إليك ،،،،،!
إليك أبث
الوجد
والاشواق
مغناه،،
إليك أسبح
ضد التيار
حبيبتي
لا اآباه،،
اليك أهدي
الورده البيضاء
والفل
أنداه،،
اليك اهدي
نبض قلبي
فأنت
مُحيٌاه،،
إليك يهيم
الفؤاد مشتاقا ياساكنه
أرجاه،،
اليك أسافر
ف عيونك
ياحلم
الحياه،،
فأنت الأماني
وأنت القلب
الذي
اهواه،،
وأنت نسيم
الصبح
المنثور
نداه،،
وأنت صفحة
النيل
وفراشه
تداعب
موجاه،،
وأنت بدر
تلألأ
ف سما الليل
محلاه،،
وأنت سلسبيل
نبع خمر
للظمأن
بفلاه،،إليك
أهدي
ياحبيبتي
ما بقي
من العمر،،
حب
وشوق
وعشقا
مخلدا
لا أنساه،،
،،،،،،،،،،،،،،،محمد عبلي
To you,,,,,! To you I send my passion and longings a song. To you I swim against the current, my love, I do not care. To you I offer the white rose and the pepper I am like. To you I offer the pulse of my heart, for you are its life. To you the heart wanders longing, you who inhabit it. To you I travel in your eyes, the dream of life. You are the hopes. And you are the heart that I love, and you are the morning breeze spreading its dew, and you are the page of the Nile and its butterfly caressing its waves, and you are a full moon that sparkles in the night sky, its sweet spot, and you are a spring of wine for the thirsty person in its emptiness, to you I dedicate, my beloved, what remains of my life, love, longing and adoration. Immortal and never forget,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, Muhammad Abali
To you,,,,,! To you I send my passion and longings a song. To you I swim against the current, my love, I do not care. To you I offer the white rose and the pepper I am like. To you I offer the pulse of my heart, for you are its life. To you the heart wanders longing, you who inhabit it. To you I travel in your eyes, the dream of life. You are the hopes. And you are the heart that I love, and you are the morning breeze spreading its dew, and you are the page of the Nile and its butterfly caressing its waves, and you are a full moon that sparkles in the night sky, its sweet spot, and you are a spring of wine for the thirsty person in its emptiness, to you I dedicate, my beloved, what remains of my life, love, longing and adoration. Immortal and never forget,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, Muhammad Abali
نم قرير العين
تقام محاكم الذل على سريري
وينطق الشهيد امام العصاة
يعيش الشعب ويسقط العملاء
تعيش الأمة يمدها عبق الحياة
هل يمكن للماجدة ان تنسى عز
بناه الشريف المجيد لما حرم
عريها على مسرح القبح والبيع
يتذكر اللص أنه للكلية باعها
لأمير أمنه على خزينة الامة
هو الشهيد كشف عرينا نتنازل
نحن على سيد القوم نهديه
لقمة للعدا ونرقص على رفاته
نتقاسم ورثه لدور اللهو نعبث
الشهيد في عيد الأضحى ذاق
طعم الشهادة جسورا أخرص
الذليل هو صدام للعرب ضياء
من قال مات فقد كذب حي
بعده تشرد وضياع في الأوطان
نهب صار سنة وطباع اللئيم
باق نخر الأمة وأفرغ خزائنا
كانت تفيض للذود عن مظلوم
ماذا بنينا بعده ناطحات
السحب ام مروج أقمنا سراب
بعدك يا زعيم تذكرني الواجهات
غبار وأرصفة الفقر وتنكيل
نم أيها الزعيم لا ننسى حبك
خلد يبقى مهما نكل الغزاة
بقلمي :البشير سلطاني
Sleep soundly. Courts of humiliation will be held on my bed. The martyr will be pronounced before the disobedient. The people will live and the agents will fall. The nation will live, filled with the fragrance of life. Can the glorious woman forget the glory built by the glorious noble when he forbade her nakedness on the scene of ugliness and sale? The thief remembers that he sold it for the kidney to a prince who secured it for the nation’s treasury. He is the martyr revealed. We are willing to compromise on the master of the people. We give him a morsel to the enemy and dance on his remains. We share his heirs for amusement houses. We mess around. The martyr on Eid al-Adha tasted the taste of martyrdom. He was bold, mute, and humiliated. He is a clash of the Arabs. Zia. Whoever says he is dead has lied. He lives after him. Displacement and loss in the homelands. Looting has become the norm, and the mean nature remains. The gnawing of the nation. And he emptied treasures that were overflowing to defend the oppressed. What did we build after him? Skyscrapers or meadows. Did we erect a mirage? After you, leader, the facades remind me of dust and sidewalks. Poverty and abuse. Sleep, leader. We will not forget your love. It remains immortal. It will remain, no matter what the invaders eat. With my pen: Al-Bashir Sultani.
Sleep soundly. Courts of humiliation will be held on my bed. The martyr will be pronounced before the disobedient. The people will live and the agents will fall. The nation will live, filled with the fragrance of life. Can the glorious woman forget the glory built by the glorious noble when he forbade her nakedness on the scene of ugliness and sale? The thief remembers that he sold it for the kidney to a prince who secured it for the nation’s treasury. He is the martyr revealed. We are willing to compromise on the master of the people. We give him a morsel to the enemy and dance on his remains. We share his heirs for amusement houses. We mess around. The martyr on Eid al-Adha tasted the taste of martyrdom. He was bold, mute, and humiliated. He is a clash of the Arabs. Zia. Whoever says he is dead has lied. He lives after him. Displacement and loss in the homelands. Looting has become the norm, and the mean nature remains. The gnawing of the nation. And he emptied treasures that were overflowing to defend the oppressed. What did we build after him? Skyscrapers or meadows. Did we erect a mirage? After you, leader, the facades remind me of dust and sidewalks. Poverty and abuse. Sleep, leader. We will not forget your love. It remains immortal. It will remain, no matter what the invaders eat. With my pen: Al-Bashir Sultani.
🇵🇸《غزة عصية عليهم لن تلين》🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸رغم الحصار رغم الهدم والجوع والانين》
نتوه في بحر الكلمات فلا ترى ...صدق الأفعال الا من يلبي نداء ...الصابرين
تتكاثر .الوحوش على قصعة من لحم وثريد ويقسم.الظهر.....ويزداد الأنين
تكتب في صفحات الزمن عن.... عشق الأرض والعطاش والأذن بها ....طنين
لعمري ......سمعت الطيور تصرخ من الهول وامتي أصابها جفاء ....الحنين
ويفرد الموت اجنحته على ...اطفال غزة غدو تحت الركام في ...فلسطين
وتغيب عن أمة يعرب مشاعر التقوى والعدل وتخلع.جذور الوفاء والحنين
ليكتب التاريخ مظالم..تروى حكايات عن بلاد الصبر غزة عصية.... لا تلين
يا نسْمَةَ من..الله. فِي أريج ثرى غزة
وِيّاً وَجَّهَ المجد في قَسَماتها...سنين
وَيا سجِلِّ التاريخ يروي .....حكاية
تموج كموج البحر يعلوه..... الحنين
لعمري قِصَّة.. تتحدى الطاغوت تبَثُّ
الأمل ....وتجبر جبر..... المكسورين
فِيك الوُجُود.... والجود على... مدى الزمان أصيلة بنت الوفا لا يستهين
بُزوغ.الفجر وبلوغ المجد هو الحَياة هو.الشموخ.هو.الكبرياء كالماء الجين
يا صَفْعة خَطَّها القدر على وجوه من تجاهلوا الحق ونسوه بئس... الجين
غزة الأُباةِ.وعرين الشوق ربي يجمعنا ويحتفي بهم الفردوس الاعلى..آمين
يا شعب الجبارين صبركم... اسطورة الزمان الخالد هتفنا بها كل يوم.وحين
ايها العرب اسرجوا للْمَجْدِ ..وَالْعَلْيَاء ما كنتم امعة ولا اذنكم فيها... طنين
اهداكم الله الِخَالِق من السَّمَاء كوكب الاسلام بالرسول والصحابة الراشدين
رَدّدِوا .الله.اللهُ أكْبَر يَا مَوْطِن. العزة واعيدوا كتابة العدل فإذا بكم. آمنين
ايها العرب.... كونوا مع الله لا.. ينثني عزمكم فعِشْتَم وطبتم غير.... نادمين
هل تاهت الطود الشامخات عنكم هل ضاعت المروءة وغزانا الحقد الدفين؟
هل جفت الدماء ؟؟؟!!والموت كأن له عرس وتقطعت الاوردة.وحبل.الوتين
ايها الصامتون بالله عليكم ان تفعلوا شيئا فلا تكونوا وصمة امام .الناجين
بقلم الشاعرة د.عطاف الخوالدة
١٩/٩/٢٠٢٤
Gaza is stubborn to them and will not relent.” Despite the siege, despite the demolition, hunger, and groaning. The groaning is written in the pages of time about.... the love of the land, the thirst, and the ear for it.... a hum for my life...... I heard the birds screaming in terror , and my nation was struck by a coldness.... longing and death spreads its wings over... the children of Gaza tomorrow Under the rubble in... Palestine, and the absence of a nation that expresses feelings of piety and justice , the roots of loyalty and nostalgia are stripped away. Let history write injustices... Stories are told about the land of patience. Gaza is stubborn... Do not relent, O breath of... God. In the richness of Gaza, and oh the face of glory in its features... for years and oh, the record of history tells... a story that ripples like the waves of the sea rising above it... nostalgia for my life is a story... that challenges the tyrant, spreads hope... and forces reparation... .. Those who are broken in you are existence.... and presence... over time. Asila, daughter of Al-Wafa. The coming of dawn and the attainment of glory are not underestimated. It is life. It is loftiness. It is proud. It is like water. Oh, a slap that fate has written on the faces of those who ignored the truth and forgot it. Misery.. The gene is the Gaza of pride. And the den of longing. May God bring us together and celebrate them in the highest paradise. Amen. O people of the mighty. Your patience... the legend of immortal time. We chanted it every day. And when, O Arabs, saddle up for glory... and the heights, you were neither shining nor your ear in it... a buzz that guided you. God, the Creator, from the heavens, the planet of Islam, through the Messenger and the Rightly Guided Companions, chanted, “God, God is great, my homeland.” Pride and rewrite justice, and lo! Be safe, O Arabs.... Be with God. Do not... your resolve bends, so you lived and lived well without.... regretting. Have the lofty mountains lost from you? Have you lost your chivalry and invaded us with hidden hatred? Has the blood dried???!! And death seemed to have a wedding, and the veins and ropes were severed. O you who are silent, for God’s sake, you must do something, so do not be a disgrace in front of the survivors. Written by the poet Dr. Etaf Al-Khawaldeh, 9/19/2024. 
Where are you from? Written by: Jamila Ramadan.. من اين انت.. بقلم.. جميلة رمضان.
21 سبتمبر 2024 by Samir Nageeb
من أين أنت
تثور افكاري
وتهمس بإذن الليل
عن زواره ماذا يفعلون
ولماذا يأتون ويرحلون
سريعاً كوميض برق اه ياعزيزتي
ألاترين أن البدر
يظهر ليلاً والسماء مزينة بالنجوم هكذا
هذه اطياف محبين تسرج
الجياد وتمطي
اجنحة الخيال
وتقطع الفيافي
والوديان وأرواح
تزور بمن تحن إليهم وكل هذا
وسط ضبابي المعتم والمنير
بشيئ من رومانسية حالمة
كم من أناس نشتاق لرؤيتهم
حقيقة ولكن المسافات تطول
والظروف تحول
نهرب للحلم فيأتي طيف من
نحب ونشتاق
بثياب بيضاء
كهيئة ملاك
يعوضنا عن ألم
الفراق نعيش
لحظات جميلة
أنا الليل تغزل فيا
الشعراء واسمع
كل يوم قصص
العشاق أعرفتي
من أكون
بقلم جميلة رمضان سوريا
٢٠/٩/٢٠٤
Where are you from? My thoughts arise and whisper in the night about its visitors. What do they do and why do they come and leave so quickly as a flash of lightning? Oh, my dear, do you not see that the full moon appears at night and the sky is decorated with stars like this? These are the ghosts of lovers saddled horses and riding the wings of imagination, crossing the countryside and valleys, and souls visiting those they long for, and all this in the midst of my dark fog. And it is enlightening with a bit of dreamy romance. How many people we long to see in reality, but the distances grow long and the circumstances prevent us from fleeing to the dream, and then a specter of those we love and miss comes in white clothes like the appearance of an angel, compensating us for the pain of separation. We live beautiful moments. I am the night, the poets spin in me, and I hear every day the stories of lovers. You know who I am, by Jamila Ramadan. Syria 9/20/204
Gaza is stubborn to them and will not relent.” Despite the siege, despite the demolition, hunger, and groaning. The groaning is written in the pages of time about.... the love of the land, the thirst, and the ear for it.... a hum for my life...... I heard the birds screaming in terror , and my nation was struck by a coldness.... longing and death spreads its wings over... the children of Gaza tomorrow Under the rubble in... Palestine, and the absence of a nation that expresses feelings of piety and justice , the roots of loyalty and nostalgia are stripped away. Let history write injustices... Stories are told about the land of patience. Gaza is stubborn... Do not relent, O breath of... God. In the richness of Gaza, and oh the face of glory in its features... for years and oh, the record of history tells... a story that ripples like the waves of the sea rising above it... nostalgia for my life is a story... that challenges the tyrant, spreads hope... and forces reparation... .. Those who are broken in you are existence.... and presence... over time. Asila, daughter of Al-Wafa. The coming of dawn and the attainment of glory are not underestimated. It is life. It is loftiness. It is proud. It is like water. Oh, a slap that fate has written on the faces of those who ignored the truth and forgot it. Misery.. The gene is the Gaza of pride. And the den of longing. May God bring us together and celebrate them in the highest paradise. Amen. O people of the mighty. Your patience... the legend of immortal time. We chanted it every day. And when, O Arabs, saddle up for glory... and the heights, you were neither shining nor your ear in it... a buzz that guided you. God, the Creator, from the heavens, the planet of Islam, through the Messenger and the Rightly Guided Companions, chanted, “God, God is great, my homeland.” Pride and rewrite justice, and lo! Be safe, O Arabs.... Be with God. Do not... your resolve bends, so you lived and lived well without.... regretting. Have the lofty mountains lost from you? Have you lost your chivalry and invaded us with hidden hatred? Has the blood dried???!! And death seemed to have a wedding, and the veins and ropes were severed. O you who are silent, for God’s sake, you must do something, so do not be a disgrace in front of the survivors. Written by the poet Dr. Etaf Al-Khawaldeh, 9/19/2024.
Where are you from? Written by: Jamila Ramadan.. من اين انت.. بقلم.. جميلة رمضان.
21 سبتمبر 2024 by Samir Nageeb
من أين أنت
تثور افكاري
وتهمس بإذن الليل
عن زواره ماذا يفعلون
ولماذا يأتون ويرحلون
سريعاً كوميض برق اه ياعزيزتي
ألاترين أن البدر
يظهر ليلاً والسماء مزينة بالنجوم هكذا
هذه اطياف محبين تسرج
الجياد وتمطي
اجنحة الخيال
وتقطع الفيافي
والوديان وأرواح
تزور بمن تحن إليهم وكل هذا
وسط ضبابي المعتم والمنير
بشيئ من رومانسية حالمة
كم من أناس نشتاق لرؤيتهم
حقيقة ولكن المسافات تطول
والظروف تحول
نهرب للحلم فيأتي طيف من
نحب ونشتاق
بثياب بيضاء
كهيئة ملاك
يعوضنا عن ألم
الفراق نعيش
لحظات جميلة
أنا الليل تغزل فيا
الشعراء واسمع
كل يوم قصص
العشاق أعرفتي
من أكون
بقلم جميلة رمضان سوريا
٢٠/٩/٢٠٤
Where are you from? My thoughts arise and whisper in the night about its visitors. What do they do and why do they come and leave so quickly as a flash of lightning? Oh, my dear, do you not see that the full moon appears at night and the sky is decorated with stars like this? These are the ghosts of lovers saddled horses and riding the wings of imagination, crossing the countryside and valleys, and souls visiting those they long for, and all this in the midst of my dark fog. And it is enlightening with a bit of dreamy romance. How many people we long to see in reality, but the distances grow long and the circumstances prevent us from fleeing to the dream, and then a specter of those we love and miss comes in white clothes like the appearance of an angel, compensating us for the pain of separation. We live beautiful moments. I am the night, the poets spin in me, and I hear every day the stories of lovers. You know who I am, by Jamila Ramadan. Syria 9/20/204
بنت السلطان ❤️
........................
حينما قررت أن ابتعد وأنسى أجمل حكاية في سنين عمري الضائعة
أجمل حكاية نبض لها قلبي بدقات متسارعة
رأيتني أتحدث معها دون موعد مازحتها دون وعي🔥
قائلا هل تخاصميني إذا قلت أنك لست حكاية حلوة
قالت ليتها لم تقل 💚
لا يمكن أن أزعل
منك أبدا
حينها رجع قلبي
ينبض سريعا ....
.تمنيت لو
أحتضنها بقوة
أتحدى أعراف القبيلة والهذيان
أتحدى الزمان والمكان
لأن من أعشقها
أحلى من بنت السلطان❤️
بقلم علاء راضي الزاملي
The Sultan’s daughter ........................ When I decided to move away and forget the most beautiful story in the wasted years of my life, the most beautiful story for which my heart beat with rapid beats, you saw me talking to her without an appointment, and I joked with her. Unconsciously, he said, “Will you fight me if I say that you are not a sweet story?” She said, “I wish you had not said, I can never be upset with you.” Then my heart started beating fast.... I wished I could hug her tightly. I challenge the customs of the tribe and the nonsense. I challenge time and space, because the one I adore is sweeter than the Sultan’s daughter. Written by Alaa Radi Al-Zamili
The Sultan’s daughter ........................ When I decided to move away and forget the most beautiful story in the wasted years of my life, the most beautiful story for which my heart beat with rapid beats, you saw me talking to her without an appointment, and I joked with her. Unconsciously, he said, “Will you fight me if I say that you are not a sweet story?” She said, “I wish you had not said, I can never be upset with you.” Then my heart started beating fast.... I wished I could hug her tightly. I challenge the customs of the tribe and the nonsense. I challenge time and space, because the one I adore is sweeter than the Sultan’s daughter. Written by Alaa Radi Al-Zamili
❤️ خيالات وظلال ❤️
خيالات وظلال كثيرة تتهادى
شخص قادم من أعقاب الطريق
ظننت لوهلة أنهم أشخاص كثر
أوحت لي الظلال بأنهم فريق
الحي يبدو مسكونا بالأشباح
لا تسمع له همساً ٠٠٠ حي عتيق
كلما أقتربت خطوات الغريب
تتلاحق أنفاسي زفيرا وشهيق
تتشاحن داخلي حكايات جدتي
خوفي من الظلام صار لصيق
مر بجانبي ٠٠٠ عيناه حمراوتان
كأنما تعكسان ٠٠٠ لون الحريق
بالرغم من لون عينيه ٠ الأحمر
كانتا تحملان ٠٠٠ اجمل بريق
بادرته بالسلام ليطمئن قلبي
تجاهلني مثل شخص صفيق
تجاوزني ببضع خطوات وتوقف
تجمدت دمائي خوفاً ياصديق
سال العرق من جبهتي أنهارا
كأنني انتشلت من البحر غريق
تسارعت خطواتي لأنجو بنفسي
قررت المغادرة ٠ للحي العريق
❤️ خيالات وظلال ❤️
🌹 السفير دكتور مجدى محمد أحمد 🌹 الشيخ مجدي 🌹
❤️ الحادي والعشرين من شهر سبتمبر❤️ 2024 ❤️
Illusions and shadows Illusions and many shadows waddling A person coming from the back of the road I thought for a moment that they were many people The shadows suggested to me that they were a team The neighborhood seems haunted by ghosts You do not hear a whisper of it 000 ancient neighborhood Whenever the stranger’s steps approach, my breaths follow each other Inhales and inhales They quarrel within me My grandmother’s stories My fear of the dark has become bitter. Beside me, 000, his eyes were red, as if they reflected 000 the color of fire, despite the color of his eyes, 000 red. They carried 000 the most beautiful sparkle. He made a gesture of greeting to reassure my heart. He ignored me like a cheeky person. He passed me a few steps and stopped. My blood froze in fear, my friend. The sweat poured from my forehead in rivers, as if I had been pulled from the sea by a drowning person. My steps quickened to save myself. I decided to leave 0 To the ancient neighborhood, silhouettes and shadows of Ambassador Dr. Magdy Mohamed Ahmed Sheikh Magdy, the twenty-first of September 2024
Illusions and shadows Illusions and many shadows waddling A person coming from the back of the road I thought for a moment that they were many people The shadows suggested to me that they were a team The neighborhood seems haunted by ghosts You do not hear a whisper of it 000 ancient neighborhood Whenever the stranger’s steps approach, my breaths follow each other Inhales and inhales They quarrel within me My grandmother’s stories My fear of the dark has become bitter. Beside me, 000, his eyes were red, as if they reflected 000 the color of fire, despite the color of his eyes, 000 red. They carried 000 the most beautiful sparkle. He made a gesture of greeting to reassure my heart. He ignored me like a cheeky person. He passed me a few steps and stopped. My blood froze in fear, my friend. The sweat poured from my forehead in rivers, as if I had been pulled from the sea by a drowning person. My steps quickened to save myself. I decided to leave 0 To the ancient neighborhood, silhouettes and shadows of Ambassador Dr. Magdy Mohamed Ahmed Sheikh Magdy, the twenty-first of September 2024
*** همس القلوب ***
عانقت روحي روحك قبل وجودي
ومذ كنت جنينا نبضك في شراييني
وجئت للحياة وأنا لك عاشقة
وهواك جنة الخلد فرح كل سنيني
فأنت الحياة و الحياة دونك عدم
يا مالك الروح يا نبض وتيني
هذه رياح الشوق إليك تدفعني
و يقودني حبي لك و حنيني
مثقلة بالأشواق يغتالني البعد
خذني إليك ضمني و أحتويني
أزرعني في حدائقك نرجسة
و من عواصف الأيام أحميني
روحي في البعد توجعت و تقرحت
ضمد عميق الجراح داويني
في صحراء الحياة و الظمأ قاتلي
أبسط يديك و بماء الحياة أسقيني
بقلمي زينة الهمامي تونس 🇹🇳
*** Whispering hearts *** My soul embraced your soul before I existed, and since I was a fetus, your pulse has been in my veins and I came to life, and I am in love with you, and your love is the paradise of eternity, the joy of all my years, you are life, and life without you is nothingness, O possessor of the soul, oh pulse of my heart, these winds of longing for you push me and my love leads me For you and my nostalgia is burdened with longings. Distance assassinates me. Take me to you. Hug me and contain me. Plant me in your gardens. Narcissus. Protect me from the storms of days. Protect me. My soul in distance aches and ulcers. Bandage deep wounds. Heal me in the desert of life and thirst. Fight. Stretch out your hands. With the water of life, give me water with my pen. Zeina Hamami, Tunisia.
*** Whispering hearts *** My soul embraced your soul before I existed, and since I was a fetus, your pulse has been in my veins and I came to life, and I am in love with you, and your love is the paradise of eternity, the joy of all my years, you are life, and life without you is nothingness, O possessor of the soul, oh pulse of my heart, these winds of longing for you push me and my love leads me For you and my nostalgia is burdened with longings. Distance assassinates me. Take me to you. Hug me and contain me. Plant me in your gardens. Narcissus. Protect me from the storms of days. Protect me. My soul in distance aches and ulcers. Bandage deep wounds. Heal me in the desert of life and thirst. Fight. Stretch out your hands. With the water of life, give me water with my pen. Zeina Hamami, Tunisia.
قصيده عن الاب
من تأليف وقلم
الاديب الاستاز
د/ شحاته كمال عثمان الجوهري
قصيدةالاب
----------------
بحبك ياأبي حب بلاحدود
لايملئه نهر ولابحر ولاسدود
حبك في قلبي ماله حدود
حبك فى قلبي كبيرورب المعبود
مهما اعمل علشان رضاق عليه
لان رضا الرب من رضا الاب عليه
لو سألونى بتحب نفسك ولاابوك اقول لهم طبعا ابويه
الوحيد فى الدنيا هو ال عايز يكون ابنه احسن منه
ياأبي انت قدوتي وحياتي
انت سندى وضهرى ونجاحي
انت عمري وأنفاسي وهوائي
كنت ابي واخي وصديقى وكل حياتى
والفرحه كانت بتكمل لما بتكون معايا
كنت بشوف وشك ضحكتك على طول ويايا
أنا حملت اسمك وده فخر ليه
كان اسمي مع اسمك ده شرف ليه
ورب العباد بدعيلك ليل نهار
دعائي فى صلاتي ليل نهار
هو خلاص مش هشوفك تاني لاليل ولانهار
يارب يوصل ليك الدعاء فى قبرك من الليل حتى النهار
ياابي نام فى قبرك وارتاح لان بدعيلك ليل نهار
دعاء ليسي له حدود
علشان بحبك من قلبي ورب المعبود
بحبك ياأبى حب ليس له حدود
لايملئه نهر ولابحر ولاسدود
ده واجب على وعلى كل ابن ورب المعبود
بحبك ياأبي حب بلاحدود
لايملئه نهر ولابحر ولاسدود
رضاق عليه عيد وسعيد وسعاده وفرح وسرور ليس لها حدود
هو خلاص مش هشوفك تاني حتى ولو على الحدود
نفسي اشوفك تاني قبل يوم الساعه لانه يوم محشود
وحشتني قوي ومحتاجك قوى وتكون معايا قبل مايجي يوم الموعود
مش هشوفك تاني خلاص سبتنى لمين كلها قلوب سود
كلهم وحوش وغابه ودنيا تانيه وقلوبهم سود
خلاص مش هشوفك تاني وقلت باي باي على الحدود
قالوا يوم اللقاء هو اليوم السعيد
حتي فى منامي لما بتيجى وتجلس معايا بيكون عليه يوم سعيد
يارب تكون دنيتك احسن من دنيتنا لانك اكيد سعيد
الله يرحمك ياابي حتى اشوفك يوم الموعود
اسمعوا كلامي وجود الاب لوراح مش هيعود
حافظوا على ابهاتكم وقبلوا ايده رضاه عليك هو رضا الله المعبود
-----------------------------------------
وسلاماتكم
اللهم ارحم ابي وجميع امواتنا واموات المسليمين اجمعين
تمت
نشر فى صفحتنا الأديب
الأستاذ/ د - شحاته كمال عثمات الجوهري ابن الاهرامات مصر
وحاليا بيقوم بتاليف نص عن الأم
A poem about the father, written and penned by the distinguished writer Dr. Shehata Kamal Othman Al-Gohary. Father’s poem ---------------- I love you, father, a love without limits that cannot be filled by a river, sea, or dams. Your love in my heart has no limits. Your love in my heart is great. The Lord of the worshiped no matter what. I work to please him, because the Lord’s satisfaction is the father’s satisfaction with him. If they ask me, do you love yourself or your father, I will tell them of course, his only parent in the world is the one who wants his son to be better than him. Father, you are my role model and my life, you are my support, my back, and my success. You are my life, my breath, and my air. You were my father, my brother, my friend, and all my life, and there was joy. You continue, when you were with me, I used to see your laughter all the time, and I carried your name and this is a pride. Why was my name with yours? This is an honor for him. And the Lord of the servants, I pray for you day and night. My supplication in my prayers, day and night, is salvation. I will never see you again, night or day. O God, may the prayers reach you in your grave from night to night. Day, my father, sleep in your grave and rest, because I pray for you day and night, a prayer that has no limits, because I love you from my heart and the Lord of the worshiped. I love you, my father. A love that has no limits. It cannot be filled by a river, sea, or dam. This is a duty upon me and every son. And the Lord of the worshiped. I love you, my father. A love without limits that cannot be filled by a river, sea, or dam. May God’s satisfaction be upon him. Happy Eid. Happiness, joy and pleasure have no limits. It is over. I will never see you again, even if on the border. I wish I could see you again before the hour because it is a busy day. I miss you so much and I need you so much and to be with me before the promised day comes. I will never see you again. It is over. You left me to whom. They are all black hearts. They are all monsters and the forest and another world and their hearts are black. That's it, I'll never see you again. I said, "Bye bye" at the border. They said the day we meet is the happy day. Even in my dream, when you come and sit with me, it will be a happy day. I hope your world will be better than ours, because you are certainly happy. May God have mercy on you, father, until I see you on the promised day. Listen to my words. The presence of the father will not return. Keep it. May your blessings be upon you and accept his hand. His satisfaction upon you is the satisfaction of the worshiped God ---------------------------------------- - And your peace, may God have mercy on my father and all our dead and the dead of all Muslims. The writer, Professor Dr. Shehata Kamal Atmat Al-Jawhari, son of the Egyptian pyramids, has been published on our page and is currently writing a text about the mother.
A poem about the father, written and penned by the distinguished writer Dr. Shehata Kamal Othman Al-Gohary. Father’s poem ---------------- I love you, father, a love without limits that cannot be filled by a river, sea, or dams. Your love in my heart has no limits. Your love in my heart is great. The Lord of the worshiped no matter what. I work to please him, because the Lord’s satisfaction is the father’s satisfaction with him. If they ask me, do you love yourself or your father, I will tell them of course, his only parent in the world is the one who wants his son to be better than him. Father, you are my role model and my life, you are my support, my back, and my success. You are my life, my breath, and my air. You were my father, my brother, my friend, and all my life, and there was joy. You continue, when you were with me, I used to see your laughter all the time, and I carried your name and this is a pride. Why was my name with yours? This is an honor for him. And the Lord of the servants, I pray for you day and night. My supplication in my prayers, day and night, is salvation. I will never see you again, night or day. O God, may the prayers reach you in your grave from night to night. Day, my father, sleep in your grave and rest, because I pray for you day and night, a prayer that has no limits, because I love you from my heart and the Lord of the worshiped. I love you, my father. A love that has no limits. It cannot be filled by a river, sea, or dam. This is a duty upon me and every son. And the Lord of the worshiped. I love you, my father. A love without limits that cannot be filled by a river, sea, or dam. May God’s satisfaction be upon him. Happy Eid. Happiness, joy and pleasure have no limits. It is over. I will never see you again, even if on the border. I wish I could see you again before the hour because it is a busy day. I miss you so much and I need you so much and to be with me before the promised day comes. I will never see you again. It is over. You left me to whom. They are all black hearts. They are all monsters and the forest and another world and their hearts are black. That's it, I'll never see you again. I said, "Bye bye" at the border. They said the day we meet is the happy day. Even in my dream, when you come and sit with me, it will be a happy day. I hope your world will be better than ours, because you are certainly happy. May God have mercy on you, father, until I see you on the promised day. Listen to my words. The presence of the father will not return. Keep it. May your blessings be upon you and accept his hand. His satisfaction upon you is the satisfaction of the worshiped God ---------------------------------------- - And your peace, may God have mercy on my father and all our dead and the dead of all Muslims. The writer, Professor Dr. Shehata Kamal Atmat Al-Jawhari, son of the Egyptian pyramids, has been published on our page and is currently writing a text about the mother.
الوداع
فارقتنا الأجساد
في بعادهم ذبلت زهور البساتين ولكن أرواحهم لم تفارقنا فهي تطوف في كل مكان
ستبقى صورهم راسخة في مخيلتنا عبر الزمان مهما اضنانى البعاد والشوق لا يستكين ..
أما ذكرى رحيلهم فكانت خسارة لا تنسى مهما كان
أين الصديقة؟ بعدها فقد معنى الحنان
وأين الرفيق والصديق والزوج ؟
رحلوا بدون وداع
متوجين فوق كوكب الأرض عطاؤهم لن يغيب
يا من كسرتم القلوب!!... صورتكم بخيالنا ستبقى دروب...و دروب محفوظة في الوجدان
ما يبدلها تعتيم، مهما هبت ..رياح الغربة ..
وهاجت وماجت الأمواج تعلمنا بجبروتها المعتاد
وفجرت براكين البحار
وأغرق الدمع خدودنا كأنه غزير امطار
سكرات الموت بطيئة ...تتراقص بين أنين الصمت ...لا تقرأ ...تنهيدة الزمن ...وصوت الناي ...يسلب ما تبقى من شدا الألحان.. وشوق اللقاء ...ونظرات العيون ...ترى الكون ألوانا ...مختلفة ..ولا تدري .إنه شبح الموت ...يداعب أنفاس بريئة ...عشقتم الصمت ..ولا تتكلمون ...
حتى في رحلة الوداع ...
غابت الشمس ...و افلت النجوم.. وانطفأ ضوء القمر...إختفت كلها من كبد السماء إستعداداً لوداعكم
ما بقيت حكاية... نرويها جف الريق
يبس الغصن وسقط الورق وانقطعت الأوتار
والروح تصرخ من الحزن
الموت حق علينا يا أعز الناس
تركتم بصمة لن تزول مليئة بالمشاعر
كلها حكم من الاخلاق
ومن... ومن...
كل الذي اقدر ان أقوله ان الأوفياء بقت اسماؤهم تكتب على كل جدران
ويتربعون في القلب والوجدان
فوداعا يا رفاق دربي وارقدوا بسلام
بقلم ريتا ضاهر كاسوحة
Farewell, the bodies left us, in their distance, the flowers of the gardens withered, but their souls did not leave us, as they roam everywhere. Their images will remain firmly established in our imagination throughout time, no matter how long the distance, and longing does not subside. As for the memory of their departure, it was an unforgettable loss, no matter what. Where is the friend? After that, the meaning of tenderness was lost, and where is the companion, friend, and husband? They left without saying goodbye, crowned above the planet Earth. Their gift will not be forgotten, O you who broke hearts!!... Your image in our imagination will remain paths... and paths preserved in the conscience that will not be replaced by darkness, no matter how much they blow... the winds of alienation... and they rage and the waves come, teaching us with their usual might and blowing up. The volcanoes of the seas, and the tears drowned our cheeks as if they were heavy rain. Slow death throes... dancing between the moans of silence... do not read... the sigh of time... and the sound of the flute... robbing what was left of the intensity of the melodies... and the longing for meeting... and the looks... The eyes... see the universe in different colors... and you do not know it. It is the ghost of death... caressing innocent souls... you loved silence... and did not speak... even on the farewell trip... the sun set... and The stars went away... and the moonlight went out... they all disappeared from the middle of the sky in preparation for saying goodbye to you. What remains is a story... to tell. The saliva dried up, the branch withered, the leaves fell, the strings were severed, and the soul screams from sadness. Death is upon us, dearest people. You left a mark that will never go away, full of feelings, all wisdom. From morals and from... and from... All I can say is that the loyal people have their names written on every wall and they occupy the heart and conscience. So, farewell, my companions of my path, and rest in peace. Written by Rita Daher Kasouh 
قصة الاحزان بقلم محمود عبد الحميد عيسى 21/9/2024أرحل عند الفجر حاملا وهمى أردد قصة الأحزان وأنسى الأسم والعنوان وأسأل نفسى ألف مرة وأسأل خظوتى الحيرى حياة الخوف ان بقيت سأحياها فى أى زمان لأن زماننا غادر وأحزان الهوى شجرةزرعناها ولم نجنى لها ثمرة ستبقى الغربة مأواناسنحمل بين أيديناصكوك الهجر والنسيان وعند الفجر أرحل حاملا وهمى وأرحل والرحيل رفيق غريبا أبدأ الرحلة وتبدأ حيرة الفنان وقلبى يحمل الرغبة وأسأل نفسى فى رهبة عن أحزانى عن شجنى وقال اليل هناك خلف التل أمظارا وأشجارا وزهرا لم يزل نادى وبالوادى رفيقا بادر الرحلةفمن زار يوما نفسى فاض بالشجو كأسى محمود عبد الحميد عيسىThe Story of Sorrows by Mahmoud Abdel Hamid Issa 9/21/2024 I leave at dawn carrying an illusion. I repeat the story of sorrows and forget the name and address. I ask myself a thousand times and ask my confused stepfather, the life of fear. If I live, I will live it at any time because our time has left, and the sorrows of passion are a tree that we planted and did not reap any fruit from. It will remain. Alienation is our shelter. We will hold in our hands the instruments of abandonment and oblivion. And at dawn I leave, carrying an illusion, and I depart, and departure is a strange companion. I begin the journey, and the artist’s confusion begins, and my heart carries desire, and I ask myself in awe about my sorrows, about my grief, and he said, “Night, behind the hill there are spectacles, trees, and flowers. He has never ceased to call, and in the valley there is a companion. He who has visited” hastened the journey. One day, my cup was overflowing with sadness, Mahmoud Abdel Hamid Issa
Farewell, the bodies left us, in their distance, the flowers of the gardens withered, but their souls did not leave us, as they roam everywhere. Their images will remain firmly established in our imagination throughout time, no matter how long the distance, and longing does not subside. As for the memory of their departure, it was an unforgettable loss, no matter what. Where is the friend? After that, the meaning of tenderness was lost, and where is the companion, friend, and husband? They left without saying goodbye, crowned above the planet Earth. Their gift will not be forgotten, O you who broke hearts!!... Your image in our imagination will remain paths... and paths preserved in the conscience that will not be replaced by darkness, no matter how much they blow... the winds of alienation... and they rage and the waves come, teaching us with their usual might and blowing up. The volcanoes of the seas, and the tears drowned our cheeks as if they were heavy rain. Slow death throes... dancing between the moans of silence... do not read... the sigh of time... and the sound of the flute... robbing what was left of the intensity of the melodies... and the longing for meeting... and the looks... The eyes... see the universe in different colors... and you do not know it. It is the ghost of death... caressing innocent souls... you loved silence... and did not speak... even on the farewell trip... the sun set... and The stars went away... and the moonlight went out... they all disappeared from the middle of the sky in preparation for saying goodbye to you. What remains is a story... to tell. The saliva dried up, the branch withered, the leaves fell, the strings were severed, and the soul screams from sadness. Death is upon us, dearest people. You left a mark that will never go away, full of feelings, all wisdom. From morals and from... and from... All I can say is that the loyal people have their names written on every wall and they occupy the heart and conscience. So, farewell, my companions of my path, and rest in peace. Written by Rita Daher Kasouh
قصة الاحزان بقلم محمود عبد الحميد عيسى 21/9/2024أرحل عند الفجر حاملا وهمى أردد قصة الأحزان وأنسى الأسم والعنوان وأسأل نفسى ألف مرة وأسأل خظوتى الحيرى حياة الخوف ان بقيت سأحياها فى أى زمان لأن زماننا غادر وأحزان الهوى شجرةزرعناها ولم نجنى لها ثمرة ستبقى الغربة مأواناسنحمل بين أيديناصكوك الهجر والنسيان وعند الفجر أرحل حاملا وهمى وأرحل والرحيل رفيق غريبا أبدأ الرحلة وتبدأ حيرة الفنان وقلبى يحمل الرغبة وأسأل نفسى فى رهبة عن أحزانى عن شجنى وقال اليل هناك خلف التل أمظارا وأشجارا وزهرا لم يزل نادى وبالوادى رفيقا بادر الرحلةفمن زار يوما نفسى فاض بالشجو كأسى محمود عبد الحميد عيسىThe Story of Sorrows by Mahmoud Abdel Hamid Issa 9/21/2024 I leave at dawn carrying an illusion. I repeat the story of sorrows and forget the name and address. I ask myself a thousand times and ask my confused stepfather, the life of fear. If I live, I will live it at any time because our time has left, and the sorrows of passion are a tree that we planted and did not reap any fruit from. It will remain. Alienation is our shelter. We will hold in our hands the instruments of abandonment and oblivion. And at dawn I leave, carrying an illusion, and I depart, and departure is a strange companion. I begin the journey, and the artist’s confusion begins, and my heart carries desire, and I ask myself in awe about my sorrows, about my grief, and he said, “Night, behind the hill there are spectacles, trees, and flowers. He has never ceased to call, and in the valley there is a companion. He who has visited” hastened the journey. One day, my cup was overflowing with sadness, Mahmoud Abdel Hamid Issa
قصة الاحزان
بقلم محمود عبد الحميد عيسى
21/9/2024
أرحل عند الفجر حاملا وهمى
أردد قصة الأحزان وأنسى الأسم والعنوان
وأسأل نفسى ألف مرة وأسأل خظوتى الحيرى
حياة الخوف ان بقيت سأحياها فى أى زمان
لأن زماننا غادر وأحزان الهوى شجرة
زرعناها ولم نجنى لها ثمرة
ستبقى الغربة مأوانا
سنحمل بين أيدينا
صكوك الهجر والنسيان
وعند الفجر
أرحل حاملا وهمى
وأرحل والرحيل رفيق
غريبا أبدأ الرحلة
وتبدأ حيرة الفنان
وقلبى يحمل الرغبة
وأسأل نفسى فى رهبة
عن أحزانى عن شجنى
وقال اليل
هناك خلف التل أمظارا
وأشجارا وزهرا لم يزل نادى
وبالوادى رفيقا بادر الرحلة
فمن زار يوما نفسى فاض بالشجو كأسى
محمود عبد الحميد عيسى
The Story of Sorrows by Mahmoud Abdel Hamid Issa 9/21/2024 I leave at dawn carrying an illusion. I repeat the story of sorrows and forget the name and address. I ask myself a thousand times and ask my confused stepfather, the life of fear. If I live, I will live it at any time because our time has left, and the sorrows of passion are a tree that we planted and did not reap any fruit from. It will remain. Alienation is our shelter. We will hold in our hands the instruments of abandonment and oblivion. And at dawn I leave, carrying an illusion, and I depart, and departure is a strange companion. I begin the journey, and the artist’s confusion begins, and my heart carries desire, and I ask myself in awe about my sorrows, about my grief, and he said, “Night, behind the hill there are spectacles, trees, and flowers. He has never ceased to call, and in the valley there is a companion. He who has visited” hastened the journey. One day, my cup was overflowing with sadness, Mahmoud Abdel Hamid Issa
عشق الروح
عشق الروح باقي أما الجسد فاني
يامن أراك بقلبي وأنت لاتراني
ألروح تهوى من تحب وتهيم
وأنت للقلب والروح وللجرح شافاني
فالمسافات وهم لاأعترف بها
فأنت قريب من قلبي ووجداني
تأتي لي أحيانا للقائي
وياله من لقاء بضع ثواني
أتلقاك حينها بشغف بين يدي
وسرعان ماتغرب ماأشقاني
فأنت القلب والروح والعشق
قريب أنت من وريدي وشرياني
إلى متى تغرب شمسك بعيدا
فالظلام والهجر قد أضناني
بقلم /
سامية محمد غانم
The love of the soul, the love of the soul, remains, but the body, I am the one who sees you in my heart and you do not see me. The soul loves the one it loves and wanders, and you are for the heart and the soul, and for the wound it healed me. Distances are an illusion that I do not recognize. You are close to my heart and my conscience. You come to me sometimes to meet me, and what a meeting it is. For a few seconds, I meet you then with passion in my hands, and soon you disappear, how miserable you are for me. Heart, soul, and love are close. You are in my vein and artery. How long will your sun set far away? Darkness and abandonment have embraced me. Written by Samia Muhammad Ghanem 
.. How is Baghdad... written by the writer... Iman Al-Badri... هوي بغداد بقلم الاديبة.. ايمان البدري
The love of the soul, the love of the soul, remains, but the body, I am the one who sees you in my heart and you do not see me. The soul loves the one it loves and wanders, and you are for the heart and the soul, and for the wound it healed me. Distances are an illusion that I do not recognize. You are close to my heart and my conscience. You come to me sometimes to meet me, and what a meeting it is. For a few seconds, I meet you then with passion in my hands, and soon you disappear, how miserable you are for me. Heart, soul, and love are close. You are in my vein and artery. How long will your sun set far away? Darkness and abandonment have embraced me. Written by Samia Muhammad Ghanem
.. How is Baghdad... written by the writer... Iman Al-Badri... هوي بغداد بقلم الاديبة.. ايمان البدري
في هوى بغداد
في ليل بغداد كم سهرنا وكم تسامرنا
أخبرتني عشرات الحكايات عن تاريخ بغداد وحضارتها ، عن كرم أهلها ، عن شوارعها
عن أفراحها وأحزانها ، عن شمسها الدافئة
ليلها الأنيق والصاخب ، عن سحر نهر دجلة وقصص العشق التي لا تنتهي . .
مازلت أذكر أنك شبهتني بدجلة في عطائه وحنانه وكم تمنيت أن نلتقي وتقترن قلوبنا كما
يلتقي الفرات ودجلة في ملحمة عشقٍ أبدي
يا إلهي كم تجادلنا مَنْ الأفضل ؟ أنت تقول دجلة وأنا أقول النيل حتى أنتهى بنا الأمر
بأن تقول أنت النيل وأقول أنا دجلة
ولم لا ؟ فإن الحب يلغي الحدود فتذوب
الهويات ونصبح كياناً واحداً ، حينها تبسمت وقلت لي لماذا نتشاجر حبيبتي فكلانا أصحاب حضارة تدين لها الأرض ، كلانا يحمل تاريخاً
عريقاً فتعالي يا ابنة الفراعنة لحضن البابلي
لنصنع تاريخنا معاً . .
لا فرق بين ليل بغداد وليل القاهرة كلاهما
ساحر ، كلاهما صاخب ، كلاهما يحمل ألاف النجوم الساهرة والمحترقة بجمر الحنين
ألاف الحكايا والأحلام ، الدموع والابتسامات
وألاف الآهات التي تحترق بها قلوبنا لبعد المسافات واختلاف العناوين . .
فإن الحب اليوم يحتاج إلى تأشيرات
يا إلهي لقد وقعت في هوى بغداد دون أن أراها فقد رأيتها فيك ، في كلماتك ، في صوتك
في وجهك ، في سحر عينيك ودفء ابتسامتك
كم تمنيت أن نكون مثل عشتار وجلجامش
قصة حب أسطورية رغم أختلاف عالمهما
لكن مصير قصتنا الحزينة كمصير إيزيس وأزوريس ملحمة عشق إنتهت بالدموع والفراق
كم تمنيت أن تلتقي عروس النيل بفارس بابل
لنصنع ملحمتنا الخاصة لكنه حلماً تحطم على أعتاب الواقع ليبقى حطامه حبيس قلوبنا
ذكرى حزينة وإن كان يكسوها الفرح
ربما يأتي يوماً ننثرها على ضفاف دجلة
✍بقلمي #إيمان_البدري
In the love of Baghdad, in the night of Baghdad, how much we stayed up late and how much we chatted. She told me dozens of stories about Baghdad’s history and civilization, about the generosity of its people, about its streets, about its joys and sorrows, about its warm sun, its elegant and loud nights, about the magic of the Tigris River and the endless stories of love. . I still remember that you likened me to the Tigris in his giving and tenderness, and how much I wished that we would meet and that our hearts would join together as the Euphrates and the Tigris meet in an epic of eternal love. Oh my God, how much have we argued about who is better? You say the Tigris and I say the Nile until we end up with you saying the Nile and I saying I am the Tigris, why not? Love abolishes boundaries, so identities dissolve and we become one entity. Then you smiled and said to me, “Why are we quarreling, my love? We are both owners of a civilization to which the earth is indebted. We both carry an ancient history, so come, daughter of the Pharaohs, to the embrace of Babylon, so that we may create our history together.” . There is no difference between the night of Baghdad and the night of Cairo. Both are magical, both are noisy, both carry thousands of stars awake and burning with the embers of nostalgia, thousands of stories and dreams, tears and smiles and thousands of groans with which our hearts burn due to the distances and different addresses. . Love today needs visas. Oh my God, I fell in love with Baghdad without seeing it. I saw it in you, in your words, in your voice, in your face, in the magic of your eyes and the warmth of your smile. How I wished that we could be like Ishtar and Gilgamesh, a legendary love story despite the difference in their world, but the fate of our sad story. Like the fate of Isis and Osiris, an epic of love that ended in tears and separation. How I wished that the Bride of the Nile would meet the Knight of Babylon so that we could create our own epic, but it is a dream that was shattered on the threshold of reality, so that its debris remains locked in our hearts as a sad memory, even if it is covered with joy. Perhaps a day will come when we will scatter it on the banks of the Tigris with my pen #Eman_Al-Badri 
يوما ما سترتقيأنت في حياتك دائما تعطي لمن تتعامل معهم كل الحب والاحترام ونقدم لهم فوق استطاعتنك وقدرتنك على العطاءولكن يوما ما سياتي الوقت وتقدر قيمة نفسك وتضعها في المقام الأوللن تفرط بالعطاء وترفع سقف التوقعاتوتنتهي من دور التصنع واللامبالاة بقدر نفسكواستدرك أن الإفراط في الشيء هلاكستعرف ماتريد ومايناسبك وماأنت قادر عليهوتبدأ بمرحلة تحقيق الذات بعيدا عن التصنع وعدم الاهتمام بحق نفسك ستكون منصفا بينك وبين من تتعامل معهمولن تقبل أن تكون تابعا لأحد أوتتخلى عن أهدافك ورغاياتك ومتطلباتك من أجل الٱخرينستكون حقيقي جداسيأتي الوقت لتكون منطقيا ولاتقبل بتقمص عدد من الأدوار وممارسة التعددية بالشخصيات وتكون مجموعة أشخاص في شخص واحد لإرضاء غيركيوما ما سترتقي بوعيكنعم سترتقيبقلمي دلال العلي سورياOne day you will rise in your life. You will always give all the love and respect to those you deal with and we will give them more than you can and your ability to give, but one day the time will come and you will appreciate the value of yourself and put it first. You will not be excessive in giving, raise the ceiling of expectations, and end the role of artificiality and indifference as much as yourself. And realize that excessive giving The thing is doom. You will know what you want, what suits you, and what you are capable of, and you will begin the stage of self-realization, away from faking it and not caring about yourself. You will be fair between yourself and those you deal with, and you will not accept being subordinate to anyone or abandoning your goals, desires, and requirements for the sake of others. You will be very real. The time will come to be logical and not accept impersonating a number. Of roles and practicing pluralism in personalities and forming a group of people in one person to please others. One day you will raise your awareness. Yes, you will rise. My pen is Dalal Al-Ali, Syria. 
يا سنين عادت كلها قاسيهماشفت فيها حنيهبضحك والحزن ماليناوالفرح ما فكر فينااملنا بكرا يكون لينانرسم الفرحه لغيرنانوفى ولا حد بيوفى ليناOh, the years came back, all of them were cruel, I did not see kindness in it with laughter, and sadness was with us, and joy did not think of us. Our hope is that tomorrow will be ours. We will draw joy for others. We will be fulfilled, and no one will be able to fulfill us.
In the love of Baghdad, in the night of Baghdad, how much we stayed up late and how much we chatted. She told me dozens of stories about Baghdad’s history and civilization, about the generosity of its people, about its streets, about its joys and sorrows, about its warm sun, its elegant and loud nights, about the magic of the Tigris River and the endless stories of love. . I still remember that you likened me to the Tigris in his giving and tenderness, and how much I wished that we would meet and that our hearts would join together as the Euphrates and the Tigris meet in an epic of eternal love. Oh my God, how much have we argued about who is better? You say the Tigris and I say the Nile until we end up with you saying the Nile and I saying I am the Tigris, why not? Love abolishes boundaries, so identities dissolve and we become one entity. Then you smiled and said to me, “Why are we quarreling, my love? We are both owners of a civilization to which the earth is indebted. We both carry an ancient history, so come, daughter of the Pharaohs, to the embrace of Babylon, so that we may create our history together.” . There is no difference between the night of Baghdad and the night of Cairo. Both are magical, both are noisy, both carry thousands of stars awake and burning with the embers of nostalgia, thousands of stories and dreams, tears and smiles and thousands of groans with which our hearts burn due to the distances and different addresses. . Love today needs visas. Oh my God, I fell in love with Baghdad without seeing it. I saw it in you, in your words, in your voice, in your face, in the magic of your eyes and the warmth of your smile. How I wished that we could be like Ishtar and Gilgamesh, a legendary love story despite the difference in their world, but the fate of our sad story. Like the fate of Isis and Osiris, an epic of love that ended in tears and separation. How I wished that the Bride of the Nile would meet the Knight of Babylon so that we could create our own epic, but it is a dream that was shattered on the threshold of reality, so that its debris remains locked in our hearts as a sad memory, even if it is covered with joy. Perhaps a day will come when we will scatter it on the banks of the Tigris with my pen #Eman_Al-Badri
يوما ما سترتقيأنت في حياتك دائما تعطي لمن تتعامل معهم كل الحب والاحترام ونقدم لهم فوق استطاعتنك وقدرتنك على العطاءولكن يوما ما سياتي الوقت وتقدر قيمة نفسك وتضعها في المقام الأوللن تفرط بالعطاء وترفع سقف التوقعاتوتنتهي من دور التصنع واللامبالاة بقدر نفسكواستدرك أن الإفراط في الشيء هلاكستعرف ماتريد ومايناسبك وماأنت قادر عليهوتبدأ بمرحلة تحقيق الذات بعيدا عن التصنع وعدم الاهتمام بحق نفسك ستكون منصفا بينك وبين من تتعامل معهمولن تقبل أن تكون تابعا لأحد أوتتخلى عن أهدافك ورغاياتك ومتطلباتك من أجل الٱخرينستكون حقيقي جداسيأتي الوقت لتكون منطقيا ولاتقبل بتقمص عدد من الأدوار وممارسة التعددية بالشخصيات وتكون مجموعة أشخاص في شخص واحد لإرضاء غيركيوما ما سترتقي بوعيكنعم سترتقيبقلمي دلال العلي سورياOne day you will rise in your life. You will always give all the love and respect to those you deal with and we will give them more than you can and your ability to give, but one day the time will come and you will appreciate the value of yourself and put it first. You will not be excessive in giving, raise the ceiling of expectations, and end the role of artificiality and indifference as much as yourself. And realize that excessive giving The thing is doom. You will know what you want, what suits you, and what you are capable of, and you will begin the stage of self-realization, away from faking it and not caring about yourself. You will be fair between yourself and those you deal with, and you will not accept being subordinate to anyone or abandoning your goals, desires, and requirements for the sake of others. You will be very real. The time will come to be logical and not accept impersonating a number. Of roles and practicing pluralism in personalities and forming a group of people in one person to please others. One day you will raise your awareness. Yes, you will rise. My pen is Dalal Al-Ali, Syria.
