malak

“سَوطُ الليلِ يُلهِبُ أَضْلُعِي
ويزيدُ من عبثِ الهمومِ بِمفرقِي
أَرهقتُ أحلامي، ذَبَحْتُ قصائدِي
فِي معبدِ الشمسِ التي لَمْ تُشرقِ
وصهرتُ في قلبِ الجحيمِ دفاتري
ودفعتُ في لُججِ المخاطرِ زَورَقِي
كَمْ ماتَ فجرٌ في جدارِ حديقَتِي
حتَّى ظنَنْتُ بأنَّهُ لَم يُخلَقِ”
― محمد الثبيتي, ديوان محمد الثبيتي الأعمال الكاملة

“هناك نوعا من الناس, مثلي, لا يمكنه حسم كل حياته, كلها, لآخر ذرة في قلبه, من أجل أي شئ في الدنيا, و قدره أن يبقي "مشتتا" كالندي فوق العشب, بدل أن تتوحد كل قطراته لتكون جدولا أو نهرا, و تحسم نفسها باتجاه ما, اتجاه واحد لا رجعة عنه ولا شك في, أعني أنني من هذا النوع الذي لا يحيا من أجل شئ إلا بنصف قلب, علي الأكثر, و كل شروره تأتي من نصف القلب هذا, إن بقي لديه قلب أصلا.”
― حسين البرغوثي, الضوء الأزرق

“What horrifies me most is the idea of being useless: well-educated, brilliantly promising, and fading out into an indifferent middle age.”
― Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

“I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.”
― Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar