القدس‎

I was lucky enough to spend the new year in Jerusalem. Crossing the border was a lot easier than expected (in fact it was probably an easier process for me than re-entering the US, where I was born...) and mostly everyone we encountered at the border and in Israel was very kind.

The architecture of the haram there is pretty spectacular and very different, and I am very glad I was able to visit. But... what I saw was kind of horrifying. I hope I can visit again so I have little to say. But what I find even more horrifying is that so many people visit and live in the area and see no problem, or think that it is justified. I don't think I can brush it off any longer.

I was surprised that there is much less security, checkpoints, and less of a military presence in the areas I visited than Pakistan. I guess this says something about Pakistan, haha.

I was reminded of one of my favorite poems by Mahmoud Darwish (which is probably more aggressive than what I would like to reference when I mention Jerusalem but relax it is just a poem):

Write down:

I am an Arab

You stole the meadows of my ancestors and a land I used to cultivate

Together with all my children

You didn’t leave to us or to my offspring

Anything—except these rocks

So will your government take them away as well, as it’s been announced

In that case

Write down

On top of the first page:

“I don’t hate people, and I don’t steal from anyone

But… If I starve, I will eat

 The flesh of my oppressor

So beware, beware of my hunger and rage”

:سجل

انا عربي

سُلبت كروم اجدادي وارضا كنت افلحها

انا وجميع اولادي

فلم تترك لنا ولكل احفادي

… سوى هذي الصخور

فهل ستأخذها حكومتكم… كما قيلا؟

اذن

سجل

:برأس الصفحة الاولى

انا لا أكره الناس، ولا أسطو على أحد”

ولكني … اذا ما جعت،

آكل لحم مغتصبي

“حذار… حذار… من جوعي ومن غضبي

You know, I had a very good friend in high school who, at the end of tenth grade, moved back with her family to the... region. We exchanged emails in order to keep in touch but high school was so busy that I never emailed her. In 2014, I emailed her but didn't hear back. I had kind of forgotten about this but, when I was being driven through Madaba, I saw someone who looked exactly like her through the car window.

Agha Shahid Ali's Homage to Faiz

“You are welcome to make your

adaptations of my poems.”

1

You wrote this from Beirut, two years before

the Sabra-Shatila massacres. That

city’s refugee-air was open, torn

by jets and the voices of reporters. As

always you were witness to “rains of stones,”

though you were away from Pakistan, from

the laws of home which said that the hands of

thieves would be surgically amputated.

But the subcontinent always spoke to

you:

Corporate Metaphors That I Hate (AKA A Summary of My Life Since July)

• "[there are different ways to] skin the cat" -- shudder
• anything about moving cheese 
• "Let's take a step back." 
• honorable mention after I've had to hear it 500x a day 
• "sniff test"
• The Kimono Metaphor

This will be a working list.

پرانی یادیں

"Old memories"

My grandmother is/was very ill (getting better) so my siblings and I very quickly put together an album of photos for her. I purchased gold leaf and tried to use it--pretty clumsily, as you can tell--and did this after I got home from work today (so in the past two hours, haha). Unfortunately, the ink on the calligraphy got smudged. The album cover, as you can imagine, isn't the most tactile surface.

Some Poems and a Picture

Shahjahan Masjid in Thatta, July 2017

Nowhere, nowhere at all, is any trace of blood Not on the murderer’s hands, fingernails or sleeve No blood reddens the tongue of the blade nor brighten the tip of the spear No blood marks the soil or stains the rooftop  Nowhere, nowhere at all, is any trace of blood  

This blood wasn’t shed in the services of kings that it could receive recompense Nor was it sacrificed at the altar of religion that it could be rewarded Neither did it spill on in the battlefield that it could be honoured Or memorialized on a battle standard 

It cried out, this helpless, orphaned blood But none had the ability to listen, nor the time, nor the patience No plaintiff stepped forward, no one bore witness and so the account was closed While the blood of the dirt-dwellers seeped silently into the dirt

Faiz Ahmed Faiz

(Very Belated) Ramadan Kareem

I have had a very stressful few months and I've now just returned from a two week vacation. It may be leftover vacation satisfaction, but I've realized that, actually, things are going pretty well right now. I don't want to stay like this permanently, but I have the means to travel, time for myself, time with my parents and siblings, time to read, and time to watch Calikusu. I am very lucky.

I Have a Seat in the Abandoned Theater

by Mahmoud Darwish, trans. Fady Joudah