for the dead

All over the world, people light candles to remember the dead.

Often, they burn incense, too. In Japan, it is said that this light will show the dead souls their way.

In our churches, we light only candles, and place them inside black boxes which look like big tree houses in the church courtyard. Because the candles don't have each a different holder, in time, their wax will combine and merge into a single lava flow, indifferent of what is old and what is new.

Some light a candle and pray for the dead even before understanding what that means. Some go on doing the same after they've realized they will never understand. And even after knowing there is nothing to understand, others still do it, quietly, holding on to something like hope, or a dream.

The hand lighting the candle, the hand burning incense, the young hand and the old hand, oh how much they are alike in their frailty.

Tonight I don't want any more images, just the song, even in this silence. In this light, in this darkness.

The voice singing for the voiceless.

Kamilya Jubran

Amshi

Text: Paul Shaoul in Leaves of the Absent
Translation to English: Omnia Amin

Walking for days

In a low voice I count trees, hats, streets..

In a low voice .. I walk in a low voice

For several trees .. hats and streets

For several years I walk in a low voice

For several low voices in trees, hats and walls.

For several deaths.

Nafad Al-Ahwal 2

Text: Paul Shaoul
Translation to English: Omnia Amin

I stood in the middle of the room searching for my cases.

I inspected the lamp, the ashtray, loss and gain, the door and the statues. I got belittled in my own eyes so I stood in front of the mirror for long to see my face. I scrutinized the air full of smoke and coughs. I almost erased and forgot it.

I got belittled and belittled until I stood for long in front of the door to enter, then to exit, and then without a sound I stretched on the armless, open and mute bed. There I remembered what happened.

I remembered the day I was killed, raped, cut to pieces lemon by lemon, cigarette by cigarette, was ripped and for the first time I cried for my death and for nature.

Aina Tantahi

Text: Aicha Arnaout
Translation to English: Omnia Amin

Where Does the Wave End?

Where Does the Wave End ?

And where does the sea begin?

Where does the body end

And where does the shadow start?

Where does darkness end

And where does the light begin?

Words breathe outside of their frames.

The senses entangle then spread

A circle's circumference

With a center in the nowhere.