Arabic Literature Quotes

“No one has a perfect life Some of us just hide the imperfections well.”
― Adil Alzarooni, The Red Island: The Gatekeeper

“As the first letter of the Arabic alphabet, Alef is both a beginning and a division.”
― Ahmad Addam, You, Alef, and I

“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

“ومن خلال ضباب أحمر انغرزت في أذنيه السهام ورغم الجهد المبذول لتركيز اعترضته الذاكرة بصورة قديمة جداً مخضلة كأعشاب الطفولة اليانعة وهو عائد من ملعب كرة في الخلاء المحدق بالوايلية في يوم انهل مطره كالسيل فلم يجد ما يحتمي به من انفعال السماء إلا أسفل عربة زبالة. و تساءل عن معنى هذا كله.”
― نجيب محفوظ, السمان والخريف

“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

“لتهن الهموم جميعًا ما دمتِ حسن الختام”
― نجيب محفوظ, أولاد حارتنا

“لتهن الهموم جميعًا ما دمتِ حسن الختام.”
― نجيب محفوظ, أولاد حارتنا

“Botox"
In a friendly exchange with a shopper in a grocery story line, she joyfully declared:
“Today is my 50th birthday!”
I said, “It looks like the hands of Time have touched your face gently. Happy birthday!”
“The hands of Time weren’t gentle on me, my dear. What you see are the wonders of botox,” she said.
“They say it freezes face features and expressions. Is that true?” I inquired half-jokingly.
“At this stage of my life, it makes no difference. I no longer need any expressions. There is nothing worth smiling for or frowning upon. I spent decades expressing in every physical and verbal way possible, all in vain,” she said. Her words were followed by a hopeless giggle that reminded me of the philosopher who wrote that as we advance in age, our fears are replaced with giggles.
She then continued, “There is a time when you discover that all verbal and physical expressions are futile. In everyone’s life, there’s one defining event that freezes everything in their lives. Anything that happens after that event is no more than desperate and hopeless attempts to pretend that we are okay.”
Before I managed to find the appropriate words, the cashier called on her. The timing was ideal as words froze on my tongue just like the botox freezes features and expression in a world in which words and expressions are of no use anymore.

[Original text published in Arabic on October 14, 2024 at ahewar.org]”
― Louis Yako

“Shocks and Joys"
The biggest shocks in life were:
That freedom is a lie
Choosing chains carefully is more important
than chasing illusions…
That family and relatives are but a hit or miss biological coincidence…
That life isn’t short as they claim
for those who understand the game…
That there is no friend in need,
but indeed, need is the only constant friend…
The biggest joys in life were:
The smell of a freshly baked loaf of bread
A sip of water
The depth of a word
The taste of a fresh fig
The silence and tunes of nature
The unexpected scent of a rose that tickles the nose
after having fallen in the abyss of despair…

[Original poem published in Arabic on March 9, 2023 at ahewar.org]”
― Louis Yako

“Lights"
Lights of churches, monasteries,
Christmas trees, and magnificent mosques
The dim lights inside warm houses
in all the foreign cities where I wandered alone
The far away lights of cars driving over bridges
I watched from the windows of boring hotels
on clear moonlit nights
Candle lights and lanterns
Lights of little shops in ancient and forgotten alleys
Lights of ships sailing to places I will never get to see
The lamp post lights on dark rainy winter nights
The remote lighthouses and lights of unknown fishermen
The glittering lights I have seen in the eyes of kind strangers
in cities tourists never go to
All these lights I once loved that break me now
as they remind me of the magical light
that was extinguished in your eyes …

[Original poem published in Arabic on November 13, 2024 at ahewar.org]”
― Louis Yako

“Love should be grasped; hold
it tight, even if it burns—never allow Hob to slip away.”
― Ahmad Addam, You, Alef, and I

“Book dedication: "To all who refused every form of complicity, even after learning, in bitter hindsight, that their wager on humanity was a losing bet.”
― Louis Yako, سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]

“لم يكن لقاءً عابرًا، بل لعنةً سكنت روحي… وكل محاولات الشفاء منها، ذهبت هباءً.

It wasn’t just a passing encounter, but a curse that took hold of my soul… and every attempt to heal from it was in vain.”
― Khaled Ibrahim

“كنتُ أرى مفترق الطُرقِ من بعيد، لكن شوقكِ للرحيلِ، وجفاءِ تعلقكِ، لم يتركا لي سببًا أقاتلُ لأجلكِ.

I saw the crossroads from afar, but your longing to leave and the coldness of your attachment left me with no reason to fight for you.”
― Khaled Ibrahim

“لم أركِ فرصةً يجب اقتناصها، بل رأيتكِ حياةً تستحق أن أعيشها، حتى ولو كانت نهايتها وداعًا.

