#mahmoud darwish

loveisdamnation:

i want to know you forever and i wish i’d never met you

waiting room, phoebe bridgers | true stories, margaret atwood | cleopatra, the lumineers | unfortunately, it was paradise: selected poems, mahmoud darwish | chinese satellite, phoebe bridgers | crush, richard siken | maurice, e.m. forster | waiting room, phoebe bridgers

[Text ID:

1: If you were a teacher, I would fail your class
Take it over and over ‘til you noticed me
If you were a waiting room, I would never see a doctor
I would sit there with my first aid kit and bleed

2: I would like to be the air
that inhabits you for a moment
only. I would like to be that unnoticed 
& that necessary.

3: But I must admit it, that I would marry you in an instant 
Damn your wife, I’d be your mistress just to have you around.

4: We are captives of what we love, what we desire, and what we are.

5: But you know I’d stand in the corner
Embarrassed with a picket sign
If it meant I would see you when I die.

6: You said I could have anything I wanted, but I just couldn’t say it out loud.

7: I should have gone through life half awake if you had the decency to leave me alone. Awake intellectually, yes, and emotionally in a way; but here–” He pointed with his pipe stem to his heart; and both smiled. “Perhaps we woke up one another. I like to think that way.

8: I know it’s for the better
Know it’s for the better (x19)

End ID.]

beyondgenre:

Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.

beyondgenre:

So the dead live on as ideas. Does that make your mind a graveyard or one of heaven’s hallways?

beyondgenre:

I’ve always liked quiet people: you never know if they are dancing in a daydream or if they’re carrying the weight of the world.

-John Green, Looking For Alaska.

It was one of those March days when the sun shines hot and the wind blows cold, when it is summer in the light, and winter in the shade.

― Charles Dickens, Great Expectations.

beyondgenre:

And if happiness visits you again, do not remember it’s previous betrayal. Enter into the happiness and burst.

-Mahmoud Darwish

Perhaps they were right in putting love into books.

Perhaps it could not live anywhere else.

-William Faulkner

Found this in my gallery and it made my heart happy for a second.

I want so obviously, so desperately to be loved, and to be capable of love.

-Sylvia Plath

It’s a frightening thought, that in one fraction of a moment you can fall in the kind of love that takes a lifetime to get over.

-Beau Taplin.

metaphorformetaphor:

In one minute the entire life of a house is ended. The house as casualty
is also mass murder, even if it is empty of its inhabitants. A mass grave
of raw materials intended to build a structure with meaning, or a poem
with no importance in time of war. The house as casualty is the severance
of things from their relationships and from the names of feelings, and
from the need of tragedy to direct its eloquence at seeing into the life of
the object. In every object there is a being in pain - a memory of fingers,
of a smell, an image. And houses are killed just like their inhabitants.
And the memory of objects is killed: stone, wood, glass, iron, cement
are scattered in broken fragments like living beings. And cotton, silk,
linen, papers, books are torn to pieces like proscribed words. Plates,
spoons, toys, records, taps, pipes, door handles, fridges, washing
machines, flower vases, jars of olives and pickles, tinned food all break
just like their owners. Salt, sugar, spices, boxes of matches, pills,
contraceptives, antidepressants, strings of garlic, onions, tomatoes,
dried okra, rice and lentils are crushed to pieces just like their owners.
Rent agreements, marriage documents, birth certificates, water and
electricity bills, identity cards, passports, love letters are torn to shreds
like their owners’ hearts. Photographs, toothbrushes, combs, cosmetics,
shoes, underwear, sheets, towels fly in every direction like family secrets
broadcast aloud in the devastation. All these things are a memory of
the people who no longer have them and of the objects that no longer
have the people - destroyed in a minute. Our things die like us, but they
aren’t buried with us.

—Mahmoud Darwish, “The house as casualty,” A River Dies of Thirst. Archipelago Books, 2009

metaphorformetaphor:

This is our land, and the sky is real
not a metaphor, and high as our hopes. He says to me:
‘Is June a memory?’ and I say: ‘It is a wound
bleeding acutely still, even though its victim says: “I have
forgotten the pain.”’

— Mahmoud Darwish, from “The return of June,” A River Dies of Thirst. (Archipelago Books, 2009)

saintsebastiensbf:

Olena Kalytiak Davis, Shattered Sonnets, Love Cards, and Other Off and Back Handed Importunities

Sharon Olds, True Love

Stephen Crane, In The Desert

Cameron Awkward-Rich, Meditations in an Emergency

ANTIGONE: The fields were wet. They were waiting for something to happen. The whole world was breathless, waiting. I can’t tell you what a roaring noise I seemed to make alone on the road. It bothered me that whatever was waiting, wasn’t waiting for me.

Jean Anouilh, Antigone

Etel Adnan, The Spring Flowers Own & The Manifestations of the Voyage

I’m trying to give you everything I have. But I can’t find it; I can’t find it yet.

Alice Notley, In The Pines

Anne Carson, Plainwater: Essays and Poetry

& if I were to forgive you (& I know I could)

who would be left

who would be left

to forgive me?

Hieu Minh Nguyen, Afterwards

Mahmoud Darwish, Mural

Fariha Róisín, How to Cure a Ghost

“You kiss the back of my legs and I want to cry. Only / the sun has come this close, only the sun.”

Shauna Barbosa, GPS

Mahmoud Darwish, Mural

Forough Farrokhzad, Another Birth

repetition in poetry // part i

(part ii) (part iii) (part iv)

Photography by Agnes Sperlich

How many times did I die without noticing?

~Mahmoud Darwish

mavisylvania:

— Nizar Tawfiq Qabbani

— Mahmoud Darwish

— Kahlil Gibran

أريد يديك لأحمل قلبي

I want your hands to carry my heart.

Mahmoud Darwish

jasminesapphires:

“He, like me, is haunted by his heart,”

—Mahmoud Darwish, from Tuesday and the Weather is Clear; If I Were Another: Selected Poems (tr. by Fady Joudah)

complicated emotions on trains // love, longing, and nostalgia

Kacey Musgraves // Mahmoud Darwish // pinterest// Thomas Wolfe // Casey McQuiston

tenderfaery:

— Mahmoud Darwish, The Death of the Phoenix