يا سنين عادت كلها قاسيهماشفت فيها حنيهبضحك والحزن ماليناوالفرح ما فكر فينااملنا بكرا يكون لينانرسم الفرحه لغيرنانوفى ولا حد بيوفى ليناOh, the years came back, all of them were cruel, I did not see kindness in it with laughter, and sadness was with us, and joy did not think of us. Our hope is that tomorrow will be ours. We will draw joy for others. We will be fulfilled, and no one will be able to fulfill us.
يوما ما سترتقي
أنت في حياتك دائما تعطي لمن تتعامل معهم كل الحب والاحترام ونقدم لهم فوق استطاعتنك وقدرتنك على العطاء
ولكن يوما ما سياتي الوقت وتقدر قيمة نفسك وتضعها في المقام الأول
لن تفرط بالعطاء وترفع سقف التوقعات
وتنتهي من دور التصنع واللامبالاة بقدر نفسك
واستدرك أن الإفراط في الشيء هلاك
ستعرف ماتريد ومايناسبك وماأنت قادر عليه
وتبدأ بمرحلة تحقيق الذات بعيدا عن التصنع وعدم الاهتمام بحق نفسك ستكون منصفا بينك وبين من تتعامل معهم
ولن تقبل أن تكون تابعا لأحد أوتتخلى عن أهدافك ورغاياتك ومتطلباتك من أجل الٱخرين
ستكون حقيقي جدا
سيأتي الوقت لتكون منطقيا ولاتقبل بتقمص عدد من الأدوار وممارسة التعددية بالشخصيات وتكون مجموعة أشخاص في شخص واحد لإرضاء غيرك
يوما ما سترتقي بوعيك
نعم سترتقي
بقلمي دلال العلي سوريا
One day you will rise in your life. You will always give all the love and respect to those you deal with and we will give them more than you can and your ability to give, but one day the time will come and you will appreciate the value of yourself and put it first. You will not be excessive in giving, raise the ceiling of expectations, and end the role of artificiality and indifference as much as yourself. And realize that excessive giving The thing is doom. You will know what you want, what suits you, and what you are capable of, and you will begin the stage of self-realization, away from faking it and not caring about yourself. You will be fair between yourself and those you deal with, and you will not accept being subordinate to anyone or abandoning your goals, desires, and requirements for the sake of others. You will be very real. The time will come to be logical and not accept impersonating a number. Of roles and practicing pluralism in personalities and forming a group of people in one person to please others. One day you will raise your awareness. Yes, you will rise. My pen is Dalal Al-Ali, Syria.
يا سنين عادت كلها قاسيهماشفت فيها حنيهبضحك والحزن ماليناوالفرح ما فكر فينااملنا بكرا يكون لينانرسم الفرحه لغيرنانوفى ولا حد بيوفى ليناOh, the years came back, all of them were cruel, I did not see kindness in it with laughter, and sadness was with us, and joy did not think of us. Our hope is that tomorrow will be ours. We will draw joy for others. We will be fulfilled, and no one will be able to fulfill us.
يا سنين عادت كلها قاسيه
ماشفت فيها حنيه
بضحك والحزن مالينا
والفرح ما فكر فينا
املنا بكرا يكون لينا
نرسم الفرحه لغيرنا
نوفى ولا حد بيوفى لينا
Oh, the years came back, all of them were cruel, I did not see kindness in it with laughter, and sadness was with us, and joy did not think of us. Our hope is that tomorrow will be ours. We will draw joy for others. We will be fulfilled, and no one will be able to fulfill us.
بعنون العمالة
صحت لسان والنطق من حسن مقالة
عبر القرون العاصره
من قال حزب الله تكفيه الرجالة
فيه الرجال الباهره
بس ابن الصهيون عامل الناس الحثالة
مولى ضماير خاسره
في كل وطن يوجد به اصحاب الرذالة
وهل البيوت العاهره
فالمرتزق مشهور واصل بالنذالة
من الرجال القاصره
شوف بايبيع نفسه مع اخوانه وخالة
جدد بماضيه حاضره
عايش بذله ماسك ايام الجهالة
خاين ونفسه داشره
كرس حياته للهيود من اجل مالة
حط اليهود في ناضره
فلت لدينه ذي وصف ربي كمالة
وختار شله كافره
في كل بيت يوجد عليه حمام وصالة
يحوي جميع القاذره
With the title of employment, the tongue is correct, and the pronunciation is a good article. Over the contemporary centuries, whoever said that Hezbollah is sufficient for its men, there are brilliant men, but the son of Zion is the worker of scum people, he is the heir of loser consciences. In every country there are people of vileness, and are the prostituted houses? The mercenary is famous for the depravity of underage men. See if he is selling himself with... His brothers and aunt are new in his past and present. He lives in a suit, wearing the days of ignorance, a traitor and his soul is ruined. He dedicated his life to the Jews for the sake of money. He put the Jews in the ground, so he had a religion of the description of my Lord, perfection. He chose an infidel group. In every house there is a bathroom and a hall, it contains all the filth.
من عهد ابأ جهل الذي فسح مجالة
لكل عاهر ناصره
مثل الوجيه ذي ما تأثر بالخجالة
يقوم باعمال فاتره
وين بايسير من عرض ربه لامحالة
يوم الصحف مطايره
لا دام مخفي بين قومه نال منالة
بايفتضح بالأخره
يذوق عذاب الله في ناره جزاء لة
مع اليهود الفاجره
الله يديم النصر للناس البسالة
من الرجال الشاطره
من عاش عمره بالوفأ نال الجمالة
ومازال لله شاكره
شوفه يعيش بالعز قد وثق حبالة
والرب دايم ذاكره
اسئل من الله ان يثبتناء سؤالة
نعطي الجواب السابره
والختم صلو ياحضور في كل حالة
على محمد باشره
صلوات ربي عليه في كل ساعه وحين
بقلمي انا ملك الحرف شاعر اليمن
المعروف محمود القراضي
ابن قلبي
أريد الحديث معك
لعشر دقائق فقط
تكون هذه الدقائق
خارج حدود الوقت
خمس منها أكلمك
فيها عما يرهقني
وخمس أخرى أكتفي
بها بالصمت
أريد أن أشكو نفسي
إليك قليلاً
أشكو إليك كبريائي قليلاً
ثم أبكي كمن يفارق روحه
ولا يدري أحي هو أم قتيلا
أريد أن أشكو إليك ثم
أنسى وتنسى ما أقول
ألم يكن ذاك الحب فصلا
وهذا الفراق فصلا
فلماذا الفراق ثابت
لماذالا تتوالى الفصول
لماذا كلما تألمنا فكرنا بالهروب
أليس بعد الشروق غروب
ثم شروق ثم غروب
أعلم أن العشق ذنب
فكيف لمؤمن في دين الحب
من هذا الذنب ان يتوب
ملكه القلم بسمه@@
Son of my heart, I want to talk to you for only ten minutes. These minutes are outside the time limits. Five of them are in which I talk to you about what is exhausting me, and the other five I content myself with silence. I want to complain about myself to you a little. I complain to you about my pride a little. Then I cry like someone whose soul has departed and does not know whether he is alive or dead. I want to complain to you. Then I forget and you forget what I say. Wasn’t that love a chapter and this separation a chapter? So why is the separation constant? Why don’t the chapters continue? Why whenever we suffer we think of escape. Isn’t after sunrise a sunset, then a sunrise, then a sunset? I know that love is a sin. So how can a believer in the religion of love repent from this sin? @
الفقير ✍️ أحمد جاد الله
ما الفقر عيبا إذ
يعاني منه أهله
عجبت من عيب
العائبين لفقيرهم
مانزل الفقر إلا من
رب سمائه
يمشي الفقير وكل
الناس ضدة
وينفروا منه من
شدة بلائه
فالعيب في الغني
إذا تزين ببخله
فيكون لئيما بسوء
غنائه
أتعجب من المقربون
إليه
فغناة لن يفيدهم شىء
حتى لو زاد ثرائه
غناة يستر عنه رذيلته
وإن أخطأ يكون سبب
نجاته
أما الفقير يرى الناس
ضدة
ولايعرف لذلك سبب
لعدائه
وكل الناس يفرو من حوله
فلا يملك المال ويصعب
عليه إقتنائه
عجبت من الحياة كلها
لايوجد فيها من بشر
يساعد الفقير
سواء كان غريبا أو من
أقربائه
قل للفقير ليس له
ذنب لفقرة
قل للغني لاتبخل على
الفقير وتحرمه لحظه
فإن البخل لايطول للمال
بقائه
Ahmed gadallah
The poor, Ahmed Jadallah, what is poverty a shame when his family suffers from it? I am amazed at the shame of those who blame their poor. Poverty has only descended from the Lord of his heaven. The poor man walks and all the people are against him and they flee from him because of the severity of his affliction. The fault is with the rich person if he adorns himself with his miserliness and is mean with his poor singing. I am amazed at those close to him, for his richness will not benefit them at all. Even if his wealth increases, his wealth is hidden from him, and if he makes a mistake, it is the reason for his salvation. As for the poor, he sees people against him and does not know the reason for his hostility, and all the people flee around him, so he does not have money, and it is difficult for him to acquire it. I am amazed at the whole life in which there is no human being who helps the poor, whether he is a stranger or one of his relatives. Say: To the poor who has no fault for a paragraph Say to the rich: Do not be stingy with the poor and deprive him of a moment, for stinginess does not prolong the life of wealth. Ahmed gadallah
The poor, Ahmed Jadallah, what is poverty a shame when his family suffers from it? I am amazed at the shame of those who blame their poor. Poverty has only descended from the Lord of his heaven. The poor man walks and all the people are against him and they flee from him because of the severity of his affliction. The fault is with the rich person if he adorns himself with his miserliness and is mean with his poor singing. I am amazed at those close to him, for his richness will not benefit them at all. Even if his wealth increases, his wealth is hidden from him, and if he makes a mistake, it is the reason for his salvation. As for the poor, he sees people against him and does not know the reason for his hostility, and all the people flee around him, so he does not have money, and it is difficult for him to acquire it. I am amazed at the whole life in which there is no human being who helps the poor, whether he is a stranger or one of his relatives. Say: To the poor who has no fault for a paragraph Say to the rich: Do not be stingy with the poor and deprive him of a moment, for stinginess does not prolong the life of wealth. Ahmed gadallah
في عينيكِ
في عينيكِ، أرى سمفونية الحزن تتراقصُ
نجومُ الليل تعزفُ لحنَ الفراقِ الأبديِّ
في سماءِ لا تعرفُ الرحمةَ،
ترقصُ الأضواءُ في ظلمةِ الليلِ،
كرقصةِ الأرواحِ الحزينةِ،
وقلبي، رغمَ سحرِ عينيكِ،
يئنُّ من جرحٍ عميقٍ لم يندملْ،
كجرحِ الروحِ في جسدِ الحبِّ الممزقِ.
***********
أنتِ أولُ زهرةٍ وآخرُ زهرةٍ،
في حديقةِ أيامي الميتةِ،
تملئين قلبي بالحزنِ، لكنكِ بعيدةُ المنالِ،
أحتضنُ ذكرياتي، كعاشقٍ يلملمُ
بقايا حبهِ المبعثرِ في ليالي لا تنامُ،
أبحثُ عنكِ في الظلالِ،
غيابكِ عاصفةٌ تهزُّ كياني،
وتتركُ أثرًا من الألمِ لا يمحى.
***********
مع كلِّ لحظةٍ تمرُّ، أفتقدكِ
كمسافرٍ في صحراءِ الوحدةِ،
الوقتُ يسرقُ أنفاسي،
في سباقٍ مع الذكرياتِ المؤلمةِ،
أسمعُ همساتكِ في نسيمِ الفجرِ،
كأصداءِ الأحلامِ الضائعةِ،
لكنها تتلاشى كالدخانِ،
تاركًا خلفه أثرًا من الحنينِ القاتلِ.
***********
ترقصُ الأشجارُ في حديقةِ الذكرياتِ،
كراقصاتٍ حزيناتٍ،
تروي قصصَنا الضائعةَ،
كحكايةٍ لم تكتملْ أبدًا،
أرى ظلالكِ تظهرُ في كلِّ زاويةٍ،
كالأحلامِ التي تلوحُ ثم تختفي،
لكنها تتبخرُ سريعًا،
كفقاعاتِ الأملِ التي تتحطمُ.
أكتبُ لكِ من أعماقِ قلبي،
كشاعرٍ يكتبُ قصيدةَ الحبِّ الحزينةِ،
كلُّ كلمةٍ تحملُ شوقًا لا ينتهي،
كعطرِ الحبِّ الذي يفوحُ في الهواءِ،
الحبُّ في قلبي كنجمةٍ بعيدةٍ،
تضيءُ ليلي لكنها بعيدةُ المنالِ،
تضيءُ طريقي لكنها لا تلمسني،
كقمرٍ يضيءُ السماءَ لكنه لا يدفئُ قلبي.
***********
يخبرني أن الفراقَ قاسٍ،
كجبلٍ لا يمكنُ تسلقهُ،
وأن الحبَّ رغمَ كلِّ شيءٍ،
يبقى في القلبِ كجرحٍ لا يندملُ،
حبيبتي، هل تسمعينَ أنينَ قلبي؟
كصوتِ الحزنِ في الليلِ،
أرسلُ لكِ شوقي مع كلِّ نسمةٍ،
كرسالةِ حبٍّ تحملها الرياحُ.
***********
كلُّ محاولةٍ تذكرني بكِ،
كحلمٍ جميلٍ يتبخرُ مع شروقِ الشمسِ،
الزمنُ توقفَ في غيابكِ،
كساعةٍ معطلةٍ في صحراءِ الوحدةِ،
أحاولُ أن أحتضنَ كلَّ لحظةٍ من الماضي،
كعاشقٍ يحتضنُ ذكرياتهِ الحزينةِ،
لكنها تفرُّ كالأوراقِ في الخريفِ،
كأوراقِ الذكرياتِ التي تتساقطُ.
***********
هل ستعودينَ كنسيمِ الربيعِ،
كحلمٍ جميلٍ يتحققُ في الواقعِ؟
لتحيي في قلبي أملًا ماتَ،
كشمسٍ تشرقُ بعدَ ليلٍ طويلٍ من الحزنِ،
حبيبتي، أنتِ في قلبي كنجمةٍ
تضيءُ سماءَ الليلِ الحالكِ،
أنتِ الأملُ الذي يبقى في القلبِ،
كزهرةٍ لا تذبلُ رغمَ العواصفِ.
بقلمي الشاعرة /د. سحر حليم أنيس
سفيرة السلام الدولي
In your eyes, in your eyes, I see the symphony of sadness, the stars of the night dancing, playing the melody of eternal separation in a merciless sky, the lights dancing in the darkness of the night, like the dance of sad souls, and my heart, despite the magic of your eyes, moans from a deep wound that has not healed, like the wound of the soul in the torn body of love. . *********** You are the first flower and the last flower, in the garden of my dead days. You fill my heart with sadness, but you are out of reach. I embrace my memories, like a lover gathering the remains of his scattered love on sleepless nights. I search for you in the shadows, your absence is a storm. It shakes my being and leaves an indelible mark of pain. *********** With every passing moment, I miss you like a traveler in the desert of loneliness. Time steals my breath, racing against painful memories. I hear your whispers in the dawn breeze, like echoes of lost dreams, but they fade away like smoke, leaving behind a trace of... Deadly longing. *********** The trees dance in the garden of memories, like sad dancers, telling our lost stories, like a story that was never completed. I see your shadows appearing in every corner, like dreams that appear and then disappear, but they quickly evaporate, like bubbles of hope that break. . I write to you from the depths of my heart, like a poet writing a sad love poem. Every word carries endless longing, like the perfume of love that wafts in the air. Love in my heart is like a distant star, illuminating my night but it is far away. It lights my path but does not touch me, like a moon that lights the sky but does not warm. my heart. *********** He tells me that separation is harsh, like a mountain that cannot be climbed, and that love, despite everything, remains in the heart like a wound that does not heal. My love, do you hear my heart groaning? Like the sound of sadness at night, I send you my longing with every breeze, like a love letter carried by the wind. *********** Every attempt reminds me of you, like a beautiful dream that evaporates with the rising of the sun. Time has stopped in your absence, like a stopped clock in the desert of loneliness. I try to embrace every moment of the past, like a lover embracing his sad memories, but they flee like leaves. In the fall, like the leaves of memories that fall. *********** Will you return like a spring breeze, like a beautiful dream come true? To revive in my heart a hope that died, like a sun that shines after a long night of sadness, my love, you are in my heart like a star that lights up the dark night sky, you are the hope that remains in the heart, like a flower that does not wither despite the storms. With my pen, the poet/Dr. Sahar Halim Anis, International Peace Ambassador ♕♕♕♕♕♕♕♕♕♕♕♕♕
In your eyes, in your eyes, I see the symphony of sadness, the stars of the night dancing, playing the melody of eternal separation in a merciless sky, the lights dancing in the darkness of the night, like the dance of sad souls, and my heart, despite the magic of your eyes, moans from a deep wound that has not healed, like the wound of the soul in the torn body of love. . *********** You are the first flower and the last flower, in the garden of my dead days. You fill my heart with sadness, but you are out of reach. I embrace my memories, like a lover gathering the remains of his scattered love on sleepless nights. I search for you in the shadows, your absence is a storm. It shakes my being and leaves an indelible mark of pain. *********** With every passing moment, I miss you like a traveler in the desert of loneliness. Time steals my breath, racing against painful memories. I hear your whispers in the dawn breeze, like echoes of lost dreams, but they fade away like smoke, leaving behind a trace of... Deadly longing. *********** The trees dance in the garden of memories, like sad dancers, telling our lost stories, like a story that was never completed. I see your shadows appearing in every corner, like dreams that appear and then disappear, but they quickly evaporate, like bubbles of hope that break. . I write to you from the depths of my heart, like a poet writing a sad love poem. Every word carries endless longing, like the perfume of love that wafts in the air. Love in my heart is like a distant star, illuminating my night but it is far away. It lights my path but does not touch me, like a moon that lights the sky but does not warm. my heart. *********** He tells me that separation is harsh, like a mountain that cannot be climbed, and that love, despite everything, remains in the heart like a wound that does not heal. My love, do you hear my heart groaning? Like the sound of sadness at night, I send you my longing with every breeze, like a love letter carried by the wind. *********** Every attempt reminds me of you, like a beautiful dream that evaporates with the rising of the sun. Time has stopped in your absence, like a stopped clock in the desert of loneliness. I try to embrace every moment of the past, like a lover embracing his sad memories, but they flee like leaves. In the fall, like the leaves of memories that fall. *********** Will you return like a spring breeze, like a beautiful dream come true? To revive in my heart a hope that died, like a sun that shines after a long night of sadness, my love, you are in my heart like a star that lights up the dark night sky, you are the hope that remains in the heart, like a flower that does not wither despite the storms. With my pen, the poet/Dr. Sahar Halim Anis, International Peace Ambassador
♕♕♕♕♕♕♕♕♕♕♕♕♕
حقا الحياء وسامة ونقاء
والوقاحة هو منها براء
الحياء كنز للمرء وثراء
وهو كالحمامة فى غار حراء
حماية ووقاية من الأفتراء
هو نعمة الله على المرء البراء
هو قمة المثالية يخلو من الهراء
وهو زينة المرء فى العراء
وهو مرشده فى حياة كالصحراء
وهو دفء للمرء كالفراء
الحياء شعبة من الايمان
ف لتتدثروا به أيها الخلان
الحياء هبة من الله لايعرفه البخلاء
فالعطايا والمنن من رب السماء
فإن لم تستحى فأفعل ماتشاء
وبالحياء تصفو الحياة من الكبرياء
والحياء محبة وانسانية وأخاء
به تأمن من المصائب والبلاء
ويهذب النفس من الأهواء
ويرضى عنك الله ورسوله والأنبياء
بقلمى...
