Adapted from my 2011 Arabic diary. Image by Khalid Garcia
Eastern Ghouta –
Rebel!
Shatter the locks, break down the walls —
and never fear the fall.
Category: Diary
The Play of Children, The Fate of Lovers
Adapted from my 2009 diary, originally written as a letter in Arabic to the woman who deeply shaped my life journey. The text was revised and translated into English in December 2025. The original Arabic version is included below.
Eastern Ghouta –
There is no escape from leaving—
this love has thrown us down
into the deep, uncharted unknown.
From you, I’ve worn my hoping thin;
from your impossible love,
I am undone.
Gaza
Author’s Note
This text is an English adaptation by AI of a poem originally written in Arabic in December 2008, in response to the war on Gaza.
While the poem criticizes the State of Israel for actions widely regarded as violations of human rights and international law, its central condemnation is directed at neighboring Arab regimes—for their complicity, political opportunism, and repeated failure of the Palestinian people. The poem rejects the use of Palestine as a proxy or symbol for regional power games that have little to do with justice, liberation, or genuine solidarity.
All criticism in this text is aimed at states, systems, doctrines, and political conduct, never at peoples, religions, or identities.
Image by Ömer Faruk Yıldız
Eastern Ghouta —
The parting stretched, the nights grew long,
My thoughts in your eyes wandered on.
From where does patience come to meet?
I lost my question at your feet.
Island
An extract from my 2007 diary, where I took my first (and only) shot at crafting a Shakespearean sonnet (at al-Baath University in Homs) —revised on 8 October 2024.
Homs –
On a stormy day, along the street,
I walked alone beneath the rain.
The wind, so fierce, swept through my feet,
While in my ears, cold echoed pain.
Amani
Disclaimer: “Amani” is a short sonnet I wrote in Arabic on 19 January 2007. The original version can be found below. | Image by Vika Glitter
Eastern Ghouta –
The years fold up our lives, retreating fast,
Our dreams may come to be—or may not last.
Roumani Line 