Arabic Inspirational Quotes

أنا مُبتلَى بيـا نسبة نجاة معدومة في المية مقطوم في القلب ناب يارب . . طبطب عليا

I am the lover's gift; I am the wedding wreath; I am the memory of a moment of happiness; I am the last gift of the living to the dead; I am a part of joy and a part of sorrow.

People who worry that nuclear weaponry will one day fall in the hands of the Arabs, fail to realize that the Islamic bomb has been dropped already, it fell the day MUHAMMED (pbuh) was born.

أَعيشُ عَلى فُتاتِ أَحْلامٍ I live on remnants of dreams

There is an old Arab Bedouin saying: I, against my brothers. I and my brothers against my cousins. I and my brothers and my cousins against the world. That is jungle law. It is the way of the world when the world is thrown into chaos. It is our job to avert that chaos, to fight against it, to resist the urge to become savage. Because the problem with such law is that if you follow it, you are always fighting against someone.

...the Palestinian Arabs' obsession with the Jews and rejection of all political compromise was inspired by Islamic teachings as well as by European fascism.

.أن يكون لديك هدف -ولو بسيط- أفضل دائمًا من أن تكون بلا هدف Having a goal, even though it is simple, is always better than being aimless.

Blindly inheriting idols reflected how polytheism froze critical thinking. A stone statue might be designed to appear awe-inspiring, but its inherent lack of physical dynamism signified a stagnant worldview. The Qur’an repeatedly invokes the Arabic term for idol—sanam—literally, “frozen in time.

I believe you can only be lucky if you start out being very good

Walk tall, kick ass, learn to speak Arabic, love music and never forget you come from a long line of truth seekers, lovers and warriors.

الأيام التى تمضى بك، هى حدث دائمٌ متوالي، وأنت تحاول جاهداً أن لا تقودك بعيداً عن الأشياء التى تريدها. قواعد اللعبة تحتم عليك أن تحتمل ما تفقده، وليس أن تفرح بما تكسبه. توالي الأيام مستمر دون توقف والأشياء تتبدل فيه من غير تفسيرات. فى نهاية المطاف لن يتبقى لك سوى ما أنتهيت عنده، وحتى هذا ربما يكون قد تغير وأنت فى خضم الأحداث. تموت وتحيا فى داخلك أشياء وأنت تمضى فى السياق. هى فصول خريف التساقط وشتاء الحزن وربيع الإنتشاء وصيف القيظ، تطوى الأيام قدماً وتهب الرياح كل يوم من صوب جديد.

Being the Novelist-in-Residence at a riad hotel in the kasbah of an Arabic North African city is a lot like trying to write one’s memoirs on shreds of napkins in a nuthouse.

لكَ أنْ تتخيَّل، لو أنَّ كُلّ ظلامِ الدُّنيا اجْتمع على شمعةٍ واحدةٍ، فلن يقدر على أنْ يُطفئها، ولعل الشّمعة الّتي تُبقينا على قيد الأمل، هي تلك الآية: "أَلَيْسَ اللَّهُ بِكَافٍ عَبْدَهُ".

The Arabian obsession with the beauty of their language had ironically blinded them to its core purpose. Their poets were masters of rhetoric who failed to inspire action in real life, having reduced their heritage to fancy yet hollow words. Their audiences were fanatically devoted to proper diction— ready to impulsively plunge a dagger over an inadvertent wrong term—yet otherwise wallowed passively in stagnation. Unable to access the latent wisdom encoded in their language, Arabs failed to act as masters of their own fate.

Dreamers don't abandon their dreams, they flare and continue the life they have in the dream…tell me how you lived your dream in a certain place and I'll tell you who you are. And now, as you awaken, remember if you have wronged your dream. And if you have, then remember the last dance of the swan.

To be selfless, you would give charity anonymously, walj softly on the earth, and look out for others-even total strangers-before you look out for yourself. For the Arab mind, the self is an obstacle, an impediment, in humanity's quest foe real progress.

You will breathe throughout your life, every moment of it, but an opportunity like this comes once in a lifetime, and not even to everyone. Go for it!

But there was no time to rest on my laurels.

دعونا ليكن لدينا الإختيار لأن نصبح مواطنين في الإنسانية عوضا عن أن نكون مواطنين في الكراهية. لربما الوحدة الإنسانية تجمع القلوب لتخلص الإنسان من شر نفسه....

The image of Kurdish blood pumping through the heart of a little Arab boy like Ahmed was not lost on anyone.

Billy tries to imagine the vast systems that support these athletes. They are among the best-cared for creatures in the history of the planet, beneficiaries of the best nutrition, the latest technologies, the finest medical care, they live at the very pinnacle of American innovation and abundance, which inspires an extraordinary thought - send them to fight the war! Send them just as they are this moment, well rested, suited up, psyched for brutal combat, send the entire NFL! Attack with all our bears and raiders, our ferocious redskins, our jets, eagles, falcons, chiefs, patriots, cowboys - how could a bunch of skinny hajjis in man-skits and sandals stand a chance against these all-Americans? Resistance is futile, oh Arab foes. Surrender now and save yourself a world of hurt, for our mighty football players cannot be stopped, they are so huge, so strong, so fearsomely ripped that mere bombs and bullets bounce off their bones of steel. Submit, lest our awesome NFL show you straight to the flaming gates of hell!

ah yes I know them well who was the first person in the universe before there was anybody that made it all who ah that they dont know neither do I so there you are they might as well try to stop the sun from rising tomorrow the sun shines for you he said the day we were lying among the rhododendrons on Howth head in the grey tweed suit and his straw hat the day I got him to propose to me yes first I gave him the bit of seedcake out of my mouth and it was leapyear like now yes 16 years ago my God after that long kiss I near lost my breath yes he said I was a flower of the mountain yes so we are flowers all a womans body yes that was one true thing he said in his life and the sun shines for you today yes that was why I liked him because I saw he understood or felt what a woman is and I knew I could always get round him and I gave him all the pleasure I could leading him on till he asked me to say yes and I wouldnt answer first only looked out over the sea and the sky I was thinking of so many things he didnt know of Mulvey and Mr Stanhope and Hester and father and old captain Groves and the sailors playing all birds fly and I say stoop and washing up dishes they called it on the pier and the sentry in front of the governors house with the thing round his white helmet poor devil half roasted and the Spanish girls laughing in their shawls and their tall combs and the auctions in the morning the Greeks and the jews and the Arabs and the devil knows who else from all the ends of Europe and Duke street and the fowl market all clucking outside Larby Sharons and the poor donkeys slipping half asleep and the vague fellows in the cloaks asleep in the shade on the steps and the big wheels of the carts of the bulls and the old castle thousands of years old yes and those handsome Moors all in white and turbans like kings asking you to sit down in their little bit of a shop and Ronda with the old windows of the posadas glancing eyes a lattice hid for her lover to kiss the iron and the wineshops half open at night and the castanets and the night we missed the boat at Algeciras the watchman going about serene with his lamp and O that awful deepdown torrent O and the sea the sea crimson sometimes like fire and the glorious sunsets and the figtrees in the Alameda gardens yes and all the queer little streets and the pink and blue and yellow houses and the rosegardens and the jessamine and geraniums and cactuses and Gibraltar as a girl where I was a Flower of the mountain yes when I put the rose in my hair like the Andalusian girls used or shall I wear a red yes and how he kissed me under the Moorish wall and I thought well as well him as another and then I asked him with my eyes to ask again yes and then he asked me would I yes to say yes my mountain flower and first I put my arms around him yes and drew him down to me so he could feel my breasts all perfume yes and his heart was going like mad and yes I said yes I will Yes.

