Holding Hands, hand the sleeping baby in the hand of mother close-up, baby hand gently holding adult’s finger, closeup of a baby hand in hand mother,slept baby hand holding mother finger,baby hand gently holding adult’s finger ** Note: Visible grain at 1
Posted on April 14, 2020 by Nahida Exiled Palestinian
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لاجئ مزمن، زمهرير الغربة القارس يزجك في اعماق الاماني الندية بحثا في ثنايا ذاكرتك المنهكة المفعمة بالحنين عن بعضك الذي اضعته ذات ليلة دامعة
تحاول بلهفة مرتجفة ان ترسم معالم زمن مضى وتلون وجوها مسح تقاطيعها ألم دفين، فتزرع زعترا اخضرفي غير موسمه ولا زمانه ولا مكانه، في بلاد بعيدة وبين شعوب غريبة لا تعرف للزعتر اسما ولا رسما ولا طعما
تترفق وانت تقطف وريقاته الغضة عسى بعطره ان يطير بك الى حاكورة بيت عتيق على سفح الجبل، حيث يرقد الحسون في عشه ويغفو السنونوعلى غصن شجرة لوز
تبني بيديك طابونا من الطين، عسى ان تحملك رائحة خبزه الى زمن جميل كان وما عاد او الى حضن جدة دافئ، وتترقرق جداول الامل المعجونة بالالم، دموع فرح حزين ويخال لك كأنما بال(طين) قد استرجعت بعضا من فلسطين
وتعجن وتخبز وتحشو فطائر الزعتر في بلاد العجم التي ما اعترفت يوما بك كتاريخ او جغرافيا او حقوق او حضارة ولسان حالك يقول لهم آه لو تعلمون، لرأيتم الثرى يباهي الثريا ان داسته اقدام اجدادي، فترد الثريا بل الفخر لي ان اخلاقهم علت عليّا
Posted on April 14, 2020 by Nahida Exiled Palestinian
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A chronic refugee, the bitter exhausting exile throws you into the depths of dewy dreamy aspirations. You ran frantically searching for you between the folds of your exhausted, nostalgic memories, which you’ve lost once upon a tearful night.
With trembling eagerness, you try to trace the features of a time long gone, and paint faces that had lost its miens, expressions and demeanor, to a deeply buried pain.
You sow za’ater seeds, during the wrong season, wrong time and wrong place, in faraway lands, amidst strangers who do not know its name, colour, scent or flavour.
You tenderly pick its budding leaves, hoping that its perfume would fly you away to a childhood orchard with an ancient house at the foothills, where a goldfinch dozed off in its nest, and a swallow slumbered on a almond tree branch.
You lovingly build a taboon, a clay oven, with your bare hands, hoping that the aroma of its bread would carry you away one day, to a distant land and a beautiful time which once was, never to return, or rock you to sleep, in the warm arms of your grandmother.
Springs of hope plaited with pain, gush through your anguished soul. Tears of grieving joy flow, so much so that for a moment, you would imagine that with a lump of terracotta clay between your fingers, a chunk of Palestine had been liberated.
Kneading, rolling, baking and stuffing za’ater pies in the land of Balfour, which has never recognized you, your history, your geography, your rights, your humanity or your civilization.
You scream silently: O you, if only you knew ! You would have seen the soil of my homeland boasting before the stars, that my ancestors had meandered over it. With a huge grin, the stars would respond: glory is all mine for their love, hospitality and kindness have surpassed my lofty skies.
Posted on August 15, 2019 by Nahida Exiled Palestinian
Author Issa Issa Qawasmi, translation Nahida Izzat
Seventy years on, the heart is still loaded with the same question, memory or amnesia?
