The sun will rise, though skies are grey / Amid the cries, we find our way.
On the fronds of a fruitful palm tree, I used to dance with my beloved / after we were brought together by the coincidence of spring.
My garden, that once pulsed with life, was reduced to a desert of ash. But it will grow again.
The whispering walnut calls / begs me to breathe / to stop crying. / To return.
In Octobers, / the summer said farewell. / A shivering cold stood at the door.
Stuck in a grim reality, she retreats to a dream state with no horrors, only nature’s tapestry and jazz.
Why should a story about flowers be this sad?
Faith and imagination are the winged creatures that keep hope alive in these dark times.
A brief experience of life with freedom and without siege contrasts sharply with the existential struggle of living displaced in a tent.
In a corner of our rented third-story house / Clay stuck to straw / A home for a future family
In the midst of hardship, a young Gazan looks to the stars to find beauty.