أعشق اللغة العربيّة، أعشق اللحظات الّتي أندمج فيها بالعربيّة، لا أبالغ إذا قلت أنّني أقف طويلًا أمام كلمة، فقط لأنّها عربيّة. هي كلمة بالنسبةِ لكم، أمّا بالنّسبة لي فهي أكثر من كلمة، أكثر من كتاب، أكثر من مكتبة، أكثر من مدينة، أكثر من وطن، حقًا هي أكثر من مجرد أربعة حروف أبجديّة.

أوقات بيكون بدنا نحكي... بسّ منسكُت. بركي اللي عم يسمع يزعل!

مع العمر، طبيعي الإنسان يتغيّر... بسّ ما لازم تتغيّر روحو، ولازم يبقى الطفل بداخلو، حتّى لو صارت خطوط وجّو عم بتدلّ عالنهاية.

في قصص حلو تبقى بالقلب وما تنكتب عوراق ولا تنقال لحدا... قصص مش لحدا غيرك...

Beware to entertain strangers, thereby you may entertain an angel unawares...New Testament.

He walked out without his money. The lesson to me was clear: hold onto your integrity at all costs. Never compromise on that.

America's 1st Arab spring came in the guise of the Civil War...when our nation couldn't stomach the abomination of slavery anymore. One can't help keep wondering...when the next one will come.✌

The words of the Quran all seemed strangely familiar yet so unlike anything I had ever read before,’ he told us. He embraced Islam in 1977, and changed his name to Yusuf, the Arabic for Joseph. ‘I identified with the story of Joseph in the Quran,’ he said. ‘His brothers sold him like goods in the market place.’ Yusuf felt the music business had treated him not like an artist but as a commodity.

The Loneliness of the Military Historian Confess: it's my profession that alarms you. This is why few people ask me to dinner, though Lord knows I don't go out of my way to be scary. I wear dresses of sensible cut and unalarming shades of beige, I smell of lavender and go to the hairdresser's: no prophetess mane of mine, complete with snakes, will frighten the youngsters. If I roll my eyes and mutter, if I clutch at my heart and scream in horror like a third-rate actress chewing up a mad scene, I do it in private and nobody sees but the bathroom mirror. In general I might agree with you: women should not contemplate war, should not weigh tactics impartially, or evade the word enemy, or view both sides and denounce nothing. Women should march for peace, or hand out white feathers to arouse bravery, spit themselves on bayonets to protect their babies, whose skulls will be split anyway, or,having been raped repeatedly, hang themselves with their own hair. There are the functions that inspire general comfort. That, and the knitting of socks for the troops and a sort of moral cheerleading. Also: mourning the dead. Sons,lovers and so forth. All the killed children. Instead of this, I tell what I hope will pass as truth. A blunt thing, not lovely. The truth is seldom welcome, especially at dinner, though I am good at what I do. My trade is courage and atrocities. I look at them and do not condemn. I write things down the way they happened, as near as can be remembered. I don't ask why, because it is mostly the same. Wars happen because the ones who start them think they can win. In my dreams there is glamour. The Vikings leave their fields each year for a few months of killing and plunder, much as the boys go hunting. In real life they were farmers. The come back loaded with splendour. The Arabs ride against Crusaders with scimitars that could sever silk in the air. A swift cut to the horse's neck and a hunk of armour crashes down like a tower. Fire against metal. A poet might say: romance against banality. When awake, I know better. Despite the propaganda, there are no monsters, or none that could be finally buried. Finish one off, and circumstances and the radio create another. Believe me: whole armies have prayed fervently to God all night and meant it, and been slaughtered anyway. Brutality wins frequently, and large outcomes have turned on the invention of a mechanical device, viz. radar. True, valour sometimes counts for something, as at Thermopylae. Sometimes being right - though ultimate virtue, by agreed tradition, is decided by the winner. Sometimes men throw themselves on grenades and burst like paper bags of guts to save their comrades. I can admire that. But rats and cholera have won many wars. Those, and potatoes, or the absence of them. It's no use pinning all those medals across the chests of the dead. Impressive, but I know too much. Grand exploits merely depress me. In the interests of research I have walked on many battlefields that once were liquid with pulped men's bodies and spangled with exploded shells and splayed bone. All of them have been green again by the time I got there. Each has inspired a few good quotes in its day. Sad marble angels brood like hens over the grassy nests where nothing hatches. (The angels could just as well be described as vulgar or pitiless, depending on camera angle.) The word glory figures a lot on gateways. Of course I pick a flower or two from each, and press it in the hotel Bible for a souvenir. I'm just as human as you. But it's no use asking me for a final statement. As I say, I deal in tactics. Also statistics: for every year of peace there have been four hundred years of war.

Ansar is an Arabic term that means helpers or supporters. They were the citizens of Medina who helped Prophet Mohammed upon His arrival to the Holy city. While 'Hussain' is a derivation of 'Hassan' that means 'GOOD' (I also owe this one to Khaled Hosseini). That's how my favorite character in my debut novel 'When Strangers meet..' gets his name... HUSSAIN ANSARI, because he is the one who helps Jai realize the truth in the story and inspires his son, Arshad, to have FAITH in Allah.

Young Arab men are not going to walk away from extremism because they can suddenly afford a Slurpee. They will walk away when they can devote themselves to a some call to serve a cause that connects nationalism to dignity and democracy and transcends a lifetime.

Like a scared child singing to himself in the dark, most people sooth themselves With the worn-out phrase: 'Life goes on…' without being able to remember anymore Why should it go on? Few are those who dare to ask: How could life go on under such lifeless conditions?

Je ne suis pas pour l'occupation d’un pays arabe par Israël, mais, en revanche, je ne veux pas remplacer Israël par une nation islamique qui s’insta1lerait sur ses ruines, et dont le seul souci serait de promouvoir une culture de mort et d’ignorance parmi ses fidèles, à une époque où nous avons désespérément besoin de ceux qui en appellent à une culture de vie et de développement, propre à cultiver l’espoir dans nos âmes. Regardons tous les pays fondés sur la pensée religieuse, regardons leurs peuples et les générations qui y grandissent; qu’offrent-ils en termes d’humanité et d’humanisme? Rien, c’est certain, sinon la peur de Dieu et l'incapacité à affronter la vie; rien d’autre. De telles pensées ont formé et continuent de former des générations inaptes à toute créativité, à toute culture, incapables même de s’inspirer des civilisations qui leur viennent d’ailleurs, puisqu’elles ne sont pas à même de construire la leur.

The word “Allah” can be seen as the same singular God that is referred to in the Torah in Hebrew as Elohim, or spoken by Jesus in Aramaic as the strikingly similar Allaha. Allah is neither female nor male, for He is beyond anything in creation and transcends all the limits that the human mind can create. Since in Arabic there is not a gender-neutral pronoun such as “it,” Allah uses huwa or “He” in reference to Himself because in Arabic the male gender form is inclusive of the female, not exclusive.