هويدا محمدالحسن عثمان الكاملابى
Indeed, modesty is poisonous and pure, and insolence is one of them. Innocence. Modesty is a person’s treasure and wealth. It is like a dove in the cave of Hira. Protection and protection from slander. It is God’s blessing upon a person. Innocence is the pinnacle of idealism, devoid of nonsense. It is a person’s adornment in the open and is his guide in a life like a desert. It is warmth for a person like fur. Modesty is a branch of Faith, so cover yourself with it, O dear people. Modesty is a gift from God that the stingy do not know. Gifts and blessings are from the Lord of Heaven. If you are not ashamed, then do whatever you want. With modesty, life is purified from pride, and modesty is love, humanity, and brotherhood. With it, you are safe from calamities and afflictions, and the soul is purified from desires. May God, His Messenger, and the prophets be pleased with you, with my pen... Huwayda. Muhammad Al-Hassan Othman Al-Kamelabi
Indeed, modesty is poisonous and pure, and insolence is one of them. Innocence. Modesty is a person’s treasure and wealth. It is like a dove in the cave of Hira. Protection and protection from slander. It is God’s blessing upon a person. Innocence is the pinnacle of idealism, devoid of nonsense. It is a person’s adornment in the open and is his guide in a life like a desert. It is warmth for a person like fur. Modesty is a branch of Faith, so cover yourself with it, O dear people. Modesty is a gift from God that the stingy do not know. Gifts and blessings are from the Lord of Heaven. If you are not ashamed, then do whatever you want. With modesty, life is purified from pride, and modesty is love, humanity, and brotherhood. With it, you are safe from calamities and afflictions, and the soul is purified from desires. May God, His Messenger, and the prophets be pleased with you, with my pen... Huwayda. Muhammad Al-Hassan Othman Al-Kamelabi
إنتي فين يا أمينه ( 192)
.......................
إنتي فين يا أمينه .. أمينه
إنتي فين يا أمينه
تاه سي السيد
وبقالنا كتير
ولا جاه زايك
إمتى هترجعي
إمتى نعيد
توهتي ليه سبتينا حظي قليل
ولاطل علينا قلب حنين
إنتي فين يا أمينه .. أمينه
يرحم أيام حسن النيه
وسوارس فايته معديه
إنكيري إكدبي وصوا فيا
وسبقني لساني قر عليا .. عند أمك أيامك الجايه
إنتي فين يا أمينه .. أمينه
شالوا البرقع زادوا جرأة
قطعوا صفحه قطه براءه
عض وخربشه عصوا الطاعه
حبوا إتقنديلوا
هدوا فى ساعه
إنتي فين يا أمينه .. أمينه
أبيض وأحمر بويا وذوق
خشن سنفر ولا بيحوق
نت وفضفضه دردش صور
سايقاه بالعصى يكوي يطوق
شخط ومرياسه
شيل وإتسوق
إنتي فين يا أمينه .. أمينه
منعوا الطشه ولا بنغميس
أطرش أحسن من اللي مجبس
عصر المنفضه لوز يا مدمس
قلبها جامد قطع كايس
كده مات حامد
راح سي السيد
إنتي فين يا أمينه .. أمينه
إنتي فين يا أمينه
إلحقينا
بقلم .. صبري رسلان
Where are you, Amina? (192) ....................... Where are you, Amina? Where are you, Amina? We have lost a lot of groceries and there is nothing like you. When are you? When will you return? When will we repeat my lostness? Why did we leave my luck short and we have a heart of nostalgia? Where are you, Amina? Amina. May God have mercy on the days of good faith. And Sawars missed him. My indecentness was contagious. They kept on telling me, and my tongue preceded me and said goodbye to me.. With your mother. Your coming days. Where are you, Amina? Amina. They removed the burqa. They added more. Daring, they cut the page of a cat, innocence, biting and scribbling, they disobeyed, they loved to be afraid, and they calmed down in an hour. Where are you, Amina? Amina. White and red. Poetry and rough taste. Smurf, and he does not like the internet. Chat. Pictures of driving him with sticks. He can iron out the anger and the mirror. Remove and shop. Where are you, Amina? Amina. Prevent the thirst. And no deaf pangs are better than the one who squeezed the ashtray of almonds, O Muddams, her heart is frozen, cut off like this. Hamed died, and the master is gone. Where are you, Amina? Amina. Where are you, Amina? Join us. Written by.. Sabri Raslan.
Where are you, Amina? (192) ....................... Where are you, Amina? Where are you, Amina? We have lost a lot of groceries and there is nothing like you. When are you? When will you return? When will we repeat my lostness? Why did we leave my luck short and we have a heart of nostalgia? Where are you, Amina? Amina. May God have mercy on the days of good faith. And Sawars missed him. My indecentness was contagious. They kept on telling me, and my tongue preceded me and said goodbye to me.. With your mother. Your coming days. Where are you, Amina? Amina. They removed the burqa. They added more. Daring, they cut the page of a cat, innocence, biting and scribbling, they disobeyed, they loved to be afraid, and they calmed down in an hour. Where are you, Amina? Amina. White and red. Poetry and rough taste. Smurf, and he does not like the internet. Chat. Pictures of driving him with sticks. He can iron out the anger and the mirror. Remove and shop. Where are you, Amina? Amina. Prevent the thirst. And no deaf pangs are better than the one who squeezed the ashtray of almonds, O Muddams, her heart is frozen, cut off like this. Hamed died, and the master is gone. Where are you, Amina? Amina. Where are you, Amina? Join us. Written by.. Sabri Raslan.
أنا المجروح "" /غنائيه
........
ياروح الروح
أنا مجروح
ومش مسموح
أبوح بالنوح
ياريت وعدى
يصون عهدى
بخاف يمشى
وأبات مجروح
قولولوا حرام
تعدى أيام
وأبات محروم
وأنا المظلوم
فليه يادموع
أبات موجوع
وصوتى ضياع
ومش مسموع
كفايه جروح
يكفى الخوف
دانا المحروم
لانظرة تهون
فليه بيخون
أنا العاشق
أنا المطعون
بخنجر حامى
ومش فاهم
عداوة لمين
أنا القلب اللى
حب فى يوم
وبات سهران
على المكتوب
فليه بيغيب
وليه بيدوب
حنانى وليه
عليه بيهون
دانا المحبوب
خلاص ولآ
وشاف غيرى
بحق الحب
لحتندم وتيجى
فى يوم هتلقانى
خلاص مليت
ومن حبك
خلاص وليت
......
بقلمى
#شاعرالعرب
هيثم محمد عبدالعال
“I am the wounded” / Lyric ........ Oh soul of the soul, I am wounded and I am not allowed to reveal my lamentation. I wish my promise would be preserved. I am afraid that he walks and fathers are wounded. Say, “It is forbidden. Days have passed and fathers are deprived. And I am the oppressed. Why, O tears, fathers are in pain, and my voice is lost and not audible. Enough wounds, enough fear.” Dana the Deprived No look is easy, why do they betray? I am the lover. I am stabbed with a hot dagger and I do not understand who is enmity. I am the heart that loved one day and spent the night staying awake over what was written. Why should it disappear? Why should my tenderness be felt? Why should it be lost to him? Dana the Beloved. That's it. And if he sees anyone else for the sake of love, you will regret it and come one day. You'll find me. I'm bored and bored. Your love is salvation, I wish...... Written by #Arab poet Haitham Muhammad Abdel-Al
.. A message of pain.. by the writer.. Nidal Ali Al-Hussein.. رسلة وجع للكاتب.. نضال علي الحسين.
رسالة وجع
ياليتني لم أولد ولم إلى ماأنا فيه الحال قد وصلوإذا هناك من يسأل عن سبب ماأقول ...فوضع الحال بالإجابة كافيا.....مشرد ..فقير....منبوذ بجنسيته وفوق هذا لا سكنآ ولا مسكنا....
أداري وجهي عن كل عارف ومن حالي وبحالي يبكي على حالي الخجل...حالي ك.حال كل عربيأجار البيت يدمي مدمعي والجوع يسكن بيت كل من بشرفه متمسكآ...هذي حالي وحال كل مواطن ولد في بقعة يحكمها من لا أصل له مجهول النسب... ينسى المواطن ماكان عليه ويسعى لأي عمل وبمقامه وإنسانيته ليس مكترثآ
الجوع يسكن بيت كل مواطن مشردآ أو نازح في وطنه أو خارج الوطن.والبؤس يحيط من كل جانب. إن لمتني على ماأقول أو عما أنا فيه سأجيبك بكل صراحة....أنا المشرد ومثلي من المشردين كثر...إن عدت من تشردي فأين هو مسكني وأنت تعلم أنه تدمر وأثاث بيتي قد نهب.. وكيف أعود...؟؟ وينتظرني في بلادي الذل والسجن وبأحسن الأحوال القتل.... والجوع في أمعاء أولادي قد سكن ....وإن بقيت في الغربة كيف للمؤجر حقه أدفع. ...إن جاءني مطالبآ وبعالي الصوت يصرخ عاليآ ويعيرني باللجوء ويهددني لبلادي بأن إلى حكامي سيعيدني....هذا أنا وأنا من بلاد الخير فيها عامر والمواطن يعيش الفقر واللص بالخيرات يتنعم.
وماذا أقول لزوجتيإن قالت الاولاد من الجوع. يتضوروا....وك.غيرهم للمدارس لايذهبوا فكيف أجيب وأنا كما ترى وتعلم عاجزآ أو كيف أفكر بما لي أو بما علي وأنا في ذل الغربة وبالفقر غارقا....في وطني غريب وفي غربتي غريب ...واللص في بلادي حاكمآ والكلب ياصديقي أصبح قاضيآ...والشيخ يفتي بجواز الصبر وأن اللص ولي الله ويدعي بأنه بشرع الله حاكمآ.
أنا المواطن المشرد من بلاده أو كنت في موطني فأنا مشرد....أفنيت عمري أتغنى بوطن وإذ بوطني اليوم إلي متنكرآ...وما كنت عن خدمته يومآ متخلفآ ولا عن واجباتي تجاهه يومآ متخاذلآ...
( اللص هو الوطن والمواطن مسروق) هذا هو في بلادنا التعريف بلا تحريف ولا تزييف
هذه الحال إذا كان لك عن أحوالي تسأل...؟وهذا هو الجواب بلا مواربه ولا نفاق...
إن... زارَنييومآ ضيفآ أو صديق أو كان سائلآ ..بكيت من قهري ولدمعي خافيآياصديقيسرق اللصوص أموالنا وسلبوا كرامتنا
دعني أحدثك عن حالي أصبحت والكلاب في الشوارع سواسية فلا لها مأوى ولا لي منزلا..
( اللصوص سلبوا حقوقنا...)
اليوم بنتي تموت من المرض وابني يمشي حافيآ....هل هذا لسؤالك كافيآ...
إنتظرني سأكمل لك قصتي...
لقد بعت كبدي لأجل أبنائي مرغمآ...والمشتري على بيع أعضائي مساومآ...يا صاحبي أرسل لي إن كان لديك لما تبقى من جسدي شاريا....فلا العلم ينفعني وبالجهل أصبحت غارقآ...يا صاحبيالفقر فعلا كافرآ والذل إلي قادما....لا تسأل عن حالي وبربك بحالي كن منصفآ ألست بكلاب الشوارع متساويآ.
لا تلوم من كان في بلاده إبن عز واليوم صار متسولا...ومن يلوم من كان لشرفه حافظآ إن باع كبده أو عينه كي لا يهان ولا شرفه منتهكآ....
هذي بلاد العرب وهذا المواطن وكل ذنبه أنه في بقعة إسمها عربية قد خلق....لا تسأل ...إن رأيت من كان عالمآ ورأيته اليوم عاملآ في ورشة أو يعمل عتالآ بعربة أو على ظهره بضاعة حاملا....أو رأيت طبيآ في مطعم للصحون جاليآ ...فلا تحزن كثيرآ إن وجدت من في الجيش كان مخلصآ واليوم على باب مسجِدٍ واقفآ.
هذي هي أحوال من تعلم في مدارسهم بأنهم خير أمة أخرجت للناس وأن كل بلاد العرب للمواطن أوطان....هذه هي الأحوال فبحق من خلق السماء بلا عمد وللأرض قد بسط لا تسأل العربي عن حاله ولا تسأله لما لايبتسم ولما يعيش حياته نكد...بنكد.A message of pain, I wish I had not been born, and the situation I am in has not reached me, and if there is someone asking about the reason for what I am saying... then setting the situation with the answer is sufficient... homeless... poor... outcast by his nationality, and on top of that, there is no residence or housing... I turn my face away from everyone who knows me and my condition and my condition. He cries over my condition. I am ashamed... My condition is like the condition of every Arab who rents the house. My tears flow, and hunger inhabits the home of everyone who clings to his honor... This is my condition and the condition of every citizen born in a region ruled by someone whose origin is unknown. Lineage... The citizen forgets what he was and strives for any job and his status and humanity, not caring about hunger. Hunger lives in the home of every homeless or displaced citizen in his homeland or outside the country. Misery surrounds all sides. If you blame me for what I say or what I am in, I will answer you frankly.... I am homeless, and there are many homeless people like me... If I return from my homelessness, where is my home, when you know that it was destroyed and the furniture of my house was looted.. And how do I return...?? In my country, humiliation, imprisonment, and, at best, murder await me... and the hunger in my children’s stomachs has subsided... and if I remain abroad, how will the landlord have the right to pay? ...If he comes to me demanding, in a loud voice, shouting loudly, blaming me for asylum, and threatening my country that he will return me to my rulers.... This is me, and I am from a country of goodness in which there is prosperity, and the citizen lives in poverty, and the thief of good things enjoys. What should I say to my wife if she says the children are hungry? They are starving....and others are not going to school. So how can I respond when, as you see and know, I am helpless? Or how can I think about what I have or what I have to do while I am in the humiliation of exile and poverty, drowning... In my homeland, I am a stranger and in my exile, I am a stranger... And the thief in my country is a ruler, and the dog, my friend. He became a judge...and the sheikh issues fatwas regarding the permissibility of patience and that the thief is a guardian of God and claims that he is a ruler according to God’s law. I am a citizen displaced from his country, or if I am in my homeland, then I am displaced.... I have spent my life singing about my homeland, and today my homeland is in disguise... and I have never neglected its service nor neglected my duties towards it... (The thief is the homeland and the citizen is robbed) This In our country, this situation is defined without distortion or falsification. If you have a question about my situation...? And this is the answer without ambiguity or hypocrisy... If... a guest, a friend, or a questioner visited me one day... I cried out of distress and shed tears, my friend. The thieves stole our money and took away our dignity. Let me tell you about my situation. The dogs in the streets have become the same. They have no shelter and I have no home. . .. Oh my friend, send me if you have a share for the rest of my body.... Knowledge is of no use to me, and with ignorance I have become mired... Oh my friend, poverty is truly infidel and humiliation is coming.... Do not ask about my condition, and for God’s sake, be fair, are you not the dogs of the streets? Equally. Do not blame the one who was in his country as a son of Ezz and today he has become a beggar... And who can blame the one who protected his honor if he sold his liver or his eye so that he would not be insulted or his honor violated... These are Arab countries and this citizen, and all his fault is that he was created in a place called Arabia. ...Do not ask... If you see someone who was a scholar and you see him today working in a workshop or working as a porter with a cart or carrying goods on his back...or you see a doctor in a restaurant serving food...do not be very sad if you find someone in the army who was Sincerely, today I am standing at the door of a mosque. These are the conditions of those who are taught in their schools that they are the best nation ever created for mankind and that all Arab countries have homelands for the citizen.... These are the conditions. By the right of the One who created the sky without pillars and the earth was spread out. Do not ask the Arab about his condition and do not ask him why he does not smile and when he lives his life he is sad... testily. 
