An early morning terminal, a bleak sight as I walked not-so-quietly with my suitcase clank-clanking down the empty hallway. It was only moments ago that I waited for my luggage to appear on the baggage carousel, the last person standing with me sighed gleefully after his black suitcase with a blue ribbon suddenly appeared on…
Tag: Personal
Reality Is Just A Story
I am currently writing a book that contains a collection of creative non-fiction stories from interviews I conducted with women within Aida refugee camp. I noticed that after each story that they told me, they experienced a sense of relief and it showed to me that by having a voice, a way to explain their…
Another Change
I wanted to send through notification that I have decided to once again – and hopefully the last time – change my blog. I guess it is indicative of the changes that have occurred within myself and after more than three years of subjective chaos as I was trying to understand who I was, I…
The Tree of Life
Her stained toes clutch to the narrow cliff-edge. Prepared, crumbled stone trickle softly down the overhang. Tap tap tap, a musical echo drops like blood from the crucified lesions punctured over her crown. “Go!” the cruel wind blows, his arm the hem of her dress pointing east, a guide to follow the stones. A cool sting…
The Muslim Apostate
We are naturally inclined to protect our own sense of security and this is usually done by creating an environment with the same habits and routines that enable unity and stability. There are no conflicts when everyone thinks and behaves the same way, but neither is there any agency, any mode of being or thought….
One Little Hello
Dried petals of black stained skin peel Around the edge Her wrinkled fingers waterlogged by blood, A dehydrated beat, slowing, slow that She wakens with a gentle tap. “Don’t leave me,” she whispers, Her palms embalmed around the organ. The alkali sea sheets the sand beneath her Soft, golden sponge Cushion her knees, moored as…