Constantine, moreover, was not yet a Christian when he uttered the appeal to conquer in the sign of the cross; and while the warrior kings of Israel may have drawn strength from the old Covenant in their small and local wars, the Christians of the new Covenant were to agonise for centuries over the issue of whether warmaking was morally permissible or not. Christians, indeed, have never found unanimity in the belief that the man of war may also be a man of religion; the ideal of martyrdom has always been as strong as that of the justified struggle and remains strong to this day. The Arabs of the conquest years were not caught on that crux. Their new religion, Islam, was a creed of conflict, that taught the necessity of submission to its revealed teachings and the right of its believers to take arms against those who opposed them. It was Islam that inspired the Arab conquests, the ideas of Islam that made the Arabs a military people and the example of its founder, Muhammad, that taught them to become warriors.

At a certain age, I come to understand all roads led to my vagina. I have no idea why this is the case. It’s subconsciously, telepathically, and consciously added to my diet as a chastity pill. The energy of the chastity pill follows me wherever I go, like an invisible dog fence. I suppose in Arabic this would be known as the anti-sharmoota pill, which seeks to protect you from natural urges of prostituting yourself. Remember, sharmoota has several meanings – it’s a one-stop shop term that aims to degrade a female or male, but mainly a woman.

That there was an essential pointlessness to such contests, an unvarying and remorseless quality much like that of the desert itself, did not in any way lessen the enjoyment of those who indulged in them. The great deeds performed by a tribe’s ancestors, rehearsed as they were in glowing, if suspiciously interchangeable, verses by its poets, offered its warriors both backdrop and inspiration. Memories of ancient battles, if gilded with sufficient imagination, might serve to dignify even the most squalid scuffle. As a result, among the Arabs, past and present were barely distinguishable.

The name Aziza is of Arabic origin and means precious. I call her Sitti, the Arabic village word for my grandmother. Although Sitti stands true to her name, someone is always telling her she isn’t precious. As she grows into womanhood, Sitti hides from her thoughts, her voice, and her own shadow. She doesn’t want to draw attention to herself, not even from the rays of sun that bless the entire land. But no one looks at an olive tree and asks it why it hides its fruit. It blossoms when it’s ready and under the right conditions. As Sitti grows up, it did not occur to her that this could be the case for herself.

It was the old colonial policy of divide and rule. This was his conclusion. He believed that it all began with the Balfour Declaration of 1917 and that since then the British had been encouraging hatred and enmity between the two sides. He wrote that ever since the Jews were granted the Balfour Declaration the colonizer has been active in fostering the spirit of enmity and hatred between Jews and Arabs and in creating obstacles in the way of any resolution whether by war or peace. Woe unto whoever is inspired to work on any of the complicated issues. If he should dare to exhibit any initiative he is considered a dangerous suspect and his name is added to the list of enemies. The colonizer then presses the button which signals his barking dogs to attack the man and destroy him.

The Meaning of 'Home' As I travel from one city to another From one country to another From one sorrow to another, I encounter thousands of faces: In streets, shops, parks, and cafés. They all ask me the same painful question: 'Where are you from?' As if they know, I am from a place that lost itself and lost me On a long, cold, and sad winter night. They ask me: 'What is your country known for?' I tell them: 'My country is known for exporting sad stories, refugees, and displaced people. All those who were cursed by being born in it.' Similar questions continue to be asked in cocktail parties, In hypocritical and mediocre gatherings, In conferences and boring meetings. Some pretentiously ask me: 'How do you define "home"?' I respond with Ghassan Knafani’s words ringing in my ears: 'Home is for all of this not to happen.' April 19, 2014

Through their wickedness we were divided amongst ourselves; and the better to keep their thrones and be at ease, they armed the Druze to fight the Arab, and stirred up the Shiite to attack the Sunnite, and encouraged the Kurdish to butcher the Bedouin, and cheered the Mohammedan to dispute with the Christian. Until when shall a brother continue killing his own brother upon his mother's bosom? Until when shall the Cross be kept apart from the Crescent before the eyes of God? Oh Liberty, hear us, and speak in behalf of but one individual, for a great fire is started with a small spark. Oh Liberty, awaken but one heart with the rustling of thy wings, for from one cloud alone comes the lightning which illuminates the pits of the valleys and the tops of the mountains. Disperse with thy power these black clouds and descend like thunder and destroy the thrones that were built upon the bones and skulls of our ancestors.

Who am I?" she snaps. "I am America, Israel, England! What am I doing?" She waits another long moment, her eyes shining. "I'm shutting up and listening." She draws the last word out so it hisses through the air. "I am the presidents, the kings, the prime ministers, the highs and the mighties—L-I-S-T-E-N!" She spells the word in the air. "The woman who made the baklava has something to say to you! Voilà! You see? Now what am I doing?" She picks up an imaginary plate, lifts something from it, and takes an invisible bite. Then she closes her eyes and says, "Mmm... That is such delicious Arabic-Jordanian-Lebanese-Palestinian baklawa. Thank you so much for sharing it with us! Please will you come to our home now and have some of our food?" She puts down the plate and brushes imaginary crumbs from her fingers. "So now what did I just do? "You ate some baklawa?" She curls her hand as if making a point so essential, it can be held only in the tips of the fingers. "I looked, I tasted, I spoke kindly and truthfully. I invited. You know what else? I keep doing it. I don't stop if it doesn't work on the first or the second or the third try. And like that!" She snaps the apron from the chair into the air, leaving a poof of flour like a wish. "There is your peace.

Even more threatening to Christian assumptions than the Qur’an’s flat denial that Jesus had been crucified, however, was the imperious, not to say terrifying, tone of authority with which it did so. Very little in either the Old or the New Testament could compare. For all the reverence with which Christians regarded their scripture, and for all that they believed it illumined by the flame of the Holy Spirit, they perfectly accepted that most of it, including the Gospels themselves, had been authored by mortals. Only the covenant on the tablets of stone, given to Moses amid fire and smoke on the summit of Sinai, ‘and written with the finger of God’,13 owed nothing to human mediation. Perhaps it was no surprise, then, that Moses, of all the figures in the Old and New Testaments, should have featured most prominently in the Qur’an. He was mentioned 137 times in all. Many of the words attributed to him had served as a direct inspiration to Muhammad’s own followers. ‘My people! Enter the Holy Land which God has prescribed for you!’14 The Arab conquerors, in the first decades of their empire, had pointedly referred to themselves as muhajirun: ‘those who have undertaken an exodus’. A hundred years on from Muhammad’s death, when the first attempts were made by Muslim scholars to write his biography, the model that they instinctively reached for was that of Moses. The age at which the Prophet had received his first revelation from God; the flight of his followers from a land of idols; the way in which—directly contradicting the news brought to Carthage in 634—he was said to have died before entering the Holy Land: all these elements echoed the life of the Jews’ most God-favoured prophet.15 So brilliantly, indeed, did Muslim biographers paint from the palette of traditions told about Moses that the fading outlines of the historical Muhammad were quite lost beneath their brushstrokes. Last and most blessed of the prophets sent by God to set humanity on the straight path, there was only the one predecessor to whom he could properly be compared. ‘There has come to him the greatest Law that came to Moses; surely he is the prophet of this people.’16