هلوسات جدي نضال
إخلع نعلك توجه الجد والحفيد بحملهما من أرض عزيز مصر إلى فلسطين المحتله مهد سيدنا المسيح.ركب الحفيد ظهر الحمار .....ويقود خلفه قطيع من الخنازير ليبيعها في فلسطين المحتلة (الخنازير مكروهة و منبوذة في بلداننا)....
وعلى القرب من الحدود مع غزة توقف الجد....
وطلب من حفيده النزول من على ظهر الحمار
سأله حفيده
لما توقفنا ياجدي ...؟؟
قال الجد
نحن على حدود غزة ....وغزة لا تسمح بمرور الخنازير من أراضيها.....
الحفيد ولما أتيت بها إذآ لقد جمعتها من مناطق وبلدان متعددة....
لأن الناس لا ترغب بها... ولحمها لا يؤكل فقررت أن أخلص الناس منها وأبيعها لمن يرغب بها ..لا أدري إن كنت تعلم أن الله حرم اكل لحم الخنازير وحتى تربيتها أو لمسها....فوددت إرسالها إلى أكليها...
أجاب الجد
رد الحفيد فهمت ياجدي....ولكن ماذا ستفعل بكل هذه الخنازير...؟؟
قال الجد سأجمعها في حظيرة واحدة....ونتابع طريقنا...
فعل الجدوتابعا طريقهما إلى أن وصلا إلى باب غزة
توقف ياولدي واخلع حذاؤك وخذ حذائي وضعهما في حظيرة الخنازير....وعد مسرعآ...
فعل الحفيد ماطلبه الجد
سأل الحفيد ولما خلعنا أحذيتنا قبل دخول غزة....
قال الجد
بنيفي هذه البلاد ولد سيدنا المسيح ومنها عرج سيدنا محمد إلى السماء...فكيف لا نخلع أحذيتنا قبل دخولها. ..
إسمع ونفذ يابني ماسأقولإمشي الهوينا واخفض صوتك واغضض بصرك واجعل رأسك منحنيآ...
استغرب الحفيد مما يقوله الجد سأله لما كل هذا ياجدي ...؟؟!!
إمشي الهوينا...لأن أديم الأرض من أجساد أطفال ونساء ورجال كبار في السن وكلهم أبرياء وصالحين.....
واخفض صوتك ...كي لايصحوا الأطفال الذين رحلوا إلى رب العالمين تاركين أجسادهم ممزوجة بتراب هذه الأرض...وأغضض بصرك....هناك من بين شهداء هذه الأرض المقدسة كثير من النساء.......واجعل رأسك منحنيآ ... إحترامآ لمن صمدوا حتى استشهدوا....Hallucinations of my grandfather, Nidal, Take off your shoes. The grandfather and grandson were directed to carry them from the dear land of Egypt to occupied Palestine, the birthplace of our Lord Christ. The grandson rode on the donkey's back...and behind him led a herd of pigs to sell them in occupied Palestine (pigs are hated and shunned in our countries)....near the border with Gaza, the grandfather stopped...and asked his grandson to get off the donkey's back. His grandson asked him: Why did we stop, grandfather? The grandfather said, “We are on the borders of Gaza....and Gaza does not allow pigs to pass through its lands.” The grandson. When I brought them, I collected them from various regions and countries....because people do not want them...and their meat is not eaten, so I decided to I save people from it and sell it to whoever wants it... I don’t know if you know that God forbids eating pig meat and even raising it or touching it... So I wanted to send it to eat it... The grandfather answered, the grandson replied, I understand, grandfather... but what are you going to do with all of this? Pigs...?? The grandfather said, “I will gather them in one pen....and we will continue on our way.” The grandfather did so and they continued on their way until they reached the gate of Gaza. Stop, my son, and take off your shoes and take my shoes and put them in the pig pen....He returned quickly... The grandson did what the grandfather asked. The grandson asked. And when we took off our shoes before entering Gaza... the grandfather said: “In this country our Lord Christ was born and from there our Lord Muhammad ascended to heaven... so how can we not take off our shoes before entering it? ..Listen and do, my son, what I am going to say. Walk slowly, lower your voice, lower your gaze, and keep your head bowed... The grandson was surprised by what the grandfather was saying. He asked him, “Why all this, grandfather?” Walk slowly... because the earth is made up of the bodies of children, women, and old men, all of whom are innocent and righteous... and lower your voice... so that they do not wake up the children who have departed to the Lord of the Worlds, leaving their bodies mixed with the dust of this earth... and lower your gaze.. ..There are many women among the martyrs of this holy land....And keep your head bowed...out of respect for those who persevered until they were martyred....
.. A message of pain.. by the writer.. Nidal Ali Al-Hussein.. رسلة وجع للكاتب.. نضال علي الحسين.
رسالة وجع
ياليتني لم أولد ولم إلى ماأنا فيه الحال قد وصلوإذا هناك من يسأل عن سبب ماأقول ...فوضع الحال بالإجابة كافيا.....مشرد ..فقير....منبوذ بجنسيته وفوق هذا لا سكنآ ولا مسكنا....
أداري وجهي عن كل عارف ومن حالي وبحالي يبكي على حالي الخجل...حالي ك.حال كل عربيأجار البيت يدمي مدمعي والجوع يسكن بيت كل من بشرفه متمسكآ...هذي حالي وحال كل مواطن ولد في بقعة يحكمها من لا أصل له مجهول النسب... ينسى المواطن ماكان عليه ويسعى لأي عمل وبمقامه وإنسانيته ليس مكترثآ
الجوع يسكن بيت كل مواطن مشردآ أو نازح في وطنه أو خارج الوطن.والبؤس يحيط من كل جانب. إن لمتني على ماأقول أو عما أنا فيه سأجيبك بكل صراحة....أنا المشرد ومثلي من المشردين كثر...إن عدت من تشردي فأين هو مسكني وأنت تعلم أنه تدمر وأثاث بيتي قد نهب.. وكيف أعود...؟؟ وينتظرني في بلادي الذل والسجن وبأحسن الأحوال القتل.... والجوع في أمعاء أولادي قد سكن ....وإن بقيت في الغربة كيف للمؤجر حقه أدفع. ...إن جاءني مطالبآ وبعالي الصوت يصرخ عاليآ ويعيرني باللجوء ويهددني لبلادي بأن إلى حكامي سيعيدني....هذا أنا وأنا من بلاد الخير فيها عامر والمواطن يعيش الفقر واللص بالخيرات يتنعم.
وماذا أقول لزوجتيإن قالت الاولاد من الجوع. يتضوروا....وك.غيرهم للمدارس لايذهبوا فكيف أجيب وأنا كما ترى وتعلم عاجزآ أو كيف أفكر بما لي أو بما علي وأنا في ذل الغربة وبالفقر غارقا....في وطني غريب وفي غربتي غريب ...واللص في بلادي حاكمآ والكلب ياصديقي أصبح قاضيآ...والشيخ يفتي بجواز الصبر وأن اللص ولي الله ويدعي بأنه بشرع الله حاكمآ.
أنا المواطن المشرد من بلاده أو كنت في موطني فأنا مشرد....أفنيت عمري أتغنى بوطن وإذ بوطني اليوم إلي متنكرآ...وما كنت عن خدمته يومآ متخلفآ ولا عن واجباتي تجاهه يومآ متخاذلآ...
( اللص هو الوطن والمواطن مسروق) هذا هو في بلادنا التعريف بلا تحريف ولا تزييف
هذه الحال إذا كان لك عن أحوالي تسأل...؟وهذا هو الجواب بلا مواربه ولا نفاق...
إن... زارَنييومآ ضيفآ أو صديق أو كان سائلآ ..بكيت من قهري ولدمعي خافيآياصديقيسرق اللصوص أموالنا وسلبوا كرامتنا
دعني أحدثك عن حالي أصبحت والكلاب في الشوارع سواسية فلا لها مأوى ولا لي منزلا..
( اللصوص سلبوا حقوقنا...)
اليوم بنتي تموت من المرض وابني يمشي حافيآ....هل هذا لسؤالك كافيآ...
إنتظرني سأكمل لك قصتي...
لقد بعت كبدي لأجل أبنائي مرغمآ...والمشتري على بيع أعضائي مساومآ...يا صاحبي أرسل لي إن كان لديك لما تبقى من جسدي شاريا....فلا العلم ينفعني وبالجهل أصبحت غارقآ...يا صاحبيالفقر فعلا كافرآ والذل إلي قادما....لا تسأل عن حالي وبربك بحالي كن منصفآ ألست بكلاب الشوارع متساويآ.
لا تلوم من كان في بلاده إبن عز واليوم صار متسولا...ومن يلوم من كان لشرفه حافظآ إن باع كبده أو عينه كي لا يهان ولا شرفه منتهكآ....
هذي بلاد العرب وهذا المواطن وكل ذنبه أنه في بقعة إسمها عربية قد خلق....لا تسأل ...إن رأيت من كان عالمآ ورأيته اليوم عاملآ في ورشة أو يعمل عتالآ بعربة أو على ظهره بضاعة حاملا....أو رأيت طبيآ في مطعم للصحون جاليآ ...فلا تحزن كثيرآ إن وجدت من في الجيش كان مخلصآ واليوم على باب مسجِدٍ واقفآ.
هذي هي أحوال من تعلم في مدارسهم بأنهم خير أمة أخرجت للناس وأن كل بلاد العرب للمواطن أوطان....هذه هي الأحوال فبحق من خلق السماء بلا عمد وللأرض قد بسط لا تسأل العربي عن حاله ولا تسأله لما لايبتسم ولما يعيش حياته نكد...بنكد.A message of pain, I wish I had not been born, and the situation I am in has not reached me, and if there is someone asking about the reason for what I am saying... then setting the situation with the answer is sufficient... homeless... poor... outcast by his nationality, and on top of that, there is no residence or housing... I turn my face away from everyone who knows me and my condition and my condition. He cries over my condition. I am ashamed... My condition is like the condition of every Arab who rents the house. My tears flow, and hunger inhabits the home of everyone who clings to his honor... This is my condition and the condition of every citizen born in a region ruled by someone whose origin is unknown. Lineage... The citizen forgets what he was and strives for any job and his status and humanity, not caring about hunger. Hunger lives in the home of every homeless or displaced citizen in his homeland or outside the country. Misery surrounds all sides. If you blame me for what I say or what I am in, I will answer you frankly.... I am homeless, and there are many homeless people like me... If I return from my homelessness, where is my home, when you know that it was destroyed and the furniture of my house was looted.. And how do I return...?? In my country, humiliation, imprisonment, and, at best, murder await me... and the hunger in my children’s stomachs has subsided... and if I remain abroad, how will the landlord have the right to pay? ...If he comes to me demanding, in a loud voice, shouting loudly, blaming me for asylum, and threatening my country that he will return me to my rulers.... This is me, and I am from a country of goodness in which there is prosperity, and the citizen lives in poverty, and the thief of good things enjoys. What should I say to my wife if she says the children are hungry? They are starving....and others are not going to school. So how can I respond when, as you see and know, I am helpless? Or how can I think about what I have or what I have to do while I am in the humiliation of exile and poverty, drowning... In my homeland, I am a stranger and in my exile, I am a stranger... And the thief in my country is a ruler, and the dog, my friend. He became a judge...and the sheikh issues fatwas regarding the permissibility of patience and that the thief is a guardian of God and claims that he is a ruler according to God’s law. I am a citizen displaced from his country, or if I am in my homeland, then I am displaced.... I have spent my life singing about my homeland, and today my homeland is in disguise... and I have never neglected its service nor neglected my duties towards it... (The thief is the homeland and the citizen is robbed) This In our country, this situation is defined without distortion or falsification. If you have a question about my situation...? And this is the answer without ambiguity or hypocrisy... If... a guest, a friend, or a questioner visited me one day... I cried out of distress and shed tears, my friend. The thieves stole our money and took away our dignity. Let me tell you about my situation. The dogs in the streets have become the same. They have no shelter and I have no home. . .. Oh my friend, send me if you have a share for the rest of my body.... Knowledge is of no use to me, and with ignorance I have become mired... Oh my friend, poverty is truly infidel and humiliation is coming.... Do not ask about my condition, and for God’s sake, be fair, are you not the dogs of the streets? Equally. Do not blame the one who was in his country as a son of Ezz and today he has become a beggar... And who can blame the one who protected his honor if he sold his liver or his eye so that he would not be insulted or his honor violated... These are Arab countries and this citizen, and all his fault is that he was created in a place called Arabia. ...Do not ask... If you see someone who was a scholar and you see him today working in a workshop or working as a porter with a cart or carrying goods on his back...or you see a doctor in a restaurant serving food...do not be very sad if you find someone in the army who was Sincerely, today I am standing at the door of a mosque. These are the conditions of those who are taught in their schools that they are the best nation ever created for mankind and that all Arab countries have homelands for the citizen.... These are the conditions. By the right of the One who created the sky without pillars and the earth was spread out. Do not ask the Arab about his condition and do not ask him why he does not smile and when he lives his life he is sad... testily.
هلوسات جدي نضال
إخلع نعلك توجه الجد والحفيد بحملهما من أرض عزيز مصر إلى فلسطين المحتله مهد سيدنا المسيح.ركب الحفيد ظهر الحمار .....ويقود خلفه قطيع من الخنازير ليبيعها في فلسطين المحتلة (الخنازير مكروهة و منبوذة في بلداننا)....
وعلى القرب من الحدود مع غزة توقف الجد....
وطلب من حفيده النزول من على ظهر الحمار
سأله حفيده
لما توقفنا ياجدي ...؟؟
قال الجد
نحن على حدود غزة ....وغزة لا تسمح بمرور الخنازير من أراضيها.....
الحفيد ولما أتيت بها إذآ لقد جمعتها من مناطق وبلدان متعددة....
لأن الناس لا ترغب بها... ولحمها لا يؤكل فقررت أن أخلص الناس منها وأبيعها لمن يرغب بها ..لا أدري إن كنت تعلم أن الله حرم اكل لحم الخنازير وحتى تربيتها أو لمسها....فوددت إرسالها إلى أكليها...
أجاب الجد
رد الحفيد فهمت ياجدي....ولكن ماذا ستفعل بكل هذه الخنازير...؟؟
قال الجد سأجمعها في حظيرة واحدة....ونتابع طريقنا...
فعل الجدوتابعا طريقهما إلى أن وصلا إلى باب غزة
توقف ياولدي واخلع حذاؤك وخذ حذائي وضعهما في حظيرة الخنازير....وعد مسرعآ...
فعل الحفيد ماطلبه الجد
سأل الحفيد ولما خلعنا أحذيتنا قبل دخول غزة....
قال الجد
بنيفي هذه البلاد ولد سيدنا المسيح ومنها عرج سيدنا محمد إلى السماء...فكيف لا نخلع أحذيتنا قبل دخولها. ..
إسمع ونفذ يابني ماسأقولإمشي الهوينا واخفض صوتك واغضض بصرك واجعل رأسك منحنيآ...
استغرب الحفيد مما يقوله الجد سأله لما كل هذا ياجدي ...؟؟!!
إمشي الهوينا...لأن أديم الأرض من أجساد أطفال ونساء ورجال كبار في السن وكلهم أبرياء وصالحين.....
واخفض صوتك ...كي لايصحوا الأطفال الذين رحلوا إلى رب العالمين تاركين أجسادهم ممزوجة بتراب هذه الأرض...وأغضض بصرك....هناك من بين شهداء هذه الأرض المقدسة كثير من النساء.......واجعل رأسك منحنيآ ... إحترامآ لمن صمدوا حتى استشهدوا....Hallucinations of my grandfather, Nidal, Take off your shoes. The grandfather and grandson were directed to carry them from the dear land of Egypt to occupied Palestine, the birthplace of our Lord Christ. The grandson rode on the donkey's back...and behind him led a herd of pigs to sell them in occupied Palestine (pigs are hated and shunned in our countries)....near the border with Gaza, the grandfather stopped...and asked his grandson to get off the donkey's back. His grandson asked him: Why did we stop, grandfather? The grandfather said, “We are on the borders of Gaza....and Gaza does not allow pigs to pass through its lands.” The grandson. When I brought them, I collected them from various regions and countries....because people do not want them...and their meat is not eaten, so I decided to I save people from it and sell it to whoever wants it... I don’t know if you know that God forbids eating pig meat and even raising it or touching it... So I wanted to send it to eat it... The grandfather answered, the grandson replied, I understand, grandfather... but what are you going to do with all of this? Pigs...?? The grandfather said, “I will gather them in one pen....and we will continue on our way.” The grandfather did so and they continued on their way until they reached the gate of Gaza. Stop, my son, and take off your shoes and take my shoes and put them in the pig pen....He returned quickly... The grandson did what the grandfather asked. The grandson asked. And when we took off our shoes before entering Gaza... the grandfather said: “In this country our Lord Christ was born and from there our Lord Muhammad ascended to heaven... so how can we not take off our shoes before entering it? ..Listen and do, my son, what I am going to say. Walk slowly, lower your voice, lower your gaze, and keep your head bowed... The grandson was surprised by what the grandfather was saying. He asked him, “Why all this, grandfather?” Walk slowly... because the earth is made up of the bodies of children, women, and old men, all of whom are innocent and righteous... and lower your voice... so that they do not wake up the children who have departed to the Lord of the Worlds, leaving their bodies mixed with the dust of this earth... and lower your gaze.. ..There are many women among the martyrs of this holy land....And keep your head bowed...out of respect for those who persevered until they were martyred....
.. A message of pain.. by the writer.. Nidal Ali Al-Hussein.. رسلة وجع للكاتب.. نضال علي الحسين.
رسالة وجع
ياليتني لم أولد ولم إلى ماأنا فيه الحال قد وصل
وإذا هناك من يسأل عن سبب ماأقول ...فوضع الحال بالإجابة كافيا.....
مشرد ..فقير....منبوذ بجنسيته وفوق هذا لا سكنآ ولا مسكنا....
أداري وجهي عن كل عارف ومن حالي وبحالي يبكي على حالي الخجل...
حالي ك.حال كل عربي
أجار البيت يدمي مدمعي والجوع يسكن بيت كل من بشرفه متمسكآ...
هذي حالي وحال كل مواطن ولد في بقعة يحكمها من لا أصل له مجهول النسب...
