A bit of mist and light suffice for life to overpower nothingness. A bit of hope and time suffice for you to cross the mountain trails of myth; you were spared the fate of your ancestors. So borrow the wisdom of the anemones and say: Nothingness does not concern me, even if death besieges me.
Without hope we are lost.
For the Arabs in Israel there is always a tension between nationality and identity.
The image of love reveals itself there; in a profoundly present absence.
The poem is in my hands, and can run stories through her hands.