with the KABIRI. And we have shown that the latter were the same as the Manus, the Rishis and our Dhyan Chohans, who incarnated in the Elect of the Third and Fourth Races. Thus, while in Theogony the Kabiri-Titans were seven great gods: cosmically and astronomically the Titans were called Atlantes, because, perhaps, as Faber says, they were connected (a) with At-al-as "the divine Sun," and (b) with tit "the deluge." But this, if true, is only the exoteric version. Esoterically, the meaning of their symbols depends on the appellation, or title, used. The seven mysterious, awe-inspiring great gods—the Dioscuri,[420] the deities surrounded with the darkness of occult nature—become the Idei (or Idaeic finger) with the adept-healer by metals. The true etymology of the name lares (now signifying "ghosts") must be sought in the Etruscan word "lars," "conductor," "leader." Sanchoniathon translates the word Aletae as fire worshippers, and Tabor believes it derived from Al-Orit, "the god of fire." Both are right, as in both cases it is a reference to the Sun (the highest God), toward whom the planetary gods "gravitate" (astronomically and allegorically) and whom they worship. As Lares, they are truly the Solar Deities, though Faber's etymology, who says that "lar" is a contraction of "El-Ar," the solar deity, is not very correct. They are the "lares," the conductors and leaders of men. As Aletae, they were the seven planets -- astronomically; and as Lares, the regents of the same, our protectors and rulers—mystically. For purposes of exoteric or phallic worship, as also cosmically, they were the Kabiri, their attributes being recognised in these two capacities by the name of the temples to which they respectively belonged, and those of their priests. They all belonged, however, to the Septenary creative and informing groups of Dhyan Chohans. The Sabeans, who worshipped the "regents of the Seven planets" as the Hindus do their Rishis, held Seth and his son Hermes (Enoch or Enos) as the highest among the planetary gods. Seth and Enos were borrowed from the Sabeans and then disfigured by the Jews (exoterically); but the truth can still be traced about them even in Genesis.[421] Seth is the "progenitor" of those early men of the Third Race in whom the "Planetary" angels had incarnated—a Dhyan Chohan himself, who belonged to the informing gods; and Enos (Hanoch or Enoch) or Hermes, was said to be his son—because it was a generic name for all the early Seers ("Enoichion"). Thence the worship. The Arabic writer Soyuti says that the earliest records mention Seth, or Set, as the founder of Sabeanism; and therefore that the pyramids which embody the planetary system were regarded as the place of sepulchre of both Seth and Idris (Hermes or Enoch), (See Vyse, "Operations," Vol. II., p. 358); that thither Sabeans proceeded on pilgrimage, and chanted prayers seven times a day, turning to the North (the Mount Meru, Kaph, Olympus, etc., etc.) (See Palgrave, Vol. II., p. 264). Abd Allatif says curious things about the Sabeans and their books. So does Eddin Ahmed Ben Yahya, who wrote 200 years later. While the latter maintains "that each pyramid was consecrated to a star" (a star regent rather), Abd Allatif assures us "that he had read in Sabean books that one pyramid was the tomb of Agathodaemon and the other of Hermes" (Vyse, Vol. II., p. 342). "Agathodaemon was none other than Seth, and, according to some writers, Hermes was his son," adds Mr. Staniland Wake in "The Great Pyramid," p. 57. Thus, while in Samothrace and the oldest

بحسّ حالي مرّات مع شخص، متل الشبح... كأنّو خيال إنسان.

مش لازم نفلّ عالهدا... من دون ما نترك أثر، ولو كان صغير وما عندو معاني كتير.

إنتَ دايماً هيك... بسّ قلّك وين مغلّط، بتسكتَ

Selon des hadîths, « Ismaël a reçu par inspiration (ilhâm) cette langue arabe » ; aussi « le premier dont la langue a articulé l'arabe clair (al-'arabiyya al-mubîna), fut Ismaël alors qu'il était un enfant de 14 ans ». Ces données montrent que l'arabe est dès le début une langue révélée, d'origine proprement céleste, non pas une langue naturelle plus ou moins adaptée ensuite pour un usage traditionnel, quel que soit d'ailleurs le rapport sur le plan humain entre l'arabe de la révélation coranique et l'arabe parlé par les tribus contemporaines du Prophète.

الحياة مش حياة، إلّا بعيون الناس الإيجابيّين!

That evening, after the show wrapped up, she needed to drop off her perfumes at a shop in Flatiron, so I decided to walk with her to the train. We decided to keep walking, summer lingered in the air, and we talked about everything—the Middle Eastern–Arab–South Asian–Muslim milieus that inspired us, how the first perfumer in the world was a woman in the Middle East, Tapputi, a chemist in Babylonian Mesopotamia, how the erasure of these histories from the dominant culture valued the noses of white men, how we faced snobbery and struggled to make the outsides of our brands, the packaging, match the quality of our scents, with money we hadn’t inherited.

Among other experiments which I was about to try in Africa was that of a good watch-dog on any unmannerly people who would insist upon coming into my tent at untimely hours and endangering valuables. Especially did I wish to try the effect of its bark on the mighty Wagogo, who, I was told by certain Arabs, would lift the door of the tent and enter whether you wished them or not; who would chuckle at the fear they inspired, and say to you, "Hi, hi, white man, I never saw the like of you before; are there many more like you? where do you come from?" Also would they take hold of your watch and ask you with a cheerful curiosity, "What is this for, white man?" to which you of course would reply that it was to tell you the hour and minute. But the Mgogo, proud of his prowess, and more unmannerly than a brute, would answer you with a snort of insult. I thought of a watch-dog, and procured a good one at Bombay not only as a faithful companion, but to threaten the heels of just such gentry.

In the name of Allah, Most Gracious, Most Merciful. Praise be to Allah The Cherisher and Sustainer of the Worlds. Most Gracious, Most Merciful, Master of the Day of Judgment. Thee do we worship, And Thine aid we seek. Show us the straight way, The way of those on whom thou has bestowed they Grace, Those whose portion is not wrath. and who go not astray. (Quaran first chapter, recited at every prayer, but in Arabic.)

Muslims believe that every single word of the Quran was dictated verbatim by Allah, through the Archangel Gabriel, to Muhammad. The Quran is therefore not only inspired at the level of meaning but at the deeper level of the words themselves. For this reason, Muslims do not consider the Quran translatable. If it is rendered in any language other than Arabic, it is not Quran but rather an interpretation of the Quran. A book can be a true Quran only if written in Arabic.

In the name of Allah, Most Gracious, most Merciful. Praise be to Allah The Cherisher and Sustainer of the Worlds: Most Gracious, Most Merciful; Master of the Day of Judgment. (First Chapter from the Quran, Al Fatiha, which every Muslim prayer contains and begins with, but in Arabic)

The "spectacular" operations of the PFLP, meanwhile, began to attract legions of young Europeans, who saw in the airline hijackings a willingness to risk everything to achieve liberation. This was a time not only of cold war, but of revolution, inspired in part by massive and worldwide street protests against

At least we don’t have to worry about messing our hair,” Celeste laughed. “Mine’s already a disaster anyway.” Susan turned onto Sheikh Zayed Road, the main thoroughfare that ran north-south connecting two of the seven United Arab Emirates, Dubai and Abu Dhabi. It was a highway that inspired hair-raising stories around the world, with the YouTube videos to prove it.