I didn’t see you as a chance to seize, but as a life I yearned to live — even if its ending was goodbye.”
― Khaled Ibrahim

“(Twins in the Wound)
It took me years to understand that we didn’t love each other because we were conventionally compatible or in perfect harmony, but because we were broken and shattered in the same exact places…
We are twins in the wound, abandoned and banished by our families when they discovered we refused to play by the rules of the overwhelming—and overwhelmed—majority…
And so, my love, I hid you from everyone, not out of shame, but out of dread of the tyranny and ignorance of the rabble…
From your hidden love I learned that only love which quietly masters the art of hiding from watchful eyes and hypocrites survives in the end…
May 15, 2024”
― Louis Yako, سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]

“(Beware of Strangers)
As children, we are taught to beware of strangers, to refrain from approaching them.

As we grow older, we learn that no one is stranger than those we thought we’d known all our lives.

We learn that a stranger may carry more empathy, and understand us more deeply, and that affections from a stranger may be more sincere.

So, I ask: Can humanity and strangeness be synonymous? Could we say, 'I am a stranger; therefore I am'?

Can we truly feel alive without strange things, strange encounters, without strangers reminding us that our hearts and minds are still beating?

They teach us to avoid strangers, yet life teaches us that human awareness can only be born of the dagger of strangeness… that life is tasteless without mingling with strangers… that familiarity is opposed to life!

Thus, I loudly declare: A stranger I was born; a stranger I wish to remain! And I ask that you issue my death certificate the day I become familiar.

October 29, 2022”
― Louis Yako, سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]

“Are You Afraid of Sadness?”

In an old interview with a famous and talented Iraqi actress, the interviewer asked, '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 answered, insightful viewers could feel the sadness on her face, indicating that the actress herself wasn’t truly present in the interview— sadness had long since taken her, with no return.

November 19, 2023”
― Louis Yako, سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]

“Barbie”

Through my many long travels I’ve seen women reading books on planes, buses, and trains…

Over the years, three titles caught my eye, each in the hands of women who looked—or tried to look—like the Barbie doll.

I don’t recall the exact names, but one was along the lines of ‘How to Keep Your Husband’ or ‘How to Preserve Your Marriage.’

The second warned of ‘Signs He’s Cheating on You,’

and the third promised how to get rid of him—and move on.

It felt as if these three titles mapped out the lifecycle of every woman who lets herself play Barbie.

And I often wonder: wouldn’t reading ‘How to Stop Playing the Barbie Role in Love and Life’ be enough to solve all the problems those books claim to fix?

[Original poem published”
― Louis Yako

“Silent Messages – 2”
She sat at the crowded bus terminal, rearranging the contents of her disorganized handbag.

When she lifted her head for a moment, her eyes fell on a young couple kissing, touching, and hugging in a performative, exaggerated manner.

As they noticed her, the young woman cast a mean, malicious look— as if to ask, ‘Are you jealous of all the love that surrounds me?’

She returned the glance with a sly one, as if replying, ‘Love that must parade itself in public is either immature, dead, or dying…”
― Louis Yako, سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]

“A Sweet Woman from a War-Torn Country”

In her exile, they often describe her as that ‘sweet woman from a war-torn country.’

They don’t know she loved smelling roses, picking spring wildflowers, and bringing them home after long walks.

They don’t know about the first kiss her lover stole during a church power outage on that Easter evening— before the generators came on.

They don’t know the long hours she spent under the ancient walnut tree in her village, waiting for her grandfather’s call to share freshly baked pita with ghee and honey.

They don’t know about her grandmother’s mixed grains, prepared each year before Easter fasting began.

In exile, they try to be kind, telling her she now lives in a ‘safe haven.’ They assume her silence comes from poor language skills or simple agreement with them.

They don’t know life’s shocks have silenced her forever. Now she presses her ear against the cold window glass of her apartment, listening to the wind’s mournful cry outside.

They remind her she’s among people who honor all values, beliefs, religions, and ethnicities— but she has learned it’s all too late.

She no longer needs assurances. Occasionally, all she asks for is a sincere hand on her shoulder or around her neck, to remind her that nothing lasts, that this too shall pass.

[Published on April 7, 2023 on CounterPunch.org]”
― Louis Yako

“Lights”

Lights of churches, monasteries, Christmas trees, and magnificent mosques.

The dim lights inside warm houses in every foreign city where I wandered alone.

The far-away headlights of cars crossing bridges, watched from the windows of dreary hotels on clear, moonlit nights.

Candlelight and lanterns, the lights of small shops in ancient, forgotten alleys, the lights of ships sailing to places I will never see, lamp-post lights on dark, rainy winter nights, solitary lighthouses and the lights of unknown fishermen, the glittering lights I saw in the eyes of kind strangers in cities tourists never visit.

All these lights I once loved now break me; they remind me of the magical light that was extinguished in your eyes…”
― Louis Yako, سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]

“They Say the World Will End Soon"
They say the nuclear weapons—born of fear of the other— have become a curse, a plague, a scourge upon those who built them, even more than those they were meant to threaten…

And I wonder: Will nuclear weapons bring about the end of the world? Or will it be humanity’s fear, complicity, and quiet submission?

