Edita > Recent Status Updates

Don’t we pay for all the things we do, though?

I‘ve had plenty to worry about one time or other. I’m through worrying.’

Leaning on a thousand centuries of memories,
I continue my journey and my questions.

— Ali Bafagieh

The lover’s tryst was like the wind
when stroked by a desire to hug the echo.

— Ali Al-Hazmi

[...] when they were young and happy and everything was possible.

in her voice: a bird,
in her chest: the beating of all birds.

— Ahmad Al-Bouq

She couldn’t speak because she knew that if she did, she would break, and everyone, including herself, knew that she wasn’t a person who broke.

Ours, the star of ink ...
We write it, and the heavens are a notebook
— Abdullah Al-Saikhan

But sometimes I wonder if I miss a person who never even existed.

Come to me my patched dreams and shield me.

Dawn crosses the threshold, the wind now is silent.
The fire has withdrawn into the hive of shadows.

her head was racing, there were too many ideas in there, too many voices, too much rhythm

She started walking down Tanto Mountain, her steps so angry that they made puffs of smoke in the gravel. I followed her, I didn’t run up to her, I didn’t say sorry, I just walked there, behind her, just close enough to see the words that she had written with a permanent marker on her denim jacket, thinking to myself that I somehow had managed to destroy the most valuable thing I had, simply by trying to be honest.

The sail is a piece of the harbor moving away

You’ve always asked too much of life,[...]

[...] he can’t be made to believe things that aren’t true [...]

Now all the trees asleep in the garden slip out of their bark
and through thousands of pores the soil
inhales the dizzy particles of the moon

The world’s so backward... Oh my, sometimes it all comes over you...

I’ll be free of myself and stand apart from myself
Whatever is left will be ruin
Like a boat’s sail my soul
will grow distant and hidden on the horizon

I flee from you so that on an abandoned beach
from above rocks lost in a cloud of darkness
I may see the dizzy dance of the sea’s storms

Every word ought to be dreamed
before becoming poem.

Celebrating solitude.
Is there another way to celebrate love?