by Dalia Taha
Protect the head, where the algae grow, and the sun screams from the summit. The head that has stared for centuries into the sea as it closed its eyelids, and never blinked.
Read MoreWe are flesh measured in kilograms, my Palestinian colleague says in desperation But you are a thinker not a doer So you do nothing
Read Moreby Mohja Kahf
In these three poems by academic and poet Mohja Kahf, Syria is written not only as the site of violent abduction and imprisonment, but also as a diverse country suffering from Arab and Sunni supremacy.—Layla Faraj, editorial assistantIf you know anything, tell Maimounaif you met someone who’s been in prisonand may have seen them, tell MaimounaYou can’t mourn; to mourn is to desert them.They might still be alive, they are.—Mohja Kahf, Tell MaimounaTell MaimounaThey weren’t on the...
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