Every Jerusalemite is born deeply involved in belonging,
A forbidden love that turns pulse into shrapnel,
A love carrying its identity from the wound of the place,
A love transparent, as a woman’s body, does not need much of beauty frills,
A love suffice for the universe and life without a question,
A love that relinquishes its thirst from the essence of a mirage,
A love which has no need for the wisdom of distant far away sister-cities, captured in the trap of humiliation and disgrace,
A love that passionately safeguards holiness, history, geography and reasons for survival,
A love overflowing between two wars, such as a bird nesting between Earth and the Sky,
A love, free, outside coincidence, like astonishment before the door of the Resurrection,
A love of which facts, evidence and the patience of enemies got exhausted,
A love that does not tire of interpreting love,
A love against treason or amnesia,
A love that resembles Jerusalem.
On the fringes of my heart, I chose to love you,
Everything about you is lovable
Forgive me if the age of my pulse is short,
I love you when a cloud injures me,
and when the road does not lead me to you,
I love you if a moon rises in your palm and if your intimacy becomes hell,
I love you as I ran out of me to you, as the narcissus of your eyes brought me as a stranger,
I love you when I am alone, the heart left with nothing but prayer and nostalgia,
I forget you, to get closer to you,
I forget you, for in you I recover everything I ever lost.
بقلم الاديب المقدسي عيسى القواسمي وترجمة ناهدة عزت
سبعون عاما والقلب لا زال محملا بذات السؤال ، الذاكرة أم النسيان ؟كل مقدسي يولد متورطآ بالإنتماء ، حب محرم يحول النبض الى شظايا ، حب يحمل هويته من جرح المكان ، حب شفاف كجسد إمرأة لا يحتاج الى الكثير من رتوش الجمال ، حب يكفي الكون والعمر دون سؤال ، حب يروي عطشه من جوهر السراب ، حب لا يحتاج الى حكمة المدن الشقيقة البعيدة النائية الواقعة في فخ الذل والهوان ، حب ينتصر للقداسة والتاريخ والجغرافيا وأسباب البقاء ، حب فاض بين حربين مثل طير صنع أيكه بين الأرض والسماء ، حب حر خارج الصدفة كالدهشة أمام باب القيامة ، حب ضجرت منه الحقائق والبراهين وصبر الأعداء ، حب لا يتعب من تفسير الحب ، حب يشبه القدس ، حب ضد الخيانة أو النسيان
على هامش قلبي ، إخترت أن أحبك ، فكل ما فيك يحب … وأغفري لي إن كان عمر النبض قصير ، أحبك حين تجرحني غيمة ولا تصوبني إليك الطريق ، أحبك إن إرتفع قمر في كفك وصار وصالك جحيم ، أحبك إذ خرجت مني إليك وأعادني نرجس عينيك كالغريب ، أحبك حين أترك وحيدآ ولا يمتلك القلب سوى صلاة وحنين . وأنساك لأقترب منك ، أنساك فبك كل ما أضعت أستعيد .
In this article about the photo above, the author concludes “there is nothing beautiful or poetic about the oppression of Palestinians”, which, taken in abstract, is a true statement, however, the author totally misses the point
This iconic photo is not representing the oppression of Palestinians, to the contrary!
This breathtakingly beautiful photo has captured the hearts and minds of Palestine supporters around the world because everything about it is exquisitely beautiful and fiercely poetic as it sums up in one glance the essence of Palestine and its people
Their spirit, courage, dignity, defiance, steadfastness, determination, resistance, altruism and hope against all odds, in the face of the most brutal oppression.
What makes this photo so endearing and captivating is the utter spontaneity !
No poses for the shoot, no makeup, no rehearsal, no tweaking, totally oblivious to camera lenses, to the outside world, to the consequences
Courage that defies logic
Indescribable love of the land
Untamed passion for freedom
Unfathomable will to sacrifice
All what matters is to stand up against oppression and to stop evil by all means possible ❤️
Thus, this iconic photo should be shown to every man woman and child in the world to inspire, uplift and energise if we, as a species, ever aspire for a better, fairer, kinder more humane world
Palestinians are at the heart of the conflict in the M.E Palestinians uprooted by force of arms.. Yet faced immense difficulties have survived, kept alive their history and culture, passed keys of family homes in occupied Palestine from one generation to the next.
