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Orientalist Paintings

Jean-Léon Gérôme - The Carpet Merchant 

Jean Leon Gerome - Pelt Merchant of Cairo

Frederick Arthur Bridgman - An Afternoon in Algiers

Osman Hamdi Bey - Islam Priest Reading Qura'an

John Frederick Lewis - The Midday Meal, Cairo

Ludwig Deutsch - The Tribute

Frederick Arthur Bridgman - The Messenger, 1879

Jean-Léon Gérôme - The Harem in the Kiosk, 1870

Frederick Arthur Bridgman - In The Souk, Tunis (1874)

Jean-Léon Gérôme - Prayer in the Mosque

John Frederick Lewis - The Kibab Shop

(The Reception) by John Frederick Lewis

Frederick Arthur Bridgman - Return from the Festival, Algiers

Gustav Bauernfeind - Forecourt of the Ummayad Mosque

Ludwig Deutsch - At Prayer (1923)

Frederick Arthur Bridgman - Young Woman On A Terrace

John Frederick Lewis - The Harem 1841

Ludwig Deutsch - The Qanun Player

Rudolf Ernst - The Carpet Seller

Martinus Rørbye - outside the Kilic Ali Pasha Mosque

Léon-Auguste-Adolphe Belly - Pilgrims going to Mecca

Amedeo Simonetti - The Rug Merchant

Eugène Fromentin - Windstorm

Jean Leon Gerome - The Whirling Dervish

Giulio Rosati - The Dance

Jean Discart - The Pottery Studio Tangiers

Osman Hamdi Bey - Young Woman Reading

Granada

At the entrance of Alhambra was our meeting, How sweet is a rendezvous not thought of before. Two soft black eyes in perfect frames enticing, Generating after-effects from the past ages afore. Are you a Spaniard? I asked her enquiring, She said: Granada is the city where I was born. Granada! Seven centuries awoke from slumbering, In her eyes, after the clothing of sleep they wore. And Umayyad, with flags lifted high, flying, Their horses streaming by, unnumbered they pour. How strange is history, how is it to me returning? A beautiful granddaughter, from my pedigree of yore. With a Damascene face, through it I was seeing, The eyelids of Sheba and the neck of Suad once more. I saw a room in our old house with a clearing, Where mother used to spread my cushions on the floor. And the Jasmine inlaid in its stars were shining, With the golden singing pool, a picture of splendor. Damascus, where is it? I said: you will be seeing It in your flowing hair, a river of golden black ore. In your Arab face, in your mouth still storing The suns of my country from the days of Arab lore. In the perfume of Generalife with waters gleaming, Its Arabian Jasmine, its sweet basil and citron odour. She came with me and her hair behind her flowing, Like luscious ears of grain in an unharvested meadow. The long earrings on her neck were glittering, Like Christmas Eve candles that sparkle and glow. Behind her like a child I walked, she was guiding, And behind me, history, piles of ashes row after row. The decoration of Alhambra I almost hear pulsing, And the ornaments on the roof, I hear their call grow. She said: Alhambra! Pride of my ancestors glowing, Read on its walls my glories that shine and show. Her glory! I anointed an open wound festering, And in my heart anointed another that refused to go. If only my lovely granddaughter had a way of knowing, The ones she meant were my ancestors of long, long ago. When I bid her adieu, when I knew I was going, I embraced in her Ṭāriq ibn Ziyād, that Arab hero.

-Nizar Qabbani

“goodbye”

You called, you’re on the train, on Sunday, I have just taken a shower and await you. Clouds are slipping in off the ocean, but the room is gently lit by the green shirt you gave me. I have been practicing a new way to say hello and it is fantastic. You were so sad: you said “goodbye.” All the shops were closed but the sky was high and blue. I tried to walk it off but I must have walked in the wrong direction.

By : Mathew Roher

I used to see you with my heart

This is the first time, that I see you with my eyes. For the first time, my hands don't tremble when you're sitting next to me. For the first time, I don't feel like I'm flying. It is the first time that I realize, you're much shorter than the sky of my dreams.

Have you ever had a crush? Have you ever felt a rush? Makes my heart stop, she didn't even blush And I got a crush Oh man I got a crush Got a psychedelic dagger in my heart, tell the paramedics to rush

I hate crushes, I cover bruises with paintbrushes Pour it all in the music now that my bank's ruptured

She never texts me, she never texts me, she never texts me Never texts me, she never texts me, forgot to text me

Well I guess we accept the ones that neglect us And my moms say that we disrespect the ones that perfect us And try to protect us

I really hope that you get this My thoughts are weighin' me down My neck can't handle the necklace Your father says that I'm reckless, I didn't cause all that wreckage

had to give you this message I wrote it straight from the soul and it didn't make sense to text it So I snuck up in your room, put it on your shoulder and in return You sent me back a restraining order.

Jaden - let it breath

I tell my neighbor: Come and spend the night with me, I have figs, and almonds, and sugar. We sing, because you are lonely, And singing will ease your longing. I have a home, and a small area of land, So I am safe now. The land of my country is land from heaven, And on it sleeps the painful time. I tell our house: If I am alone, And snow and cold blows, My house is as fire to me, And the winter passes, friendly as a field of roses.

-Al Rahbani Brothers

“And if happiness visits you again, do not remember its previous betrayal..Let that happiness in, and burst!”

-Mahmoud Darwish

Painting by : Jana Brike

A Night Beneath the Palm’s Shadow

The wind hums secrets through the date-laden trees, whispering names of those who once walked this dust, where footprints fade but never truly leave, pressed deep in the memory of the earth’s quiet trust.

Oh, moon of longing, hung low and bright, do you still remember the songs we sang? Verses embroidered in the fabric of night, soft as jasmine, where old echoes hang.

A mother calls, her voice a prayer, threading through the hush of dawn, her hands—cracked, but full of care— building futures from threads long gone.

And here I stand, between past and now, a daughter of sand, of stars, of sea, asking the wind to teach me how to love, to lose, yet still be free.

The most beautiful sea, hasn't been crossed yet. The most beautiful child, hasn't grown up yet. Our most beautiful days, we haven't seen yet. And the most beautiful words, I wanted to tell you I haven't said yet...

― Nâzım Hikmet

I HAVE NO POWER

"I have no power to change you or explain your ways Never believe a man can change a woman Those men are pretenders who think that they created woman from one of their ribs, A woman does not emerge from a man's ribs, not ever! it is he who emerges from her womb, like a fish rising from depths of water

and like streams that branch away from a river It's he who circles the sun of her eyes and imagines he is fixed in place.."

- Nizar Qabbani