Examine what is said, not him who speaks

irritatingly moralistic. Democratic globalism sees as the engine of history not the will to power but the will to freedom. And while it has been attacked as a dreamy, idealistic innovation, its inspiration comes from the Truman Doctrine of 1947, the Kennedy inaugural of 1961, and Reagan’s “evil empire” speech of 1983. They all sought to recast a struggle for power between two geopolitical titans into a struggle between freedom and unfreedom, and yes, good and evil. Which is why the Truman Doctrine was heavily criticized by realists like Hans Morgenthau and George Kennan—and Reagan was vilified by the entire foreign policy establishment for the sin of ideologizing the Cold War by injecting a moral overlay. That was then. Today, post-9/11, we find ourselves in a similar existential struggle but with a different enemy: not Soviet communism, but Arab-Islamic totalitarianism, both secular and religious. Bush and Blair are similarly attacked for naïvely and crudely casting this struggle as one of freedom versus unfreedom, good versus evil. Now, given the way not just freedom but human decency were suppressed in both Afghanistan and Iraq, the two major battles of this new war, you would have to give Bush and Blair’s moral claims the decided advantage of being obviously true. Nonetheless, something can be true and still be dangerous. Many people are deeply uneasy with the Bush-Blair doctrine—many conservatives in particular. When Blair declares in his address to Congress: “The spread of freedom is … our last line of defense and our first line of attack,” they see a dangerously expansive, aggressively utopian foreign policy. In short, they see Woodrow Wilson. Now, to a conservative, Woodrow Wilson is fightin’ words. Yes, this vision is expansive and perhaps utopian. But it ain’t Wilsonian. Wilson envisioned the spread of democratic values through as-yet-to-be invented international institutions. He could be forgiven for that. In 1918, there was no way to know how utterly corrupt and useless those international institutions would turn out to be. Eight decades of bitter experience later—with Libya chairing the UN Commission on Human Rights—there is no way not to know. Democratic globalism is not Wilsonian. Its attractiveness is precisely that it shares realism’s insights about the centrality of power. Its attractiveness is precisely that it has appropriate contempt for the fictional legalisms of liberal internationalism. Moreover, democratic globalism is an improvement over realism. What it can teach realism is that the spread of democracy is not just an end but a means, an indispensable means for securing American interests. The reason is simple. Democracies are inherently more friendly to the United States, less belligerent to their neighbors and generally more inclined to peace. Realists are right that to protect your interests you often have to go around the world bashing bad guys over the head. But that technique, no matter how satisfying, has its limits. At some point, you have to implant something, something organic and self-developing. And that something is democracy. But where? V. DEMOCRATIC REALISM The danger of democratic globalism is its universalism, its open-ended commitment to human freedom, its temptation to plant the flag of democracy everywhere. It must learn to say no. And indeed, it does say no. But when it says no to Liberia, or Congo, or Burma, or countenances alliances with authoritarian rulers in places like Pakistan

Chávez’s blinkeredness extended to foreign affairs. Once he was a hero to Arabs for denouncing Israel and the United States, his name chanted by ecstatic crowds across the Middle East. But when those same Arabs rose up in 2011, the comandante did not hail popular revolts against oppression and stagnation or even claim to have inspired them. Instead he accused the rebels of being Western-backed terrorists and defended despotic cronies like Gadhafi and Assad.

Muslims believe that every single word of the Quran was dictated verbatim by Allah, through the Archangel Gabriel, to Muhammad. The Quran is therefore not only inspired at the level of meaning but at the deeper level of the words themselves. For this reason, Muslims do not consider the Quran translatable. If it is rendered in any language other than Arabic, it is not Quran but rather an interpretation of the Quran. A book can be a true Quran only if written in Arabic. This is why it is such an important belief for Muslims that the Quran has always been exactly the same — word for word, dot for dot.

vital historical fact: that Gamal Abdel Nasser signifies the only truly Egyptian developmental project in the country's history since the fall of the pharaonic state. There had been other projects: a Greek one in Alexandria, an Arab–Islamic one under the Ummayads (the first dynasty to rule the Islamic world after the end of the era of the ‘Rightly Guided Caliphs’), military–Islamic ones under Saladin and the grand Mamelukes, a French one under Napoleon's commanders and a dynastic (Ottoman-inspired) one under Mohamed Ali Pasha and Khedive Ismael. But this was different – in origin, meaning and impact. For Nasser was a man of the Egyptian soil who had overthrown the Middle East's most established and sophisticated monarchy in a swift and bloodless move – to the acclaim of the millions of poor, oppressed Egyptians – and ushered in a programme of ‘social justice’, ‘progress and development’ and ‘dignity’: a nation-centred developmental vision.

in retrospect Nasser's pan-Arabism seems to have given Arabs little to celebrate, it is certain nothing good can come from the Arab world as long as the fanatical Wahhabis of Saudi Arabia are in control. For Egypt, the results of the spread of Wahhabism are already evident. As we have seen, the condemnation by a minority of Wahhabi-inspired zealots of popular moulids as un-Islamic is one. The singling out for discrimination and violence of Egypt's Christian minority, also damned as infidels by Wahhabi doctrine, is another.

One of the results of the Islamic Revolution spreading outside Iran was the creation of Hezbollah, a Shiite terrorist organization in Lebanon. The organization’s name declares its dedication and commitment to Islam. The word Hezbollah is derived from the Arabic Hizb Allah, which means “party or fellowship of Allah.”2 This phrase comes from a Quranic verse (Surah al-Ma’idah, 5:56), which appears in red letters at the top of Hezbollah’s yellow-and-green flag: “The fellowship of Allah that must certainly triumph.”3 At its formation in 1982, Hezbollah was inspired by the ideology behind the Iranian Revolution and its principal leader, Ayatollah Khomeini.4 It adheres to Khomeini’s vision of an Islamic cleric-ruled state,5 vilayat-e-faqih, and thus views Iran as the ultimate example of the successful implementation of that vision. The group reveres Khomeini as the “divinely inspired ruler” of the community of true Muslim believers and Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, Iran’s current Supreme Leader, as the modern “Legal Guardian of Muslims.”6 Hezbollah believes that Allah has established Iran as the “nucleus of the world’s central Islamic state.”7