ينسى المواطن ماكان عليه ويسعى لأي عمل وبمقامه وإنسانيته ليس مكترثآ
الجوع يسكن بيت كل مواطن مشردآ أو نازح في وطنه أو خارج الوطن.
والبؤس يحيط من كل جانب.
إن لمتني على ماأقول أو عما أنا فيه سأجيبك بكل صراحة....
أنا المشرد ومثلي من المشردين كثر...
إن عدت من تشردي فأين هو مسكني وأنت تعلم أنه تدمر وأثاث بيتي قد نهب.. وكيف أعود...؟؟
وينتظرني في بلادي الذل والسجن وبأحسن الأحوال القتل.... والجوع في أمعاء أولادي قد سكن ....وإن بقيت في الغربة كيف للمؤجر حقه أدفع. ...إن جاءني مطالبآ وبعالي الصوت يصرخ عاليآ ويعيرني باللجوء ويهددني لبلادي بأن إلى حكامي سيعيدني....
هذا أنا
وأنا من بلاد الخير فيها عامر والمواطن يعيش الفقر واللص بالخيرات يتنعم.
وماذا أقول لزوجتي
إن قالت الاولاد من الجوع. يتضوروا....
وك.غيرهم للمدارس لايذهبوا
فكيف أجيب وأنا كما ترى وتعلم عاجزآ
أو كيف أفكر بما لي أو بما علي وأنا في ذل الغربة وبالفقر غارقا....في وطني غريب وفي غربتي غريب ...
واللص في بلادي حاكمآ والكلب ياصديقي أصبح قاضيآ...والشيخ يفتي بجواز الصبر وأن اللص ولي الله ويدعي بأنه بشرع الله حاكمآ.
أنا المواطن المشرد من بلاده أو كنت في موطني فأنا مشرد....
أفنيت عمري أتغنى بوطن وإذ بوطني اليوم إلي متنكرآ...وما كنت عن خدمته يومآ متخلفآ ولا عن واجباتي تجاهه يومآ متخاذلآ...
( اللص هو الوطن والمواطن مسروق)
هذا هو في بلادنا التعريف بلا تحريف ولا تزييف
هذه الحال إذا كان لك عن أحوالي تسأل...؟
وهذا هو الجواب بلا مواربه ولا نفاق...
إن... زارَنييومآ ضيفآ أو صديق أو كان سائلآ ..
بكيت من قهري ولدمعي خافيآ
ياصديقي
سرق اللصوص أموالنا وسلبوا كرامتنا
دعني أحدثك عن حالي
أصبحت والكلاب في الشوارع سواسية فلا لها مأوى ولا لي منزلا..
( اللصوص سلبوا حقوقنا...)
اليوم بنتي تموت من المرض وابني يمشي حافيآ....هل هذا لسؤالك كافيآ...
إنتظرني سأكمل لك قصتي...
لقد بعت كبدي لأجل أبنائي مرغمآ...والمشتري على بيع أعضائي مساومآ...
يا صاحبي
أرسل لي إن كان لديك لما تبقى من جسدي شاريا....
فلا العلم ينفعني وبالجهل أصبحت غارقآ...
يا صاحبي
الفقر فعلا كافرآ والذل إلي قادما....
لا تسأل عن حالي وبربك بحالي كن منصفآ ألست بكلاب الشوارع متساويآ.
لا تلوم من كان في بلاده إبن عز واليوم صار متسولا...
ومن يلوم من كان لشرفه حافظآ إن باع كبده أو عينه كي لا يهان ولا شرفه منتهكآ....
هذي بلاد العرب وهذا المواطن وكل ذنبه أنه في بقعة إسمها عربية قد خلق....
لا تسأل ...
إن رأيت من كان عالمآ ورأيته اليوم عاملآ في ورشة أو يعمل عتالآ بعربة أو على ظهره بضاعة حاملا....أو رأيت طبيآ في مطعم للصحون جاليآ ...فلا تحزن كثيرآ إن وجدت من في الجيش كان مخلصآ واليوم على باب مسجِدٍ واقفآ.
هذي هي أحوال من تعلم في مدارسهم بأنهم خير أمة أخرجت للناس وأن كل بلاد العرب للمواطن أوطان....
هذه هي الأحوال فبحق من خلق السماء بلا عمد وللأرض قد بسط لا تسأل العربي عن حاله ولا تسأله لما لايبتسم ولما يعيش حياته نكد...بنكد.
A message of pain, I wish I had not been born, and the situation I am in has not reached me, and if there is someone asking about the reason for what I am saying... then setting the situation with the answer is sufficient... homeless... poor... outcast by his nationality, and on top of that, there is no residence or housing... I turn my face away from everyone who knows me and my condition and my condition. He cries over my condition. I am ashamed... My condition is like the condition of every Arab who rents the house. My tears flow, and hunger inhabits the home of everyone who clings to his honor... This is my condition and the condition of every citizen born in a region ruled by someone whose origin is unknown. Lineage... The citizen forgets what he was and strives for any job and his status and humanity, not caring about hunger. Hunger lives in the home of every homeless or displaced citizen in his homeland or outside the country. Misery surrounds all sides. If you blame me for what I say or what I am in, I will answer you frankly.... I am homeless, and there are many homeless people like me... If I return from my homelessness, where is my home, when you know that it was destroyed and the furniture of my house was looted.. And how do I return...?? In my country, humiliation, imprisonment, and, at best, murder await me... and the hunger in my children’s stomachs has subsided... and if I remain abroad, how will the landlord have the right to pay? ...If he comes to me demanding, in a loud voice, shouting loudly, blaming me for asylum, and threatening my country that he will return me to my rulers.... This is me, and I am from a country of goodness in which there is prosperity, and the citizen lives in poverty, and the thief of good things enjoys. What should I say to my wife if she says the children are hungry? They are starving....and others are not going to school. So how can I respond when, as you see and know, I am helpless? Or how can I think about what I have or what I have to do while I am in the humiliation of exile and poverty, drowning... In my homeland, I am a stranger and in my exile, I am a stranger... And the thief in my country is a ruler, and the dog, my friend. He became a judge...and the sheikh issues fatwas regarding the permissibility of patience and that the thief is a guardian of God and claims that he is a ruler according to God’s law. I am a citizen displaced from his country, or if I am in my homeland, then I am displaced.... I have spent my life singing about my homeland, and today my homeland is in disguise... and I have never neglected its service nor neglected my duties towards it... (The thief is the homeland and the citizen is robbed) This In our country, this situation is defined without distortion or falsification. If you have a question about my situation...? And this is the answer without ambiguity or hypocrisy... If... a guest, a friend, or a questioner visited me one day... I cried out of distress and shed tears, my friend. The thieves stole our money and took away our dignity. Let me tell you about my situation. The dogs in the streets have become the same. They have no shelter and I have no home. . .. Oh my friend, send me if you have a share for the rest of my body.... Knowledge is of no use to me, and with ignorance I have become mired... Oh my friend, poverty is truly infidel and humiliation is coming.... Do not ask about my condition, and for God’s sake, be fair, are you not the dogs of the streets? Equally. Do not blame the one who was in his country as a son of Ezz and today he has become a beggar... And who can blame the one who protected his honor if he sold his liver or his eye so that he would not be insulted or his honor violated... These are Arab countries and this citizen, and all his fault is that he was created in a place called Arabia. ...Do not ask... If you see someone who was a scholar and you see him today working in a workshop or working as a porter with a cart or carrying goods on his back...or you see a doctor in a restaurant serving food...do not be very sad if you find someone in the army who was Sincerely, today I am standing at the door of a mosque. These are the conditions of those who are taught in their schools that they are the best nation ever created for mankind and that all Arab countries have homelands for the citizen.... These are the conditions. By the right of the One who created the sky without pillars and the earth was spread out. Do not ask the Arab about his condition and do not ask him why he does not smile and when he lives his life he is sad... testily.
هلوسات جدي نضال
إخلع نعلك
توجه الجد والحفيد بحملهما من أرض عزيز مصر إلى فلسطين المحتله مهد سيدنا المسيح.
ركب الحفيد ظهر الحمار .....
ويقود خلفه قطيع من الخنازير ليبيعها في فلسطين المحتلة
(الخنازير مكروهة و منبوذة في بلداننا)....
وعلى القرب من الحدود مع غزة توقف الجد....
وطلب من حفيده النزول من على ظهر الحمار
سأله حفيده
لما توقفنا ياجدي ...؟؟
قال الجد
نحن على حدود غزة ....وغزة لا تسمح بمرور الخنازير من أراضيها.....
الحفيد
ولما أتيت بها إذآ لقد جمعتها من مناطق وبلدان متعددة....
لأن الناس لا ترغب بها... ولحمها لا يؤكل فقررت أن أخلص الناس منها وأبيعها لمن يرغب بها ..لا أدري إن كنت تعلم أن الله حرم اكل لحم الخنازير وحتى تربيتها أو لمسها....
فوددت إرسالها إلى أكليها...
أجاب الجد
رد الحفيد
فهمت ياجدي....
ولكن ماذا ستفعل بكل هذه الخنازير...؟؟
قال الجد
سأجمعها في حظيرة واحدة....ونتابع طريقنا...
فعل الجد
وتابعا طريقهما إلى أن وصلا إلى باب غزة
توقف ياولدي
واخلع حذاؤك وخذ حذائي وضعهما في حظيرة الخنازير....وعد مسرعآ...
فعل الحفيد ماطلبه الجد
سأل الحفيد
ولما خلعنا أحذيتنا قبل دخول غزة....
قال الجد
بني
في هذه البلاد ولد سيدنا المسيح ومنها عرج سيدنا محمد إلى السماء...فكيف لا نخلع أحذيتنا قبل دخولها. ..
إسمع ونفذ يابني ماسأقول
إمشي الهوينا واخفض صوتك واغضض بصرك واجعل رأسك منحنيآ...
استغرب الحفيد مما يقوله الجد
سأله
لما كل هذا ياجدي ...؟؟!!
إمشي الهوينا...لأن أديم الأرض من أجساد أطفال ونساء ورجال كبار في السن وكلهم أبرياء وصالحين.....
واخفض صوتك ...كي لايصحوا الأطفال الذين رحلوا إلى رب العالمين تاركين أجسادهم ممزوجة بتراب هذه الأرض...
وأغضض بصرك....هناك من بين شهداء هذه الأرض المقدسة كثير من النساء.......
واجعل رأسك منحنيآ ... إحترامآ لمن صمدوا حتى استشهدوا....
Hallucinations of my grandfather, Nidal, Take off your shoes. The grandfather and grandson were directed to carry them from the dear land of Egypt to occupied Palestine, the birthplace of our Lord Christ. The grandson rode on the donkey's back...and behind him led a herd of pigs to sell them in occupied Palestine (pigs are hated and shunned in our countries)....near the border with Gaza, the grandfather stopped...and asked his grandson to get off the donkey's back. His grandson asked him: Why did we stop, grandfather? The grandfather said, “We are on the borders of Gaza....and Gaza does not allow pigs to pass through its lands.” The grandson. When I brought them, I collected them from various regions and countries....because people do not want them...and their meat is not eaten, so I decided to I save people from it and sell it to whoever wants it... I don’t know if you know that God forbids eating pig meat and even raising it or touching it... So I wanted to send it to eat it... The grandfather answered, the grandson replied, I understand, grandfather... but what are you going to do with all of this? Pigs...?? The grandfather said, “I will gather them in one pen....and we will continue on our way.” The grandfather did so and they continued on their way until they reached the gate of Gaza. Stop, my son, and take off your shoes and take my shoes and put them in the pig pen....He returned quickly... The grandson did what the grandfather asked. The grandson asked. And when we took off our shoes before entering Gaza... the grandfather said: “In this country our Lord Christ was born and from there our Lord Muhammad ascended to heaven... so how can we not take off our shoes before entering it? ..Listen and do, my son, what I am going to say. Walk slowly, lower your voice, lower your gaze, and keep your head bowed... The grandson was surprised by what the grandfather was saying. He asked him, “Why all this, grandfather?” Walk slowly... because the earth is made up of the bodies of children, women, and old men, all of whom are innocent and righteous... and lower your voice... so that they do not wake up the children who have departed to the Lord of the Worlds, leaving their bodies mixed with the dust of this earth... and lower your gaze.. ..There are many women among the martyrs of this holy land....And keep your head bowed...out of respect for those who persevered until they were martyred....
لا....
لا تقترب من محراب صمتي...فإنه كالشمس وقت المغيب...
أغرق خفايا أحزاني و أطفيء لهيب ذكراها في بحر أشجاني العميق ...
إن روحي تغترب. كلما أخذتها الذكري لعالمها الموحش الغريب...
لقد تطايرت أوراق العمر ورقة تلو الأخرى حتى دب بالقلب المشيب...
وعندما نضج الفكر ونمى العقل نأيت وحدي بنفسي بعيدٱ عن كل ما يريب....
ثم بعد!!؟؟
خيم علي الهدوء. حتى ملك جوارحي سكون بصمت رهيب ...
أما أنت يا خلُ مصاحب في الدرب رفيق ...
فحين تراني يأخذني الماضي لا تدعني أتوه عن عنواني أتخبط في متاهات الطريق...
دعني أرى في قلبك العالم بأسره....سكناً،...وطناً يسعني لايضيق،،
ما لنا نحيا غرباء و نحن نفهم خبايا نبض قلوبنا ،،،
وحنينها يخضعنا لهمس الحنايا و لكننا لا نستجيب
فلتكن لي فيما تبقى من فتات العمر دواءً و طيبب...
د.عبيرعيد
No....do not approach the sanctuary of my silence...for it is like the sun at sunset...I drown the secrets of my sorrows and extinguish the flame of their memory in the deep sea of my sorrows...my soul is estranged. Whenever the memory took her to her strange, desolate world... the leaves of life flew away, one after another, until the greyish heart appeared... and when the thought matured and the mind developed, I alone distanced myself from everything suspicious... and then!!?? Quiet fell over me. Even the king of my limbs will be silent in a terrible silence... As for you, O vinegar, a companion on the path, a companion... When you see me taking me in the past, do not let me stray from my address, floundering in the mazes of the road... Let me see in your heart the entire world... at rest... A homeland that is wide enough for me and cannot be narrowed. What do we have to do? We live as strangers while we understand the secrets of the beating of our hearts. Its longing subjects us to the whisper of affection, but we do not respond. May the remaining crumbs of life be medicine and perfume for me... Dr. Abeer Eid.
No....do not approach the sanctuary of my silence...for it is like the sun at sunset...I drown the secrets of my sorrows and extinguish the flame of their memory in the deep sea of my sorrows...my soul is estranged. Whenever the memory took her to her strange, desolate world... the leaves of life flew away, one after another, until the greyish heart appeared... and when the thought matured and the mind developed, I alone distanced myself from everything suspicious... and then!!?? Quiet fell over me. Even the king of my limbs will be silent in a terrible silence... As for you, O vinegar, a companion on the path, a companion... When you see me taking me in the past, do not let me stray from my address, floundering in the mazes of the road... Let me see in your heart the entire world... at rest... A homeland that is wide enough for me and cannot be narrowed. What do we have to do? We live as strangers while we understand the secrets of the beating of our hearts. Its longing subjects us to the whisper of affection, but we do not respond. May the remaining crumbs of life be medicine and perfume for me... Dr. Abeer Eid.
بوابة التعافي
..................
الخسائر بوابة التعافي ، فمن إجتاز ضعفه ورد جحيمه
دون ان يفقد نعيم السرور ، وسكينة السلام ، في لحظات الهدوء ندخل جزيرتنا الداخلية ، حينها نلامس جوهرنا البكر
وتنبت في أرواحنا أزاهير النور ، فعطايا اللحظة جمال متجلي
يملأ الافاق بالبهاء، نحن لا ننتمي لماضينا ، ولامستقبلنا، نحن الان في اللحظة نور يباهي نور .. ذلك العالم يحاول أن يُلهينا
أن يصادر فرحتنا الغريبة،وفرحتنا الغريبة في أن نتذكر ماهيتنا و أن نبني عالما يشبه أصواتنا، لنتعلَّـم أن نتحمل الحظ السيء
تماماً مثل شكر الأوقات الرائعة، فلا نعلم من أين تولد العاطفة
من المحن، أم من أسبابها ، ولنتوقف عن التفكير من حين إلى آخر فذلك أدعى لدعم الاتزان لا...هدمه، ولندرك ليس دوماً
يعقب ليلنا شمساً تغمر الأرضَ بالضياء ،لأن الروح ترغب في ذلك، مراراً وتكراراً..ولأن الظروف لا ترغب بذلك أكثر...
ولندرك بعد كل ليلة يغمرها الاسى ، ليلة ننعم بها بالهدوء بعد العاصفة ! التجارب السيئة ثمن زهيد تبذله الروح تجاه آمالها لكن علينا أن نتذكر دوماً، إننا مررنا بالجحيم دون أن نفقد ابتسامتنا يوماً .
