Arabic Poetry Quotes

“لعَمْرُكَ، ما الدّنيا بدارِ بَقَاءِ؛ كَفَاكَ بدارِ المَوْتِ دارَ فَنَاءِ
فلا تَعشَقِ الدّنْيا، أُخيَّ، فإنّما يُرَى عاشِقُ الدُّنيَا بجُهْدِ بَلاَءِ
حَلاَوَتُهَا ممزَوجَة ٌ بمرارة ٍ ورَاحتُهَا ممزوجَة ٌ بِعَناءِ
فَلا تَمشِ يَوْماً في ثِيابِ مَخيلَة ٍ فإنَّكَ من طينٍ خلقتَ ومَاءِ
لَقَلّ امرُؤٌ تَلقاهُ لله شاكِراً؛ وقلَّ امرؤٌ يرضَى لهُ بقضَاءِ
وللّهِ نَعْمَاءٌ عَلَينا عَظيمَة ٌ، وللهِ إحسانٌ وفضلُ عطاءِ
ومَا الدهرُ يوماً واحداً في اختِلاَفِهِ ومَا كُلُّ أيامِ الفتى بسَوَاءِ
ومَا هُوَ إلاَّ يومُ بؤسٍ وشدة ٍ ويومُ سُرورٍ مرَّة ً ورخاءِ
وما كلّ ما لم أرْجُ أُحرَمُ نَفْعَهُ؛ وما كلّ ما أرْجوهُ أهلُ رَجاءِ
أيَا عجبَا للدهرِ لاَ بَلْ لريبِهِ يخرِّمُ رَيْبُ الدَّهْرِ كُلَّ إخَاءِ
وشَتّتَ رَيبُ الدّهرِ كلَّ جَماعَة ٍ وكَدّرَ رَيبُ الدّهرِ كُلَّ صَفَاءِ
إذا ما خَليلي حَلّ في بَرْزَخِ البِلى ، فَحَسْبِي بهِ نأْياً وبُعْدَ لِقَاءِ
أزُورُ قبورَ المترفينَ فَلا أرَى بَهاءً، وكانوا، قَبلُ،أهل بهاءِ
وكلُّ زَمانٍ واصِلٌ بصَريمَة ٍ، وكلُّ زَمانٍ مُلطَفٌ بجَفَاءِ
يعِزُّ دفاعُ الموتِ عن كُلِّ حيلة ٍ ويَعْيَا بداءِ المَوْتِ كلُّ دَواءِ
ونفسُ الفَتَى مسرورَة ٌ بنمائِهَا وللنقْصِ تنْمُو كُلُّ ذاتِ نمَاءِ
وكم من مُفدًّى ماتَ لم يَرَ أهْلَهُ حَبَوْهُ، ولا جادُوا لهُ بفِداءِ
أمامَكَ، يا نَوْمانُ، دارُ سَعادَة ٍ يَدومُ البَقَا فيها، ودارُ شَقاءِ
خُلقتَ لإحدى الغايَتينِ، فلا تنمْ، وكُنْ بينَ خوفٍ منهُمَا ورَجَاءُ
وفي النّاسِ شرٌّ لوْ بَدا ما تَعاشَرُوا ولكِنْ كَسَاهُ اللهُ ثوبَ غِطَاءِ”
― أبو العتاهية

“عارف يارب..
انا لسّه مقولتش على كذا سِر
انا لسه مقولتش ولا حاجه
ولإن الطيبه ساعات بتعِر
بطّلت أفكر بسذاجه
بطلت أتعلق الماشيين
أو أحب يحبنى بنى آدمين
بطلت أعوز أصلا حاجه!”
― محمد إبر اهيم

“هل تعلم أنك أحيانا..
بتحس بإنك مش حاسس ؟!
وكإنك خدت فـ إحساسك
100 حقنة بنج..
وضلوعك بقوا حبة خُرده
وتشوف الدنيا بعين بارده
ويتحول قلبك يومها لتلج
والناس يتساووا قصاد عينك
وتشوف الفارق مش فارق
وتشوف اللمه بتفكك
وتشوف الحلو ملوش قيمه
وكإنك قاعد فـ السيما..
وحياتك فيلم قديم شوفته
ولذلك بقى مش بيضحك!”
― محمد إبر اهيم

