The Occupation Of Palestine Documented In Photographs

Look Milena,

"I love you the most." I say, but maybe that's not true love.

If i say, "You are a knife, and I always pierce myself with that knife", maybe I would be explaining true love.

And Milena, I can bear anything with you in my heart.

| Franz Kafka

Amores Perros (2000)

Between you and me

Between you and me there are summer nights, a melody that I secretly dedicate to you, a series of flirtatious poems and the darkness of the night. Between you and me there are endless streets and roads full of strangers Between you and me there are night stars, winter storms, autumn winds, and spring flowers Between you and me there is the nostalgia of September, The crushes of December and The January drunkards. There are whispers and shadows between us And stories that can't be told with words

Between you and me, are the poisoned arrows of lovers.

I saw her alone,

emaciated, heavy-eyed, really tired,

I asked her "who do you love ?"

Who wounded your heart and torn it?

Who melted your eyes in the nights and made you restless?

She said: Do not blame him.

He doesn't know that my heart adores him,

I've secretly loved him for months,

My heart has died of yearning.

في أحضان السكون

هنا أنحرُ الليلَ، أغني الزمان هنا أتلقَّى حديث القمرْ هنا أقتلُ الشِّعرَ عند الغروبِ وأبعثهُ حينَ يأتي السحرْ هنا أصهرُ النورَ حتَّى يذوب وألقي في عيون الزهرْ هنا يرقد الهمُّ في خاطري ويسلبني أملي المنتظَرْ

هنا يومض اللحن في أضلع وينزع أسرارَهُ من دمِي وينحتُ من مقلتيّ الرؤى وتطربُ أوتاره أنجمي ويغرقني في الشقاء اللذيذِ وتملأ أوهامه عالمي

محمد الثبيتي -

Rica ederim💫 Türkçeyi ne neden öğreniyorsun peki? İş için mi yoksa hobi olarak mı öğreniyorsun?

dili güzel bulduğum için öğrenmek istiyorum.🤍

Bin yıldız değerinde bir şaheser olduğumu söylüyorsun, bir hazine ve şimdiye kadar gördüğün en güzel tablo benim.

Bana içinde sadece birkaç dakika yaşayabileceğim bir illüzyon sarayı inşa ediyorsun.

sonra bir kaç kelimeden başka bir şey olmadan kendi gerçeğime dönüyorum.

Painting - Edward Povey

September

To sit by candlelight, To buy a new book, To start over, to go for a walk, to fall in love, to meet.. the most beautiful month.

🖊️ Esran Ersan

🎨 Muraoka Kimio

تتلاشى الاكتاف من حولك تدريجيا كلما ازدادت حاجتك للاستناد

The shoulders around you gradually disappear as your need for support increases

Granada

At the entrance of Alhambra was our meeting, How sweet is a rendezvous not thought of before. Two soft black eyes in perfect frames enticing, Generating after-effects from the past ages afore. Are you a Spaniard? I asked her enquiring, She said: Granada is the city where I was born. Granada! Seven centuries awoke from slumbering, In her eyes, after the clothing of sleep they wore. And Umayyad, with flags lifted high, flying, Their horses streaming by, unnumbered they pour. How strange is history, how is it to me returning? A beautiful granddaughter, from my pedigree of yore. With a Damascene face, through it I was seeing, The eyelids of Sheba and the neck of Suad once more. I saw a room in our old house with a clearing, Where mother used to spread my cushions on the floor. And the Jasmine inlaid in its stars were shining, With the golden singing pool, a picture of splendor. Damascus, where is it? I said: you will be seeing It in your flowing hair, a river of golden black ore. In your Arab face, in your mouth still storing The suns of my country from the days of Arab lore. In the perfume of Generalife with waters gleaming, Its Arabian Jasmine, its sweet basil and citron odour. She came with me and her hair behind her flowing, Like luscious ears of grain in an unharvested meadow. The long earrings on her neck were glittering, Like Christmas Eve candles that sparkle and glow. Behind her like a child I walked, she was guiding, And behind me, history, piles of ashes row after row. The decoration of Alhambra I almost hear pulsing, And the ornaments on the roof, I hear their call grow. She said: Alhambra! Pride of my ancestors glowing, Read on its walls my glories that shine and show. Her glory! I anointed an open wound festering, And in my heart anointed another that refused to go. If only my lovely granddaughter had a way of knowing, The ones she meant were my ancestors of long, long ago. When I bid her adieu, when I knew I was going, I embraced in her Ṭāriq ibn Ziyād, that Arab hero.

-Nizar Qabbani