Al-Kind¯ı’s work revived philosophy as living practice and introduced it in the new social environment of Abbasid Baghdad by making it relevant to its intellectual concerns and widely acceptable as the indispensable means for critical and rigorous thinking based on reason, not authority. The resurrection of philosophy in Arabic in the early ninth century was a revolutionary event, as mentioned above, because up to that point anybody doing philosophy creatively in multicultural post-classical antiquity – regardless of linguistic or ethnic background – did it in Greek, while all the other philosophical activities were derivative from, and dependent upon, the main philosophizing going on simultaneously in Greek. When Arabic philosophy emerged with al-Kind¯ı, however, the situation was completely different: it was from the very beginning independent, it chose its own paths, and it had no contemporary and living Greek philosophy either to imitate or seek inspiration from. Arabic philosophy engaged in the same enterprise Greek philosophy did before its gradual demise, but this time in its own language: Arabic philosophy internationalized Greek philosophy, and through its success it demonstrated to world culture that philosophy is a supranational enterprise. This, it seems, is what makes the transplantation and development of philosophy in other languages and cultures throughout the Middle Ages historically possible and intelligible. Arabic philosophy was also revolutionary in another way. Although Greek philosophy in its declining stages in late antiquity may be thought to have yielded to Christianity, and indeed in many ways imitated it, Arabic philosophy developed in a social context in which a dominant monotheistic religion was the ideology par excellence. Because of this, Arabic philosophy developed as a discipline not in opposition or subordination to religion, but independent from religion – indeed from all religions – and was considered intellectually superior to religion in its subject and method. Arabic philosophy developed, then, not as an ancilla theologiae but as a system of thought and a theoretical discipline that transcends all others and rationally explains all reality, including religion.

The Levantine political idea, which grew naturally among the communities of the eastern Mediterranean, was an original way of dealing with diverse tribal, village, and sectarian identities, and it inspired the Beirutis and ultimately the Lebanese to believe that they could build a modern Arab republic, melding together seventeen different Christian, Muslim, and Druse sects.

(Sorrow in the Heart of an Apple) I clean up my old sorrow Wrapped it in a clean and scented piece of cloth Buried it under an apple tree in our apple orchard in the village. Seasons passed… It seemed to me that everything was over When the harvest season came again. I forgot that I had wanted to forget about my sorrow I forgot where I had buried it, too. I picked an attractive red apple That looked glorious and delicious. From the first bite, I immediately recognized The taste of that same age-old sorrow. I realized then that my buried sorrow Had multiplied. And here I am Face to face with it again: Here I am finding it In the heart of every single apple!

كلّ شيء قُدّر لك فهو الأنسب لحياتك، حتى وإن كان المقدّر حزنًا يصيبك، وألمًا يوجعك، وكسرًا يحطمك! لا تقل لو كان كذا، ولو فعلت كذا! كن قنوعًا إن كل ما يحدث لك، وما يحدث من حولك فهو يحدث من أجلك، يحدث ليقوّيك، ليعلمك، ليريك جانبًا منك لن تستطيع رؤيته إلا بتلك الظروف.

حتى تتمكن من تقييم نفسك وشخصيّتك جيِّدًا وجّه هذا السّؤال لنفسك، لو قابلت شخصيّة تشبهك، كأنّك تقابل نفسك بنفسك، كيف ستتعامل مع هذه الشخصيّة؟ هل يمكنك رؤية نقاط القوَّةِ والضعفِ فيها؟ ماذا ستقول؟ كيف ستتصرف؟ صدقني بعد هذه التَّساؤلات ستعرف نفسك أكثر من قبل.

إنْ كنت شُجاعًا بما يكفي لتقُل وداعًا بعدما كُنت جالسًا على مقعدٍ عزيزٍ، فلتكن شجاعًا أيضًا بما يكفي للاعتذار والعودة إذا أدركت قيمة هذا المقعد بعد الرّحيل، وعُد إليه قائلًا: "مرحبًا، أعتذر، تنح جانبًا، أريد الجلوس على مقعدي"، سأقول لك: "تفضّل، إنّه دائمًا مقعدك، وللأبد".

My dad said "Stay in school and I'll give you $18k and learn more". I said "I'll leave sooner and give you $18k

Behind the Arab influence, it is now agreed by historians of mysticism, was an Indian tradition known as Tantra – the yoga of touch, which includes the yoga of sex and inspired the famous erotic temples that every American tourist photographs to astonish his friends. It is within Tantrism that we must seek the transformation by which this sexual mysticism evolved from naive fertility magic (a rite to make the crops grow) and became a form of consciousness expansion.

He abolished the Caliphate (rather like abolishing the Vatican); installed a Western-style secular republic; prohibited the wearing of the fez; made English the official second language; introduced mass education; emancipated women; changed the written language from Arabic characters to the Roman alphabet; and, most extraordinarily, inspired the army to defend the new order and the constitution, rather than seek power for its own sake as is the habit of many armies.

We evolve through Science Fiction

If you want to go fast, go alone, but if you want to go far, go together. That's what my friend told me and I never forgot it.

One of my biggest worries is that youth grow in discomfort and insecurity, which stops them from truly dreaming freely. society, religion, and family should be the source of support, not the horror.

Out of all the palace's awe-inspiring interiors, the Round Library had always been Jasmine's favorite. A marble floor painted with a lotus-flower motif gave way to three tiers of balconies lined with books, stretching up to an arched ceiling where a bronze chandelier flooded the circular space with candlelight. Bound books had still been a novelty when the sultan was young, but in the intervening years, he'd amassed a collection of nearly three thousand titles from across the East. This was where Jasmine had come to fill in the gaps in her knowledge while her nonroyal peers were sent off to school. It was thanks to the books in this room that she'd learned to read and write in Greek and Latin along with Persian and Arabic, that she could look at an astrolabe and point out the different planets in the universe. It was where she'd fallen in love with studying maps and imagining other lands, far from here

The Son of a vacuum Among the tall trees he sat lost, broken, alone again, among a number of illegal immigrants, he raised his head to him without fear, as nothing in this world is worth attention. -He said: I am not a hero; I am nothing but a child looking for Eid. The Turkmen of Iraq, are the descendants of Turkish immigrants to Mesopotamia through successive eras of history. Before and after the establishment of the Ottoman Empire, countries crossed from here, and empires that were born and disappeared, and still, preserve their Turkish identity. Although, after the collapse of the Ottoman Empire and the division of the Arab world, they now live in one of its countries. Kirkuk, one of the heavens of God on earth, is one of the northern governorates of Iraq in which they live. The Kurdish race is shared with them, a race out of many in Iraq. Two children of two different ethnicities, playing in a village square in Kirkuk province when the news came from Baghdad, of a new military coup. Without delay, Saddam Hussein took over the reins of power, and faster than that, Iraq was plunged into successive wars that began in 1980 with its neighbor Iran, a war that lasted eight years. Iraq barely rested for two years, and in the third, a new war in Kuwait, which did not end in the best condition as the leader had hoped, as he was expelled from it after the establishment of an international coalition to liberate it, led by the United States of America. Iraq entered a new phase of suffering, a siege that lasted more than ten years, and ended up with the removal of Saddam Hussein from his power followed by the US occupation of it in 2003. As the father goes, he returns from this road, there is no way back but from it. As the date approaches, the son stands on the back of that hill waiting for him to return. From far away he waved a longing, with a bag of dreams in his hands, a bag of candy in his pocket, and a poem of longing by a Turkmen poet who absorb Arabic, whose words danced on his lips, in his heart. -When will you come back, dad? -On the Eid, wait for me on the hill, you will see me coming from the road, waving, carrying your gifts. The father bid his son farewell to the Arab Shiite city of Basra, on the border with Iran, after the outbreak of the Iran-Iraq war, as the homeland is calling its men, or perhaps the leader is calling his subjects. In Iraq, as in many countries of the Arab world, the homeland is the leader, and the leader is the homeland. Months passed, the child eagerly anticipating the coming of the feast, but the father hurried to return without an appointment, loaded on the shoulders, the passion reached its extent in the martyr’s chest, with a sheet of paper in his pocket on which he wrote: Every morning takes me nostalgic for you, to the jasmine flower, oh, melody in the heart, oh balm I sip every while, To you, I extend a hand and a fire that ignites in the soul a buried love, night shakes me with tears in my eyes, my longing for you has shaped me into dreams, stretching footsteps to the left and to the right, gleam, calling out for me, you scream, waking me up to the glimpse of the light of life in your face, a thousand sparkles, in your eyes, a meaning of survival, a smile, and a glace, Eid comes to you as a companion, without, life yet has no trace, for roses, necklaces of love, so that you amaze. -Where is Ruslan? On the morning of the feast day, at the door of his house, the kids asked his mother, -with tears in her eyes: He went to meet his father. A moment of silence fell over the children, -Raman, with a little gut: Aunt, do you mean he went to the cemetery? -Mother: He went to meet him at those hills.

-Have you ever thought about determinism? He continued and did not wait to hear the answer: In the past, humans believed that the eye sends a ray of light to bodies and sees them, then the Arab scholar Ibn Al-Haytham asked a logical question: If my eyes send a ray of light, why do I not see in the dark? Then he discovered that the eye is blind in its origin, a receiver and not a transmitter, it only sees when the light is reflected from the objects, so it picks up its reflection and does not send it. We understand determinism as we understand the sense of sight today, we receive it and do not send it, so we see that we are the subject and the deterministic object, we have no power before it, we have to receive it and submit to it, but what if our understanding of it is wrong?! As our understanding of the sense of sight was, while we think we receive determinism, we are in fact sending it. What if determinism had no existence, no reflection, and we were not designed to receive it but rather designed to make and transmit it. The general interpretation of determinism, on which all Muslims and non-Muslims agree, is that every event in the universe, including man’s perception and actions, is subject to a logical sequence of causes within a single continuum. Muslims say that God’s decree and predestination are pre-written and cannot be changed, but they struggle with the eternal question, if this was written for me in advance, then why would God punish me for something that I cannot change? Where is the justice in here! While unbelievers say it was nature, the laws of the universe, that created determinism, and they run into the zero-cause barrier, what is that cause that does not come from any cause? It resulted in the chain that created all causes. Muslims answer them, Cause Zero is neither a cause nor a causative, nor even a result, it is God, he was and will continue to exist, and the understanding of His nature is not within the limits of our mind, for it has no nature at all. The non-believers accuse them, that their inability to understand or know the nature of the Zero cause, made them create the idea of God in their minds, to relieve themselves of the trouble of searching. The entire dispute is based on the zero cause, assuming that determinism is a series written on us, we cannot change it, and we have no authority over it, but what if determinism is actually written on us, and we are the ones who wrote it in the first place, or perhaps we are writing it now.

The fact of zero He added nonstop: Did you know that zero was not used throughout human history! Until 781 A.D, when it was first embodied and used in arithmetic equations by the Arab scholar Al-Khwarizmi, the founder of algebra. Algorithms took their name from him, and they are algorithmic arithmetic equations that you have to follow as they are and you will inevitably get the result, the inevitable result. And before that, across tens and perhaps hundreds of thousands of years, humans refused to deal with zero. While the first reference to it was in the Sumerian civilization, where inscriptions were found three thousand years ago in Iraq, in which the Sumerians indicated the existence of something before the one, they refused to deal with it, define it and give it any value or effect, they refused to consider it a number. All these civilizations, some of which we are still unable to decipher many of their codes, such as the Pharaonic civilization that refused to deal with zero! We see them as smart enough to build the pyramids with their miraculous geometry and to calculate the orbits of stars and planets with extreme accuracy, but they are very stupid for not defining zero in a way that they can deal with, and use it in arithmetic operations, how strange this really is! But in fact, they did not ignore it, but gave it its true value, and refused to build their civilizations on an unknown and unknown illusion, and on a wrong arithmetical frame of reference. Throughout their history, humans have looked at zero as the unknown, they refused to define it and include it in their calculations and equations, not because it has no effect, but because its true effect is unknown, and remaining unknown is better than giving it a false effect. Like the wrong frame of reference, if you rely on it, you will inevitably get a wrong result, and you will fall into the inevitability of error, and if you ignore it, your chance of getting it right remains. Throughout their history, humans have preferred to ignore zero, not knowing its true impact, while we simply decided to deal with it, and even rely on it. Today we build all our ideas, our civilization, our software, mathematics, physics, everything, on the basis that 1 + 0 equals one, because we need to find the effect of zero so that our equations succeed, and our lives succeed with, but what if 1 + 0 equals infinity?! Why did we ignore the zero in summation, and did not ignore it in multiplication?! 1×0 equals zero, why not one? What is the reason? He answered himself: There is no inevitable reason, we are not forced. Humans have lived throughout their ages without zero, and it did not mean anything to them. Even when we were unable to devise any result that fits our theorems for the quotient of one by zero, then we admitted and said unknown, and ignored it, but we ignored the logic that a thousand pieces of evidence may not prove me right, and one proof that proves me wrong. Not doing our math tables in the case of division, blowing them up completely, and with that, we decided to go ahead and built everything on that foundation. We have separated the arithmetic tables in detail at our will, to fit our calculations, and somehow separate the whole universe around us to fit these tables, despite their obvious flaws. And if we decide that the result of one multiplied by zero is one instead of zero, and we reconstruct the whole world on this basis, what will happen? He answered himself: Nothing, we will also succeed, the world, our software, our thoughts, our dealings, and everything around us will be reset according to the new arithmetic tables. After a few hundred years, humans will no longer be able to understand that one multiplied by zero equals zero, but that it must be one because everything is built on this basis.

If the normal portolano is indeed derived from the lost atlas of Marinus of Tyre, then it follows that other high-quality maps of regions much further afield than the Mediterranean and the Black Sea, and indeed a world map, might also have been preserved by the Arabs -- for we know from Ptolemy's testimony that other Marinus maps, including a world map, did once exist. It will therefore do no harm to keep an open mind to the possibility that the portolan world maps that began to appear during the century after the Carta Pisane, might also have been influenced by earlier 'Tyrian sea-fish' maps of Phoenician origin. Christopher Columbus, whose passionate belief in lands across the Atlantic lead to his 'discovery' of the New World, seems to hint at a Phoenician connection when he describes one of the inspirations for his journey: 'Aristotle in his book On Marvellous Things reports a story that some Carthaginian merchants sailed over the Ocean Sea to a very fertile island ... this island some Portuguese showed me on their charts under the name Antilia.' Antilia first appears on a portolan chart of 1424. It is a mysterious presence there, a riddle.