“ياللى انتو قاعدين فـ السما!..
بقالكوا فتره مزورتونيش فـ الحلم ليه ؟!
يا جدتى: طب عامله إيه ؟!
أخبارك ايه فـ الجنه من بعد الممات
دانا لسه فاكر كل قاعده قعدتها
وياكى نحكى بالساعات
من بعد موتك حبى للشاى
قل خالص..
يمكن عشان الشاى أساسا
حلاوته كانت فـ إجتماعنا
مبقتش أحس لأوضتك المقفوله
معنى..
وكرهت حتى الوقفه فـ الشباك
انا روحت مره بعد موتك بعدها
مبقتش عايز أروح هناك”
― محمد إبر اهيم

“يا موطناً في ثراه غاب سادته* لوكان يخجل من باعوك ما باعوا”
― إبراهيم طوقان, الأعمال الشعرية الكاملة: إبراهيم طوقان

“هَذا الّذي تَعرِفُ البَطْحاءُ وَطْأتَهُ، وَالبَيْتُ يعْرِفُهُ وَالحِلُّ وَالحَرَمُ
هذا ابنُ خَيرِ عِبادِ الله كُلّهِمُ، هذا التّقيّ النّقيّ الطّاهِرُ العَلَمُ
هذا ابنُ فاطمَةٍ، إنْ كُنْتَ جاهِلَهُ، بِجَدّهِ أنْبِيَاءُ الله قَدْ خُتِمُوا
وَلَيْسَ قَوْلُكَ: مَن هذا؟ بضَائرِه، العُرْبُ تَعرِفُ من أنكَرْتَ وَالعَجمُ
كِلْتا يَدَيْهِ غِيَاثٌ عَمَّ نَفعُهُمَا، يُسْتَوْكَفانِ، وَلا يَعرُوهُما عَدَمُ
سَهْلُ الخَلِيقَةِ، لا تُخشى بَوَادِرُهُ، يَزِينُهُ اثنانِ: حُسنُ الخَلقِ وَالشّيمُ
حَمّالُ أثقالِ أقوَامٍ، إذا افتُدِحُوا، حُلوُ الشّمائلِ، تَحلُو عندَهُ نَعَمُ
ما قال: لا قطُّ، إلاّ في تَشَهُّدِهِ، لَوْلا التّشَهّدُ كانَتْ لاءَهُ نَعَمُ
عَمَّ البَرِيّةَ بالإحسانِ، فانْقَشَعَتْ عَنْها الغَياهِبُ والإمْلاقُ والعَدَمُ
إذ رَأتْهُ قُرَيْشٌ قال قائِلُها: إلى مَكَارِمِ هذا يَنْتَهِي الكَرَمُ
يُغْضِي حَياءً، وَيُغضَى من مَهابَتِه، فَمَا يُكَلَّمُ إلاّ حِينَ يَبْتَسِمُ
بِكَفّهِ خَيْزُرَانٌ رِيحُهُ عَبِقٌ، من كَفّ أرْوَعَ، في عِرْنِينِهِ شمَمُ
يَكادُ يُمْسِكُهُ عِرْفانَ رَاحَتِهِ، رُكْنُ الحَطِيمِ إذا ما جَاءَ يَستَلِمُ
الله شَرّفَهُ قِدْماً، وَعَظّمَهُ، جَرَى بِذاكَ لَهُ في لَوْحِهِ القَلَمُ
أيُّ الخَلائِقِ لَيْسَتْ في رِقَابِهِمُ، لأوّلِيّةِ هَذا، أوْ لَهُ نِعمُ
مَن يَشكُرِ الله يَشكُرْ أوّلِيّةَ ذا؛ فالدِّينُ مِن بَيتِ هذا نَالَهُ الأُمَمُ
يُنمى إلى ذُرْوَةِ الدّينِ التي قَصُرَتْ عَنها الأكفُّ، وعن إدراكِها القَدَمُ
مَنْ جَدُّهُ دان فَضْلُ الأنْبِياءِ لَهُ؛ وَفَضْلُ أُمّتِهِ دانَتْ لَهُ الأُمَمُ
مُشْتَقّةٌ مِنْ رَسُولِ الله نَبْعَتُهُ، طَابَتْ مَغارِسُهُ والخِيمُ وَالشّيَمُ
يَنْشَقّ ثَوْبُ الدّجَى عن نورِ غرّتِهِ كالشمس تَنجابُ عن إشرَاقِها الظُّلَمُ
من مَعشَرٍ حُبُّهُمْ دِينٌ، وَبُغْضُهُمُ كُفْرٌ، وَقُرْبُهُمُ مَنجىً وَمُعتَصَمُ
مُقَدَّمٌ بعد ذِكْرِ الله ذِكْرُهُمُ، في كلّ بَدْءٍ، وَمَختومٌ به الكَلِمُ
إنْ عُدّ أهْلُ التّقَى كانوا أئِمّتَهمْ، أوْ قيل: «من خيرُ أهل الأرْض؟» قيل: هم
لا يَستَطيعُ جَوَادٌ بَعدَ جُودِهِمُ، وَلا يُدانِيهِمُ قَوْمٌ، وَإنْ كَرُمُوا
هُمُ الغُيُوثُ، إذا ما أزْمَةٌ أزَمَتْ، وَالأُسدُ أُسدُ الشّرَى، وَالبأسُ محتدمُ
لا يُنقِصُ العُسرُ بَسطاً من أكُفّهِمُ؛ سِيّانِ ذلك: إن أثَرَوْا وَإنْ عَدِمُوا
يُستدْفَعُ الشرُّ وَالبَلْوَى بحُبّهِمُ، وَيُسْتَرَبّ بِهِ الإحْسَانُ وَالنِّعَمُ”
― الفرزدق, ديوان الفرزدق

“و بُلْغَةُ العارِ عند الجوع تلفِظُها نفسٌ لها عن قبولِ العار ردَّاعُ”
― إبراهيم طوقان, الأعمال الشعرية الكاملة: إبراهيم طوقان

“الحب هو النعمة ،
الحب هو لعنة.
الحب هو الالم،
الحب راحة.”
― Abhijit Naskar, Aşk Mafia: Armor of The World

“Barbie"
Through my many and long travels
I’ve come across many who read books
On planes, buses, and on trains…
Over the years, three titles caught my attention
of books in the hands of women
who either looked like or tried to look like the Barbie doll…
I don’t remember the exact titles of these books,
But I remember that one of them was something along the lines of
“how keep your husband or preserve your marriage.”
The other was something about “signs that he is cheating on you.”
And the third was something on how to get rid of him and move on!
It was as if these titles summarized the lifecycle of every woman
who lets herself to play the role of a Barbie…
And I often wondered if reading books on
“How to stop playing the Barbie role” in love and life
is not just enough to solve all the problems
the other three books are claiming to address…


[Original poem published in Arabic on May 16, 2024 at ahewar.org]”
― Louis Yako

“حقيقة الكون هي الحب.”
― Abhijit Naskar, Divane Dynamite: Only truth in the cosmos is love

“Fate’s Smile"
That line from an old Turkish song
is still ringing my ears…
A song they used to play on the radio
in my teenage years
on hot and boring summer days…
The song had melancholy tunes,
recoded with basic technology…
The singer repeated in a hesitant and defeated voice:
Bize de bir gün kader güler, güler inşallah…
[The fate will one day smile at us, too. One day it will smile, Inshallah…]

[Original poem published in Arabic on August 12, 2023 at ahewar.org]”
― Louis Yako

“فارقني الدهر

فارقني الدهر ولم اكن اناويه
حملني الالم وحيرت كيف اداويه
فراقك صعب لم يتحمله الروح
ملئت قلب بالهم والجروح
احاول انساك بالخيال والفكر
ولكن الروح ماينساك مدى الدهر
لو كنت معي لكنت سعيدا
ودوما يتمنى القلب يكون قريبا”
― Kamaran Ihsan Salih

“Where are you from?"
Wherever I go,
people think I am from somewhere else!
The first question they ask
is that same sad question
that confirms and reminds me of not belonging anywhere:
“Where are you from?”
They are right to ask!
My grandma used to say
that I am from a time and a place that don’t exist anymore…
My friends tell me that I carry my home with me everywhere I go,
therefore, I belong to all times and all places!
As for me, I often wish I weren’t at all!

