ان الانسان النوراني الذي استنار بالحكمة يدعونا لإلقاء الهموم في جيوبنا المثقوبة وان لا نلتقط الا فرص الحب من بين ركام هذا العالم ونواصل العزف في القيثارة ولو كانت مسكورة. ان حكايته واسراره تغمر روحنا بالسلام وتلهمنا للحفاظ على الانسان الكامن بداخلنا في عالم مضطرب.
I married a song. I did this secretly for about five years.
When I heard it, the sun was setting, and I was in a heavenly expanse of an old house with milk-colored walls. I knew from the first beat that it was her, the song of my life. I only hesitated a little, and because I had never heard before about a legal ruling or a moral reason that prevents a woman from marrying a song, I made up my mind and married her.
Every night I put two headphones in my ears, and Yas Khader sings to me “Han wa Ana Ahn.” I adjust the tremors of my soul to the tremors of the sad Iraqi melody, and I drink Yas’s voice through all my pores. The song cauterizes my heart, and it melts, pouring tears, rain drops, and dew beads, and then it snows. Have mercy on me gently, and I will give birth to butterflies, starlings, and daffodils.
I smile before I sleep, and many women smile with me. I may not know them, but I know that they are like me. A song may revive them, or a song may kill them.
A monkey without a tail...
A collection of very short stories with different topics that combine the element of surprise and stimulate thought and contemplation
Indian stories:
It is a story of the adventures of Hindi and her friends
These stories were written in a way that speaks to the mind and heart of the child, mixed with gentle educational and psychological messages, and with the template of adventures that are beloved for children.
Do you know how longing reaches its peak? When you continue, despite the arrows being directed at you professionally... arrows coming from the paths of no return, only to be caught by winds that also dig between your folds and write down the stories of the thorny autumn... and despite this, the hope of meeting is sweeping through all your insides... In our village, you find some people talking about the spring season as told in volumes of myths, and some of them painted a picture of it, lived in it and in its memory, and invented a lie in order to celebrate it with the lighting of the candles of the April cake. It is a cake that is made once a year, in April, and has remained sacred. How do we celebrate a spring that was only mentioned in volumes of legends?! Then I decided to be silent, but my pen was not silent yet. Between my letters I feel spring. Perhaps I have done the same as them. I also made up a lie in order to see from the silence of the letters what the previous ones in the search had gone astray from. Until I made the decision to search for him, but with a new identity and deeper convictions; To make it easier than trying to find it... Who?! Sheikh of our tribe; Through it, the spring to which we lost our way will be completed. Yes, it will be completed at the top of that mountain. In the middle of a search, you lose your dearest person, and you find yourself alone, complete. Perhaps I had found it among my letters at that time, and I knew where it was, or my subconscious was mocking me. But all I want to say in my right mind is: Honestly, I will not give up my new identity.
