To be resided in what I possessed my hands

Few mind and awareness of the hidden issues and even their surfaces. A time, I said, I said, I was considered exile, even when I was inside the house, at the head of the camp. I often saw – with the influence of the existentials of the West and its inceptions – that what is equivalent to my presence in the camp’s house, I mean exactly this word: no shelter!

Today, the house went, and its warmth, stones, and his intimate memories began to cry on the far reaches of the land of “so -and -so”, and I say that one knows the value of the need except if it lost it. I deserve God. I was living in the highest blessing, and I did not give it its right. I was behind those empty existentials, which were popular with Europe, after the second civil war. Then we spread to our intellectuals in the seventies and eighties, and even before, mixing with the current tampering currents, in the countries of the East and Morocco.

I am not for me, Sartre, Kirkaggard, Picky and the rest of the shell?

Was it not first at the time, to be resisting with what I possessed my hands, in order to preserve the house of the small camp, and what remains for us from the country, as a homeland, and the homeland is the home of the greatest and greatest man, compensated for those empties of readings that do not enrich hunger and do not resist an occupation, and do not move a resident of a resident?

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Who knows, brother? Awareness may come with the realization of words that are no longer used, the meanings that no one knows today, and the words that have lost their reference such as the revolution, the left, the national honor, and the dignity of the poor who turned into a medium class.

Why? Because there is no world outside the language; Because the language is everything, because in reality there is no meaning without words, but there is absolutely nothing outside the muscle of the tongue. Even you personally, when you want to restore everything you lost, start through language, in fact.

The authors in particular, and their crying on the ghosts of the nights, know this as well. Even the Arab ruler is fully aware of this Bedouin matter, as it transforms the language from words to masquerade, outside any interconnections between the meaning and the building, in order for things to be confused and people are lost.

As for the poet in the heavy time, he may lose his right. The world turns into a dirty futility, and not to a metaphor for many other disappearances surrounded by the stupidity of some seasons, but also in the symptoms resulting from the meaning of the meaning, the lover of the mother language loses their safe wood. Rather, the estate of the meaning is the cause of each scourge: because when the word dies by abandoning its original meaning, the reality that it refers to, dies, too.

Why? Because when we stop using a word, and thus naming something, this thing stops existence, unfortunately.
Therefore, the struggle of the language begins only from the struggle of reality.

When reality inherits, the whole language of his heirs is inherited, even if you do not want. That is the state of the world, away from intellectuals and outlets. If only this humanity would return to the time of the ancestors, the jungle between the branches. The evil of these – may God have mercy on them – was not measured by what he possessed today, the man of the White West, the non -medium extremist.

* A Palestinian poet residing in Belgium