[Original poem published in Arabic on September 1, 2023 at ahewar.org]”
― Louis Yako

“Sounds"
Few are the sounds
that deepen and enrich silence..
There are sounds without which
silence remains incomplete,
like a ticking clock
or the sudden sound of a cycling fridge…
The chirping roaches and cicadas,
or croaking frogs…
Then there are those sounds that make existence
more alienating and unbearable,
like the scuffle of a big insect against a window or a door
as if committing suicide!
Or a creaking rusty door
we close behind a departing loved one,
knowing deep inside that they won’t return
and nothing would be the same
after closing that door..
The whistling sound of a kettle
declaring that peace and tranquility
are illusions that never last…
There are also those sounds
that summarize the traumas of the past
from which hearers never recover,
like the screams and cries
of the woman next door when beaten by her husband…
The coughing, spitting, and heavy breathing
of an elderly woman
we visited in our childhood…
And can we ever forget
the sounding sirens of the ships and trains
declaring that departure is inevitable?

[Original poem published in Arabic on September 15, 2023 at ahewar.org]”
― Louis Yako

“Colors"
A long time ago
our national IDs had the word “wheat”
next to the “skin color” category…
Some people’s colors were associated with
olives and chocolate…
Eye colors were described as honey and pistachio colored…
There was also the chestnut-colored hair –
all descriptions reminding us
that we are gifts from the same source:
Mother Nature’s womb!
As for the racist West,
it insists on reducing humanity
and painting it with politicized colors
of which only one color matters!
As for other colors,
they are made to be equivalent
to nobodies and nothingness…
They insist on turning this world into a snow-covered wasteland
Into one blank page and no more…

[Original poem published in Arabic on October 31, 2023 at ahewar.org]”
― Louis Yako

“Adulthood Illnesses"
If only adulthood illnesses
were like those in childhood:
they are cured with
a kiss from mom,
a hot bowl of soup,
a warm cup of milk,
and one tablespoon of honey,
even if adulterated...

[Original poem published in Arabic on November 14, 2023 at ahewar.org]”
― Louis Yako

“Are you Afraid of Sadness?"
In an old interview
with a famous and talented Iraqi actress,
the interviewer asked her:
“Why are you afraid of sadness?”
The actress responded:
“I am afraid of it because it quickly takes you to a place from which you can never return.”
And exactly as she was answering,
an insightful viewer could notice
a sadness on her face indicating
that the famous and talented actress herself
wasn’t really present in the interview
for sadness had long taken her with no return…

[Original poem published in Arabic on November 19, 2023 at ahewar.org]”
― Louis Yako

“As if the clay you were made of, was kneaded with rose water.”
― Rami al-Tobasi

“Spices"
The scents of spices are sad
whether at home or in foreign lands...
At home, they passes through the nose
to give a ray of hope,
a breathing space
that make us forget – albeit for a short while –
all about the chains of religions, gossip,
the absurdity of politics,
and the cruelty of the ruling classes…
At home, spices help us cope with
the heavy weight of the backbreaking
customs and traditions…
You see everyone excited to have a meal
that help them forget about
the hardships, the crises,
and the unsuitability of life at home…
In alienating foreign lands,
The scent of spices awakens everything that was lost,
including the lost lands and homes…
There is something unbearably sad about the image of a woman
Standing in a kitchen filled with scents of spices reminding her
of all that happened,
all that was possible,
all that should never have happened,
and of all the irreplaceable losses…
So many are the societies that have been
completely destroyed,
and of which nothing remains but scents of spices
that add flavor to foods
and marinate the wounds…
Could spices be like old songs?
We love them at home because
they touch wounds we wish we could heal from,
the same old songs break our hearts in foreign lands,
because by then we have finally learned
that exile doesn’t heal wounds,
but rather pushes the knife deeper into them…
And like the alienating foreign lands,
the scents of spices declare
that there is much more
to the story of the wound;
a story that kills if untold,
and doesn’t heal when narrated…

[Original poem published in Arabic on December 11, 2023 at ahewar.org]”
― Louis Yako

“The Silence Game"
Many have understood the game
and chose to remain silent…
They chose silence thinking
that their silence will save them…
Yet silence killed them through heart attacks,
without even giving them a chance
to scream at least one last time
to inform the world that
silence is much more costly
than resistance…

[Original poem published in Arabic on December 11, 2023 at ahewar.org]”
― Louis Yako

