla affetmeyeceğim.

Beni orada, karanlıktan korkarak, o yapışkan sıvının içinde bir astronot gibi yüzerek, diğer tarafta onu nasıl öpüp ona taptıklarını dinleyerek yalnız bıraktı.

Bunlar hayatımın en uzun yedi dakikasıydı ve onu ilk doğan ve annemin gözdesi olmaya adayan şeydi.

Bundan sonra, her zaman Pablo'dan önce bir yerlerden ayrılmaya özen gösterirdim: yatak odası, ev, okul, kitle, tiyatro… bu filmin sonunu kaçırmak anlamına gelse bile.

Bir gün dikkatim dağıldı ve kardeşim benden önce gitti ve o sevimli gülümsemesiyle beni izlerken bir araba geldi ve ona çarptı.

İkiz kardeşim öldüğünde, annem cesedini tuttu ve adımı haykırdı ve ben şimdiye kadar ona söylemedim...

Ben öldüm ve kardeşim yaşadı.

Rafael Noboa - My Brother

The Glance That Shattered Silence

In the kingdoms of sand, where the moon lies cracked like a blade, And palaces rise from bones of sages and ruins of caravans made, There ruled a Caliph named Yazan ibn Subh, Seated upon a throne of fire, guarded by jinn and the whispering hush.

And far in a rival land, across the cursed river's sweep, Lived Princess Zahra, whose eyes could make angels weep. Her grandfather had fallen to Yazan's kin in a war of old, So between their houses, hatred ran bitter and cold.

But hearts know no borders when first they ignite, They met in a souk where shadows flirt with light. Zahra was trading with spirits, in spells and silver dust, Yazan watched, enchanted—his duty undone by lust.

"Why stare so boldly, O stranger in royal thread?" She asked, voice laced with dread. "Because," he said, "I have never seen dawn in flesh, And now I must chase it, though the world turn to ash."

And the Spirits Moved in the Shadows

The enemies of love allied: Yazan’s kin from one side, And Zahra’s sorceress-mother from the other, steeped in pride. They summoned seers of stars, bound jinn in chains of fate, Wove spells to turn passion into a poisoned plate.

The markets burned with rumor, the alleys whispered of doom, Slaves were stirred to fury, rebels were led from gloom. The witches spat curses upon the Caliph's crown, Sowing chaos like wheat, hoping to strike him down.

A secret faction rose: The Sacred Shadow, sworn to dethrone, A band of fanatics who claimed justice but wanted the throne. They whispered of Yazan's sins and Zahra's foreign blood, Till the streets turned against them, like rivers turned to mud.

An End Written by Darkness, with Ink of Starlight

The rebels came at moonrise, like wolves with steel for teeth, Yazan stood on the palace roof, the wind a dying wreath. Below him, fire and fury, above, a sky too still, And in his hands, her final note—a prayer, a will.

"If you fall today, know you have my heart in your hand, If you flee, take me far in search of nameless land: No thrones. No homeland. Just you and I— The shadow and the prayer, beneath one sky."

They fought like myths, but myths too must die, Yazan fell with blade in hand, and Zahra fled with a cry. For forty years the sun refused to shine on that sand, Till travelers claimed to see two ghosts walk hand in hand.

They say on moonlit dunes, when the stars are brave, You may see a Caliph and his beloved beyond the grave. Still they dance, still they sing, love stronger than time, A tale told in sorrow, in rhythm, and rhyme.

Thus ends the scroll—but never the longing...

Bak Milena,

"En çok seni seviyorum." diyorum ama belki de bu gerçek aşk değildir.

"Sen bir bıçaksın ve ben hep o bıçakla kendime saplarım",dersem belki de gerçek aşkı anlatmış olurum.

Ve Milena, kalbimde seninle her şeye katlanabilirim.

| Franz Kafka

Bak Milena,

"En çok seni seviyorum." diyorum ama belki de bu gerçek aşk değildir.

"Sen bir bıçaksın ve ben hep o bıçakla kendime saplarım",dersem belki de gerçek aşkı anlatmış olurum.

Ve Milena, kalbimde seninle her şeye katlanabilirim.

| Franz Kafka

The Rain

By sea...towards another space, shaking off my dust. Forgetting my name, the names of plants, and the history of trees.. Escaping from this sun that flogs me with its boredom... Fleeing from cities that slept for centuries under the feet of the moon.. Leaving behind me eyes made of glass and a sky made of stone. I will not go back to the sun... for I now belong to the rainstorms.

by: Nizar Qabbani

Write down: I am an Arab, A name without a title, Patient in a country where everything Lives on flared-up anger. My roots… Took firm hold before the birth of time, Before the beginning of the ages, Before the cypress and olives, Before the growth of pastures. My father… of the people of the plough, Not of noble masters. My grandfather, a peasant Of no prominent lineage, Taught me pride of self before reading of books. My house is a watchman’s hut Of sticks and reed. Does my status satisfy you? I am a name without a title.

Write down: I am an Arab Robbed of my ancestors’ vineyards And of the land cultivated By me and all my children. Nothing is left for us and my grandchildren Except these rocks… Will your government take them too, as reported? Therefore, Write at the top of page one: I do not hate people, I do not assault anyone, But … if I get hungry, I eat the flesh of my usurper. Beware … beware … of my hunger, And of my anger.

-Mahmoud Darwish

"Onu ölesiye seviyor musun?" diye sordular.

"Mezarımda ondan bahset ve beni nasıl hayata döndürdüğünü izle" dedim.

- Mahmoud Darwish