و اتهرب من نسيانك ما اتطلع بمرايي
Baghdad in 1980 || source from fb
This is an illusion
“I’ve had a recurring dream since I fled the Yarmouk Refugee Camp and came to Beirut. The dream takes me back to besieged Yarmouk, where death and destruction have found a way to settle in all its details. I am not sure whether it is a dream or a nightmare. But I live in this open-ended waiting with images of that place and the difficulty of abandoning it. Maybe the sound of my friend Aeham’s piano changed the nightmare into dream and the place into a legend. Here, there is no geography, a place between two times, the first is a tent and the second is bags packed for other conquests. These conquests stimulate the hardness and bitterness of our catastrophes and previous disappointments. We pack our luggage to find only our memory that tells the stories of our relation with the wind. We, as witnesses of disappointment and hope.”-Blue أنا أزرق.
Every time it rains after someone dies, the villagers say، الأرض شتاقتلو، السما عبتبكي عليه, the land misses him, the sky is crying for him. Idk if it’s true but It’s been raining for three days.
He waited for me to come to syria so he could ask for my hand in marriage. Probably the sweetest and most beautiful person from inside and out. They call him ibn ldei3a, son of the village, because he’s always there for everyone. He’s always the first person I see when I go to syria. And the last. He was killed at half twelve today by ISIS. Rest in peace 7abibi. Rest in peace ya albi. Allah yir7amak ya 3arees. Please pray for him, for us, for syria. La2inno ma ba2a feena. T3ibna ya Allah. Wallah t3ibna.