“A Flock of Geese"
She often wondered
about the inexplicable deep sorrow that she feels
every time she sees a flock of geese flying in the sky…
Do the flying geese remind her that she has wasted her life
stuck in the trivialities of daily life?
Or perhaps the flying birds remind her
that she’s lost her ability to fly?
She thinks at times in sadness
how she wasted the years of her life
like a naïve bride dreaming about the ideal groom...
A bride planning the minutest details of her wedding,
not realizing, until her wings were clipped,
that the wedding, the groom, and the bride
are roles and illusions created by society
to counter the dangers of all those who wish to fly;
those who dream about creating new worlds
instead of getting hanged or strangulated
in a world created by on their behalf by others…
As she hears the honking of another passing flock of geese
flying over her head as did the most beautiful years of her life
the birds awaken in her that uncontrollable itch to depart
to refuse the illusion of settling and stability
The illusion of the wedding and the groom
The illusion of all the wedding invitees
Who spend an entire night dancing, cheering, and celebrating
the clipping of her wings…

[Original poem published in Arabic on December 14, 2023 at ahewar.org]”
― Louis Yako

“A Flock of Geese"
She often wondered
about the inexplicable deep sorrow that she feels
every time she sees a flock of geese flying in the sky…
Do the flying geese remind her that she has wasted her life
stuck in the trivialities of daily life?
Or perhaps the flying birds remind her
that she’s lost her ability to fly?
She thinks at times in sadness
how she wasted the years of her life
like a naïve bride dreaming about the ideal groom...
A bride planning the minutest details of her wedding,
not realizing, until her wings were clipped,
that the wedding, the groom, and the bride
are roles and illusions created by society
to counter the dangers of all those who wish to fly;
those who dream about creating new worlds
instead of getting hanged or strangulated
in a world created on their behalf by others…
As she hears the honking of another passing flock of geese
flying over her head as did the most beautiful years of her life
the birds awaken in her that uncontrollable itch to depart
to refuse the illusion of settling and stability
The illusion of the wedding and the groom
The illusion of all the wedding invitees
Who spend an entire night dancing, cheering, and celebrating
the clipping of her wings…

[Original poem published in Arabic on December 14, 2023 at ahewar.org]”
― Louis Yako”
― Louis Yako

“(Guaranteeing Tomorrow)
I watch in sorrow
most people occupied with
collecting more money
getting more promotions
building bigger houses
purchasing more real estate and other possessions
new cars
more products to consume…
I see people obsessed with owning
anything and everything they could lay their hands on
to guarantee tomorrow
to ensure luxurious lives…
Yet few realize that tomorrow may never come,
and if it does come,
it shall be sad, scary, and desolate…
Few realize that it may not rain tomorrow
that the land may completely dry up
that everyone’s preoccupation with possessing more,
is the very thing that shall cause humanity’s demise,
after draining all possible forms of life…
Few are aware that the panic, the fear,
and the obsession with guaranteeing tomorrow,
are exactly what have made tomorrow impossible to guarantee…
What a painful paradox…

[Original poem published in Arabic on February 7, 2024 at ahewar.org]”
― Louis Yako

“أتشكو الحياة لعبدٍ فقيرٍ
وتنسى الإله العليّ القدير

وتسكب دمعاً لغير الإله
فهذا وربّي لجرمٌ كبير”
― عماد إبراهيم النابي

“etc."
I have been searching for my self everywhere,
but I can’t find it!
I can’t even remember when exactly I lost it…
I search for it in everything I love and hate
in foreign and familiar cities
in all the kind, exhausted, and mean faces…
I search for my self near water springs and along river shores
On mountaintops and in the scent of wildflowers…
Between the branches of olive and fig trees,
but without any trace or hope…
I search in teacups, in the corners of old cafés
In songs and interludes…
In books
In the memories of everyone who ever knew me
Everyone I betrayed or was betrayed by…
I search in lines and sentences,
But all in vain…
I even search unsuccessfully in the sentences that list options,
including the examples and each “etc.” after each list of options…
I keep wondering how did I so quietly lose it?
And each time I ask the loved ones about my strong desire
to reunite with my lost self,
I realize they have no leads other than long and wide lists
of places, things, activities, individuals, and hobbies
where I may possibly “find” my self…
In each list they suggest, I find countless options
and countless lines ending with “etc.”
They don’t understand
that I have turned every rock and searched behind every “etc.”
And today I finally realized
That my self wasn’t from here,
and thus, it was never here…
That, all along, I have been searching for an illusion
that never existed…

[Original poem published in Arabic on March 11, 2024 at ahewar.org]”
― Louis Yako

