Mirane

“Why is it that all wars are won by bankers?”
― Carlos Ruiz Zafón, The Prisoner of Heaven

“الـــعَيْـنُ تُبـْـصِرُ مَن تَهْوَى وتَفقده
ونَاظِرُ القَلْبِ لا يَخْلُو مِـــن الـنَظَر
إن كَانَ لَيْسَ مَعْى فَالذِكرُ مِنهُ مَعْي
يَرَاهُ قَلْبِى وإنّ غَابَ عَنْ بَصَرِي
ُالوَجْدُ يُطربُ مَن فِي الوَجْدِ رَاحتٌه
ُوالوَجْدُ عِنْدَ وُجُودِ الحَقِّ مَفَقُود
قَدْ كَانَ يُوحِشُني وَجدْي ويُؤنِسُني
ُلِرُؤيةِ وَجْدِ مَن فِي الوَجْدِ موجود”
― الحلاج

“اتعرفين لماذا صادروا قلمي
من غمده واستباحوا قص جناحي؟
و الهبوا النار في صدري فصيرني
وافر من برد نيران لنيران
لانني عشت لا ارضى بطاغية
ولا اذل لسمسار و خوان
ولست اقبل صمتا سوف ينقذني
من بطش منتقم او ظلم سجان”
― أيمن العتوم, نبوءات الجائعين: قصائد كتبت في السجون

“A full moon, although less splendid than that earlier on,lit everything around. Before I reached the point where I would have to leave the road and set off across country, the narrow path I was following seemed suddenly to end and disappear behind a large hedge, and there before me, as if blocking my way, stood a single, tall tree, very dark at first against the transparently clear night sky. Out of nowhere, a breeze got up. It set the tender stems of the grasses shivering, made the green blades of the reeds shudder and sent a ripple across the brown waters of a puddle. Like a wave, it lifted up the spreading branches of the tree and, murmuring, climbed the trunk, and then, suddenly, the leaves turned their undersides to the moon and the whole beech tree (because it was a beech) was covered in white as far as the topmost branch.It was only a moment, no more than that, but the memory of it will last as long as my life lasts.”
― Saramago, José