The Problem The problem I have, my friends, is too complicated. It is not only that I no longer have a home, Or a roof over my head. It is that I no longer wish to have one. I confess to you; however, that Even if I wished to have a place to call home, My wish would be impossible to realize, Because I have been erased from everywhere. Yes, the mercenaries And those who worship the dollar notes, Under the names of religions and ideologies, Have erased me from history. They have revised and rewrote my story. Everywhere I go, I find them lurking and waiting for me, To blockade me, To suffocate me, And to steal from my mouth The few crumbs of bread I have left. And so, I repeat, my friends, My problem is too complicated. I don’t have a home, I no longer want a home, And I couldn’t have a home to shelter me, Even if so I wished in my wild dreams. June 1, 2017

Photographs from Distant Places (1) In distant villages, You always see the same scenes: Farms Cattle Worship spaces Small local shops. Just basic the things humans need To endure life. (2) ‘Can you stay with me forever?’ She asked him in the airport, While hugging him tightly in her arms. ‘Sorry, I can’t. My flight leaves in two hours and a half.’ He responded with an artificially caring voice, As he kissed her on her right cheek. (3) I was walking in one of Bucharest’s old streets, In a neighborhood that looked harshly beaten by Time, And severely damaged by development and globalization. I saw a poor homeless man Combing his dirty hair In a side mirror of a modern and expensive car! (4) The shape and the color of the eyes don’t matter. What matters is that, As soon as you gaze into them, You know that they have seen a lot. All eyes that dare to bear witness To what they have seen are beautiful. (5) A stranger asked me how I chose my path in life. I told him: ‘I never chose anything, my friend.’ My path has always been like someone forced to sit In an airplane on a long flight. Forced to sit with the condition Of keeping the seatbelt on at all times, Until the end of the flight. Here I am still sitting with the seatbelt on. I can neither move Nor walk. I can’t even throw myself out of the plane’s emergency exit To end this forced flight! (6) After years of searching and observing, I discovered that despair’s favorite hiding place Is under business suits and tuxedos. Under jewelry and expensive night gowns. Despair dances at the tables where Expensive wines of corruption And delicious dinners of betrayal are served. (7) Oh, my poet friend, Did you know that The bouquet of fresh flowers in that vase On your table is not a source of inspiration or creativity? The vase is just a reminder Of a flower massacre that took place recently In a field Where these poor flowers happened to be. It was their fate to have their already short lives cut shorter, To wither and wilt in your vase, While breathing the not-so-fresh air In your room, As you sit down at your table And write your vain words. (8) Under authoritarian regimes, 99.9% of the population vote for the dictator. Under capitalist ‘democratic’ regimes, 99.9% of people love buying and consuming products Made and sold by the same few corporations. Awe to those societies where both regimes meet to create a united vicious alliance against the people! To create a ‘nation’ Of customers, not citizens! (9) The post-revolution leaders are scavengers not hunters. They master the art of eating up The dead bodies and achievements Of the fools who sacrificed themselves For the ‘revolution’ and its ideals. Is this the paradox and the irony of all revolutions? (10) Every person is ugly if you take a close look at them, And beautiful, if you take a closer look. (11) Just as wheat fields can’t thrive Under the shadow of other trees, Intellectuals, too, can’t thrive under the shadow Of any power or authority. (12) We waste so much time trying to change others. Others waste so much time thinking they are changing. What a waste! October 20, 2015

Exhaustion Salima sat in the fancy hotel room In the evening time. Here she is again in another foreign city, Attending a conference discussing “human rights”. Her eyes roamed the room. She suddenly felt a severe chill in her body. She suddenly realized that she is exhausted, But her exhaustion is not that of one day, It was one of a lifetime! It fell upon her abruptly. The thoughts of the bygone years Nested in her head, Were suddenly awoken. One thought after another. She realized at that moment That she is tired of responding to The same absurd questions About her origins Her ethnicity, Her religion, Her hobbies, Her favorite foods, Her education background, Her age, And her occupation. Questions asked frequently by people who don’t care. She suddenly realized That throughout her life, She never found a friend who could really understand. The evening was about to draw its dark curtains. She remembered that ever since she was a child, She had been hiding her favorite words and writings In notebooks that nobody will read. She has been murmuring her favorite tunes, In places where nobody could hear her. The evening was about to draw its dark curtains. She realized that her true thoughts and feelings Lived nowhere expect inside of her head, And there they will most likely die. Her head had become like a prison for her thoughts. The evening was about to draw its dark curtains. She suddenly realized That she had wasted so many years of her life Looking for someone who might understand. And each time she thought she had found one, She found herself in yet another prison. She looked through the window of the fancy hotel room And saw that the darkness had covered the entire city. September 9, 2017

وإذا كانتِ النُفوسُ كِباراً *** تَعِبَتْ في مُرادِها الأَجسامُ

Di dunia Arab, ucapan terima kasih adalah bahasa sendiri. 'Semoga Allah memberkati tangan yang memberiku hadiah ini'; 'Kecantikan ada di matamu yang menganggapku cantik'; 'Semoga Tuhan memperpanjang umurmu'; 'Semoga Allah tidak pernah menolak doamu'; 'Semoga makanan berikutnya yang kau masak bagi kami adalah pada pernikahan putramu, ... kelulusan putrimu, ... kesembuhan ibumu; dan seterusnya, rangkaian tanpa akhir berisi apresiasi yang penuh doa. Berasal dari budaya macam itu, aku selau merasa bahwa 'terima kasih' saja adalah ekspresi tak mencukupi yang membuat suaraku terdengar kikir dan tidak tahu terima kasih.

Sami Abouzid Singer | Songwriter | Music Producer | Author | Publisher Profile: A versatile and accomplished artist with over two decades of experience in the music industry. Sami Abouzid is a singer, songwriter, music producer, and music arranger who has established himself as a creative force in both the music and literary worlds. Renowned for his original compositions and innovative soundscapes, Sami is also a published author with a passion for storytelling. Professional Experience: Founder & CEO White Horse Records (2003–Present) • Established an independent record label to promote original music and artistic innovation. • Managed all aspects of production, marketing, and distribution for multiple projects. Band Leader Romantic Star (2003–Present) • Formed and led the band, releasing music that resonated with audiences worldwide. • Released debut album Romantic Dreams, featuring the hit song “Vanessa,” which gained airplay on multiple U.S. radio stations. Soundtrack Composer (2013–Present) • Transitioned into the world of soundtracks, starting with Isabella in 2013. • Composed, arranged, and produced 657 original soundtracks, known for their emotional depth and cinematic quality. Music Artist (2001–Present) • Released 54 albums and 50 singles available in stores worldwide. • Composed, arranged, mixed, mastered, performed, and produced all his music independently. Books Authored: • Love, Life, and Music – A reflection on creativity and personal experiences. • Scarlett Johansson Forever – A tribute to art, passion, and inspiration. • Arabic Poetry – A collection of poetic works exploring love and emotion. Skills & Expertise: • Music Composition, Arrangement, Mixing, and Mastering • Songwriting and Lyric Creation • Soundtrack Development for Film and Media • Publishing and Record Label Management • Literary Writing and Poetry Notable Achievements: • Pioneered a new era of music with over 700 compositions, soundtracks, albums, and singles. • Gained international recognition with music featured on major radio stations in the U.S. • Successfully bridged the gap between music and literature, creating a lasting artistic legacy.

Hear, O Israel