“My beloved, if one day they ask you about me,
Do not hesitate and tell them with pride:
'He loves me, he loves me a lot.”
― Nizar Qabbani

“Departure"
Everyone wants to leave
Those here want to go there,
and many there are eager to return here…
There are those who understood that living is not possible
neither here nor there,
so, you see them, in vain, searching for alternatives…
Few have understood that the impossibility of living
is a result of complicity not geography,
that most of those who stay or depart
never part ways with their complicity and tendency to surrender,
thus, they recreate the circumstances and the causes of departure
everywhere they go…
Few have understood that all places will remain unlivable
so long as the causes to depart are a result
of a complicit and defeated Self…


[Original poem published in Arabic on June 20, 2024 at ahewar.org]”
― Louis Yako

“Selling & Buying"
Everyone is up for sale,
because most are looking for nothing but
selling and buying…
They sell life to buy a wretched living!
You see them selling with no shame or dignity,
and whenever you encounter
a sign of kindness or a smile,
you soon discover that it is fake
and for marketing purposes only…
You see the sons of bitches
and their children and grandchildren
all busy selling real estate
cars
bodies and desires
fruit and vegetables
countries and agricultural lands
natural resources (after proxy revolutions)
clothes, shoes, and things – both fake and original –
cheap gifts and souvenirs in touristy cities
iPhones with ugly accessories
long and wide lists of all things, big or small,
that are supposed to make them
happier
trendier
more attractive
and more human…
And between one sale and another,
they rest and talk about values,
the Creator, ethics, religion,
what is prohibited and what’s allowed…
Between one sale and another buy,
you find them discussing dignity and freedom,
theorizing the meaning of life,
talking about politics and revolutions
nature and the environment
diseases and chronic illnesses
the latest technological advancements
about everything expect the fact that
all the misfortunes on this planet
are because they don’t hesitate to
sell anything and everything their hands can reach,
in exchange for one moment of superficiality!
You see those who chase after and master
the game of selling and buying
in perfect harmony with the latest trends and styles,
yet dwelling inside miserable bodies
whose soul and spirit have long departed with no return…
Oh, how fortunate are those who learned to adapt
with this game of selling and buying…

[Original poem published in Arabic on June 29, 2024 at ahewar.org]”
― Louis Yako

“A Mall and Bullet Holes"
While walking in the city of Mostar in Bosnia and Herzegovina,
a country devastated and drained
by the wars of the global elite,
exactly like mine,
I arrived at an intersection and noticed a huge mall on the right side…
On the left side, there was
an old residential building filled with bullet holes
that looked like eyewitnesses
to all the free death that took place here
in a war that has since ended,
yet its real causes and the criminals behind it
are still lurking in every corner,
like infected pus ready to burst
at any moment of awareness…
I wondered bitterly:
When will the world understand
that violence never erupts inadvertently,
that all violence in our times is premeditated and agreed upon
by a small elite that decides in advance
that any nation that rejects malls, consumption, and superficiality,
must be disciplined with free death for those who resist!
It is also agreed upon – and it all costs – that
the minds and souls of all survivors
must permanently be pierced with bullet holes!
In the same intersection, I observed a redhaired elderly woman
with sorrowful eyes deep as bullet holes…
I then saw a group of youth wearing modern clothes,
like those we see in malls…
The elderly woman looked at them as if
wishing to tell them about all that happened here,
but they didn’t notice her existence
for their eyes were fixated on their phones…
I painfully wondered then:
Has anyone told them about what happened here?
Can they distinguish the sounds of bombs from those of fireworks?
Has this elderly woman, who looked broken and brokenhearted,
told them about the real price she’d paid
with all the holes left in her heart and her history
for the sake of these malls and cheap consumer goods?


[Original poem published in Arabic on July 4, 2024 at ahewar.org]”
― Louis Yako

“When will the world understand
that violence never erupts inadvertently,
that all violence in our times is premeditated and agreed upon
by a small elite that decides in advance
that any nation that rejects malls, consumption, and superficiality,
must be disciplined with free death for those who resist!
It is also agreed upon – and it all costs – that
the minds and souls of all survivors
must permanently be pierced with bullet holes!
[From a poem titled "A Mall and Bullets Holes". Original poem published in Arabic on July 4, 2024 at ahewar.org]”
― Louis Yako