If what they say is true, before the world ends—and before I die— I wish to drink one last cup of cardamom-flavored tea, to taste one final fig, peach, or apricot, to inhale the scent of a quince, to dip one last piece of bread into Palestinian thyme and olive oil…

Before the world ends, I want to smell pine needles, and breathe the scent of the season’s first rain after a long, dry summer.

Before the world ends—and before I die— I long to read one more book from the thousands still waiting for me.

I ask for one more spring to inhale bunches of Iraqi narcissus. And one more autumn to marvel at the dying leaves— defying death with beauty just before falling upon the indifferent ground.

But most of all, my final wish before I die is that my death not be the end of the world…”
― Louis Yako, سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]

“Arabs & Garbage"
Strange is the Arab story with garbage— who told them, who taught them to toss waste carelessly, wherever and however they please?

When will Arabs understand that putting garbage in its proper place could solve half of their environmental and societal woes?

And the other half? That too would vanish if they stopped casting away their human gems— their brightest minds, forced to serve others abroad.

When will they stop discarding their best in favor of foreign refuse they glorify simply because it comes draped in white skin and blue eyes, boasting skills they claim Arabs can’t survive without?

When will they grasp that real change lies in placing all garbage— be it those who govern them or those they import— exactly where it belongs?”
― Louis Yako, سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]

“Departure"
Everyone wants to leave— those here long to be there, and many there ache to return here…

There are some who’ve grasped that living is impossible neither here nor there— so they search, in vain, for alternatives.

Few have come to understand that this impossibility of living stems not from geography, but from complicity.

Most who stay or go never part ways with their surrender and quiet compliance— and so they recreate, everywhere they settle, the same conditions and reasons for departure.

Few have realized that all places will remain unlivable as long as the urge to leave is born from a complicit, defeated self…”
― Louis Yako, سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]

“Fashionable Beard”

I asked my friend, sporting a fashionable beard, with playful curiosity: ‘Has your beard brought you new fans?’
‘You have no idea how much it has!’ he laughed, eyes gleaming with irony.
‘Do you wonder why people can’t see you clearly without it?’ I probed.
He smiled and said, ‘This beard reminds me daily— people refuse to face the bare truth. They only look at things when they’re dressed up in something— a mask, a trend, a distraction. But never just as they are.”
― Louis Yako, سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]

“etc.”
I’ve searched for my self everywhere— in things I’ve loved and hated, in the faces of strangers and familiars, in foreign cities and forgotten alleyways.

I’ve wandered near water springs, along riverbanks, through olive groves and wildflower fields, but not even a whisper of myself remains.

I’ve peered into teacups in dusty corners of cafés, in songs and interludes, in books stacked like old regrets, in memories—mine and borrowed— among the betrayed, and the betrayers.

I’ve searched in sentences, and even deeper, in the liminal space behind each “etc.”— where endless suggestions trail off and identity becomes suggestion, then abstraction.

Each time I ask my loved ones how to find what I’ve lost, they offer long lists: places, things, hobbies, people— all ending in “etc.” But they don’t understand: I’ve overturned every rock beneath that word.

And now, I know: my self was never here. I wasn’t lost... I was never found.

Just chasing the illusion that something whole ever existed.

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

“Hand Watches”
I opened the drawer where I store old keepsakes and tokens. My eyes paused on hand watches with dead batteries, frozen in time…

Gifts from teachers and friends— offered to honor my accomplishments, to praise my respect for time.

It never occurred to them, or to me, that Time could die of a heart attack— that it would cease to matter the day my homeland was occupied and destroyed.

The day the plunderers —both foreign and within— colluded to burn and erase all that was beautiful.

Since then, I’ve refused to wear hand watches, and I never will until my people reclaim their Time and dignity.

And when that day comes, Time will no longer matter. For then, I will become— a butterfly, a sparrow, a daffodil or an orange blossom, perhaps an apricot blossom on a branch, an unstoppable stream of water flowing beyond time and timing.

In that same drawer, I found pens that had run dry, like mummified corpses.

In a moment of despair, a lightning bolt of realization struck me— leaving behind a terrifying question:
What if this is a wound that no amount of time can heal— a cause so vast that all the world’s ink cannot write its cure?”
― Louis Yako, سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]

“Sorrow in the Heart of an Apple”
I tidied my old sorrow, wrapped it gently in scented cloth, and buried it beneath the apple tree in our village orchard.

Seasons rolled by... And I believed it was finished, forgotten, even the burial site lost to memory.

Then came harvest.

I plucked a red apple— shiny, luscious, radiant with promise.

But with the first bite, I tasted it.

That same sorrow, aged but unmistakable.

It had not only survived— it had multiplied.

Now here I am, face to face again,

finding it in the heart of every apple.”
― Louis Yako, سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]

“ومع مرور الأيام،
أحببتُ ما كنتُ أكره،
وألفتُ ما كنتُ أبغض،
وتخليتُ عمّا كنتُ أعشق،
حتى بتُّ أسأل من أكون؟

As the days passed,
I grew fond of what I once despised,
found comfort in what once unsettled me,
and let go of what once defined my soul —
until I was left wondering who I had become.”
― Khaled Ibrahim