سما سامي بغدادي
The gateway to recovery.................. Losses are the gateway to recovery. Whoever overcomes his weakness and returns to his hell without losing the bliss of pleasure and the tranquility of peace, in moments of calm we enter our inner island, then we touch our virgin essence and it sprouts. In our souls there are flowers of light. The gifts of the moment are a manifest beauty that fills the horizons with splendor. We do not belong to our past, nor to our future. We are now in the moment a light that flaunts light. That world is trying to distract us, to confiscate our strange joy, and our strange joy in remembering who we are and building a world that resembles Our voices, let us learn to tolerate bad luck just like giving thanks for wonderful times, for we do not know where the emotion of adversity comes from, or from its causes, and let us stop thinking from time to time, as that is more likely to support balance, not destroy it, and let us realize that our night is not always followed by a sun that overwhelms us. The earth is filled with light, because the soul desires that, over and over again... and because circumstances do not desire that more... and let us realize that after every night overwhelmed by sorrow, there is a night in which we enjoy calm after the storm! Bad experiences are a small price the soul pays for its hopes, but we must always remember that we have gone through hell without losing our smile for a day. Sama Sami Baghdadi
The gateway to recovery.................. Losses are the gateway to recovery. Whoever overcomes his weakness and returns to his hell without losing the bliss of pleasure and the tranquility of peace, in moments of calm we enter our inner island, then we touch our virgin essence and it sprouts. In our souls there are flowers of light. The gifts of the moment are a manifest beauty that fills the horizons with splendor. We do not belong to our past, nor to our future. We are now in the moment a light that flaunts light. That world is trying to distract us, to confiscate our strange joy, and our strange joy in remembering who we are and building a world that resembles Our voices, let us learn to tolerate bad luck just like giving thanks for wonderful times, for we do not know where the emotion of adversity comes from, or from its causes, and let us stop thinking from time to time, as that is more likely to support balance, not destroy it, and let us realize that our night is not always followed by a sun that overwhelms us. The earth is filled with light, because the soul desires that, over and over again... and because circumstances do not desire that more... and let us realize that after every night overwhelmed by sorrow, there is a night in which we enjoy calm after the storm! Bad experiences are a small price the soul pays for its hopes, but we must always remember that we have gone through hell without losing our smile for a day. Sama Sami Baghdadi
_وشوشات_
سيل من الحنين
على اسوار الدمع
واضم ملامح وجهه
بعفوية عشقي القديم
وهدير امواجه كسرب
من الالحان على خارطة خصري
أسئلة بلا أجوبة
وحلم مثخنة به
بلهفة عارمة غامرة
توهمني بكسر سياج
السراب وارتجاف الغد
وأقرأ موجة عاثت في
رمالي انكسارا
تأسرني نزوات مده
وبذور قرنفل غرسناها
ذات دفئ
الف مغيب ومغيب
وانا كقصبة مرتجفة
تعتقلني سفن ضياعه
وعلى ارصفة الوهم
ارسم رمقا من لقاء
بقلم الشاعرة
آمنة محمد علي الأوجلي.
بنغازي/ليبيا
_And whispers_ A torrent of nostalgia on the walls of tears, and I join the features of his face with the spontaneity of my old love, and the roar of its waves like a swarm of melodies on the map of my waist. Unanswered questions and a dream that is filled with it with an overwhelming, overwhelming eagerness that makes me feel like breaking the fence of the mirage and trembling for tomorrow, and reading a wave that has wreaked havoc in my sand. I am captivated by the whims of the tide and the seeds of cloves that we planted with warmth. A thousand sunsets and sunsets, and I am like a trembling reed, arrested by the ships of my loss, and on the sidewalks of illusion I draw a drawing from an encounter written by the poet Amna Muhammad Ali Al-Awjali. Benghazi/Libya 
.....غثا وهموم ياعرب اليوم............نص باللهجه البدويه المصريه على مبدى ذكرالغثا وذكرطاريهوضع ماينطاق بنفسى واجهدهانفسى ضاقت من اللى بتعانيهوزادت الهموم وزاد على كبدهاالحال صار شين والعين تراعيهقتل ودمار والعرب زايد رغدهاتاهو بوديان الجبن والوهن ليهنسيوالجهادوخنعو لمذله بمردها مالت روسهم ليه والعزمالهم فيهعزه النفس والشهامه مانجدهاكل الحكام عايش الفخر والتيهبفعل حرب دين وملاهى وجدهاتكون بديل لحياه بدين لله ناشيه ونسيو أن بيدالله الحياه وسعدها كل حاكم لاهى عن الله وهو ناسيهعسى الله يبدل حياته بهمها ونكدهاوتعود للدين عزته وامجاده وماضيه يوم ساد العالم بسواعد ناس وبيدها كانوعلى ضيق عيش ومافرطوا فيهكافأهم الله بنصر هز دنياكلن شهدهايارب انت لك الاسلام دين مرتضيهاجعله لنفوسنا غايه ووسيله مابعدهاودمر كل كاره للاسلام وكمان معاديهوانكر ألالوهيه والتوحيدوبفعله جحدها........الاعلامى سليم عواد الحويطي ..........شاعر الباديه مصر.....Feelings and worries, O Arabs of today.... ........A text in the Egyptian Bedouin dialect about the beginning of the mention of relief and the mention of its torment. A situation that does not affect my soul and strains it. My soul is fed up with what it suffers, and worries have increased, and the condition has become worse for its liver. It has become miserable, and the eye is looking at it, killing and destruction. And the Arabs have increased their prosperity and lost themselves in the valleys of cowardice and weakness. Why did they forget the jihad and submit to the humiliation of its return? Why did their heads bow down and their determination in it is self-pride and magnanimity that we do not find? All the rulers live in pride and get lost due to a war of religion and amusements that they find to be an alternative to a life of religion to God. He replaces his life with its cares and sorrows, and returns to religion, its glory, its glory, and its past, the day when the world was ruled by the hands and hands of people who were on a narrow livelihood and did not neglect it. God rewarded them with a victory that shook the world of all who witnessed it. O Lord, you have Islam as a religion that you will accept, make it for our souls a goal and a means beyond it, and destroy every hater of Islam and also hostile, who denies divinity and monotheism, and by his actions denies them... .....The journalist Salim Awad Al-Huwaiti ..........Poet of the Badia, Egypt 
( ☝️ بسم ألله☝️ ) ( 😱💔 جراح وأنين 💔😱 ) موعودين بألغدر دايمآ موعودين * موعودين بألهجر وإحنا مشتاقين موعودين ياقلبي وإحنا فرحانين * تجري دموعنا من حبايب غدارين بعد ما ناسينا إللي راح * وشفيت قلوبنا م ألجراح * مدينا إيدنا بألسماح لا مدو إيدهم بألسلام ولا حتى لفته وإبتسام ولا حتى ردوا علي ألكلام 😭😱 نعود ومنهم مجروحين * نعود وإحنا مظلومين 😱😭 😱💔 😭 موعودين 😭 💔 😱 😘 وحشني أشوف نظرة عينيه * وشوقي لحنان لمسة إيديه 😘 🕊️ روحنا مشتاقه إليه * روحنا نتطمن عليه 🕊️ 😱 روحنا نشوفه في ألصباح * صباحه كان ليله جراح 😱 💔 نعود قلوبنا مجروحين * تعود عيونا دمعانين 😭 😱 💔 😭 موعودين 😭 💔 😱 هوا كان لينا ألحبيب * وألأهل هوا وألصديق * وألفرح هوا وألشموع بكي عنينا بألدمووع * وطفيت شموعنا ألدموع * ورجعنا تاني للأنين دا إحنا بألعين حبيناه في ألقلب جوا خبيناه بألقلب وألروح كان هواه كان منانا نشوف هناه من جراحه 😱 قولنا آآآه 😱 إحنا بس عملنا إييه 😭 💔 😱 موعوديين 😱 💔 😭 ✍️ كلمات ✍️ وقلم ✍️ أحمد علي عكاشه 🇪🇬 مصر 🇪🇬 ٠٠٠٠٠٠٠٠٠٠٠٠٠٠٠٠٠٠٠٠٠٠٠٠٠٠٠٠٠٠٠(In the name of God) (Wounds and groaning) We are always promised treachery * We are promised to leave while we miss We are promised, my heart, and we are happy * Our tears flow from betrayed loved ones after we have forgotten what is gone * And our hearts have been healed from the wounds * We extended our hand with forgiveness, not extending their hand with peace, not even a gesture or a smile or Until they respond to my words, we return to them wounded * We return, oppressed and promised, and I miss seeing the look in his eyes * And my longing for the tenderness of the touch of his hands, our soul longs for him * Our soul reassures him, our soul sees him in the morning * His morning was a night of wounds, we return our hearts wounded * Our eyes return tearful, promised that he was our beloved * And the family is it and the friend * And the joy is the air And the candles cried We cried with tears * And our candles were extinguished with tears * And we returned again to this groaning We with the eyes loved it in the heart inside We hid it with the heart and the soul It was his whim It was from us We see here from his wounds We said ahhh We just did it Promised Words and pen Ahmed Ali Okasha Egypt 0000000000000000000000000000 
يامن جرحتنى .الجرح آلمنىاهديك قلبى فلم يعد يلزمنى لن اضعف امام عينيكوساقدر على هجرك عني
وساحكم على قلبي نسياناواذا اشتاق قلبى اليكسوف اقتله أزماناوسأبكى عليك من دمى وقت المساء ينال منيأعلم بأن القلب قد فاضبأنات واحزان الثكالى....بقلم.......... منى محمد....You hurt me. The wound is painful, I give you my heart, it no longer needs me. I will not weaken before your eyes, and I will be able to abandon you from me, and I will forget my heart, and if my heart longs for you, I will kill it for a long time, and I will cry for you from my tears in the evening time. It will get to me. I know that the heart has overflowed with the groans and sorrows of the bereaved.... Written by... .... ...Mona Muhammad.... 
_And whispers_ A torrent of nostalgia on the walls of tears, and I join the features of his face with the spontaneity of my old love, and the roar of its waves like a swarm of melodies on the map of my waist. Unanswered questions and a dream that is filled with it with an overwhelming, overwhelming eagerness that makes me feel like breaking the fence of the mirage and trembling for tomorrow, and reading a wave that has wreaked havoc in my sand. I am captivated by the whims of the tide and the seeds of cloves that we planted with warmth. A thousand sunsets and sunsets, and I am like a trembling reed, arrested by the ships of my loss, and on the sidewalks of illusion I draw a drawing from an encounter written by the poet Amna Muhammad Ali Al-Awjali. Benghazi/Libya
.....غثا وهموم ياعرب اليوم....
........نص باللهجه البدويه المصريه
على مبدى ذكرالغثا وذكرطاريه
وضع ماينطاق بنفسى واجهدها
نفسى ضاقت من اللى بتعانيه
وزادت الهموم وزاد على كبدها
الحال صار شين والعين تراعيه
قتل ودمار والعرب زايد رغدها
تاهو بوديان الجبن والوهن ليه
نسيوالجهادوخنعو لمذله بمردها
مالت روسهم ليه والعزمالهم فيه
عزه النفس والشهامه مانجدها
كل الحكام عايش الفخر والتيه
بفعل حرب دين وملاهى وجدها
تكون بديل لحياه بدين لله ناشيه
ونسيو أن بيدالله الحياه وسعدها
كل حاكم لاهى عن الله وهو ناسيه
عسى الله يبدل حياته بهمها ونكدها
وتعود للدين عزته وامجاده وماضيه
يوم ساد العالم بسواعد ناس وبيدها
كانوعلى ضيق عيش ومافرطوا فيه
كافأهم الله بنصر هز دنياكلن شهدها
يارب انت لك الاسلام دين مرتضيه
اجعله لنفوسنا غايه ووسيله مابعدها
ودمر كل كاره للاسلام وكمان معاديه
وانكر ألالوهيه والتوحيدوبفعله جحدها
........الاعلامى سليم عواد الحويطي
..........شاعر الباديه مصر
.....Feelings and worries, O Arabs of today.... ........A text in the Egyptian Bedouin dialect about the beginning of the mention of relief and the mention of its torment. A situation that does not affect my soul and strains it. My soul is fed up with what it suffers, and worries have increased, and the condition has become worse for its liver. It has become miserable, and the eye is looking at it, killing and destruction. And the Arabs have increased their prosperity and lost themselves in the valleys of cowardice and weakness. Why did they forget the jihad and submit to the humiliation of its return? Why did their heads bow down and their determination in it is self-pride and magnanimity that we do not find? All the rulers live in pride and get lost due to a war of religion and amusements that they find to be an alternative to a life of religion to God. He replaces his life with its cares and sorrows, and returns to religion, its glory, its glory, and its past, the day when the world was ruled by the hands and hands of people who were on a narrow livelihood and did not neglect it. God rewarded them with a victory that shook the world of all who witnessed it. O Lord, you have Islam as a religion that you will accept, make it for our souls a goal and a means beyond it, and destroy every hater of Islam and also hostile, who denies divinity and monotheism, and by his actions denies them... .....The journalist Salim Awad Al-Huwaiti ..........Poet of the Badia, Egypt
( ☝️ بسم ألله☝️ )
( 😱💔 جراح وأنين 💔😱 )
موعودين بألغدر دايمآ موعودين * موعودين بألهجر وإحنا مشتاقين
موعودين ياقلبي وإحنا فرحانين * تجري دموعنا من حبايب غدارين
بعد ما ناسينا إللي راح * وشفيت قلوبنا م ألجراح * مدينا إيدنا بألسماح
لا مدو إيدهم بألسلام ولا حتى لفته وإبتسام ولا حتى ردوا علي ألكلام
😭😱 نعود ومنهم مجروحين * نعود وإحنا مظلومين 😱😭
😱💔 😭 موعودين 😭 💔 😱
😘 وحشني أشوف نظرة عينيه * وشوقي لحنان لمسة إيديه 😘
🕊️ روحنا مشتاقه إليه * روحنا نتطمن عليه 🕊️
😱 روحنا نشوفه في ألصباح * صباحه كان ليله جراح 😱
💔 نعود قلوبنا مجروحين * تعود عيونا دمعانين 😭
😱 💔 😭 موعودين 😭 💔 😱
هوا كان لينا ألحبيب * وألأهل هوا وألصديق * وألفرح هوا وألشموع
بكي عنينا بألدمووع * وطفيت شموعنا ألدموع * ورجعنا تاني للأنين
دا إحنا بألعين حبيناه في ألقلب جوا خبيناه بألقلب وألروح كان هواه
كان منانا نشوف هناه من جراحه 😱 قولنا آآآه 😱 إحنا بس عملنا إييه
😭 💔 😱 موعوديين 😱 💔 😭
✍️ كلمات ✍️ وقلم ✍️ أحمد علي عكاشه 🇪🇬 مصر 🇪🇬
٠٠٠٠٠٠٠٠٠٠٠٠٠٠٠٠٠٠٠٠٠٠٠٠٠٠٠٠٠٠٠
(In the name of God) (Wounds and groaning) We are always promised treachery * We are promised to leave while we miss We are promised, my heart, and we are happy * Our tears flow from betrayed loved ones after we have forgotten what is gone * And our hearts have been healed from the wounds * We extended our hand with forgiveness, not extending their hand with peace, not even a gesture or a smile or Until they respond to my words, we return to them wounded * We return, oppressed and promised, and I miss seeing the look in his eyes * And my longing for the tenderness of the touch of his hands, our soul longs for him * Our soul reassures him, our soul sees him in the morning * His morning was a night of wounds, we return our hearts wounded * Our eyes return tearful, promised that he was our beloved * And the family is it and the friend * And the joy is the air And the candles cried We cried with tears * And our candles were extinguished with tears * And we returned again to this groaning We with the eyes loved it in the heart inside We hid it with the heart and the soul It was his whim It was from us We see here from his wounds We said ahhh We just did it Promised Words and pen Ahmed Ali Okasha Egypt 0000000000000000000000000000
يامن جرحتنى .
الجرح آلمنى
اهديك قلبى
فلم يعد يلزمنى
لن اضعف امام عينيك
وساقدر على هجرك عني
وساحكم على قلبي نسيانا
واذا اشتاق قلبى اليك
سوف اقتله أزمانا
وسأبكى عليك من دمى
وقت المساء ينال مني
أعلم بأن القلب قد فاض
بأنات واحزان الثكالى
....بقلم.......
... منى محمد....
You hurt me. The wound is painful, I give you my heart, it no longer needs me. I will not weaken before your eyes, and I will be able to abandon you from me, and I will forget my heart, and if my heart longs for you, I will kill it for a long time, and I will cry for you from my tears in the evening time. It will get to me. I know that the heart has overflowed with the groans and sorrows of the bereaved.... Written by... .... ...Mona Muhammad....
شكوى الجوارح
وشكت الجوارح للوتين هجران نبضك فى الهوى فبكت لشكواهم بالنوى نبضاتي
يا من أناجي طيفه في وحدتي باتت حنايا القلب ترجو وصالك المنشود في دعاوات
أخشى عليك من الصدودلا أخشى على خفقات قلبي الوفي من حرقه الاهات
يا شاكيا رفقا بقلب معذب اضنيته بالصمت جمرٱ ولم تحنُ على الخفقاتِ
أسال وتينك طيفاً في غسق الدجى يا ليت نبضي يمر بخاطرك حتى تعي إجاباتى
يا هاجري بنبض قلبي لوعه وأنا الذى شيدت حبك بأحلام التمني حتى أضحت مسرّاتِ
يا ظالماً فى حبه لما إرتضيت هجري وقد فاض قلبي دعاء لحبك فى مناجاتي
لما لم تراني وهواك يأسر خافقى فيراك بدراً قد أضاء للروح عتمة السماواتِ
أتراه سعداً للحياه هواك أم أنه جمرٱ على الحنايا وقد أتى مرّاً في مغبر كاساتي
قد صمت شعري والحروف كظيمةٌ فلم تجُد زيف المعاني لهجرك أبياتي
تدري بصراخ صمتي مناديا طيب الهوى باوصال نبض قلبي هامت لك كلماتي
أبحرت فى بحر عينيك والدموع سفينتي فضاعت أمال النجاة وغرِقت كلُ راياتِ
فبنيت لك محراب ذاهدفى الهوى يدعو وتينك بالحنين على منبرِ الصلاواتِ
عبدالفتاح غريب
The limbs complained, and the limbs complained to the two, abandoning your pulse in love, so I cried for their complaint with the cores. My pulses, O whose ghost I comfort in my solitude, have become the tenderness of the heart, hoping for your desired arrival in prayers. I fear for you the rejection. I do not fear for the beating of my loyal heart from being burned by the groans, O complainant, be gentle with a tormenting heart. You burdened it with embers of silence, and you did not yearn for me. The beats I ask and your figs are gentle in the dusk. I wish my pulse would pass through your mind so that you would be aware of my answers. Oh Hajri, with the beating of my heart, I am the one who constructed your love with dreams of wishful thinking until it became pleasures. O oppressor in his love, when I was content to leave Hajri, and my heart overflowed with prayers for your love in my prayers when you did not see me, and your passion captivates my heart when it sees you. A full moon has illuminated for the soul the darkness of the heavens. Do you see it as a happiness for life, your love? Or is it embers on the edges, and it has come bitter in the dust of my cups. My poetry has fallen silent and the letters are dark. You did not find the false meanings. For abandoning you, my verses. You know the screams of my silence, calling out for the goodness of love. With the connections of my heartbeat. My words have sailed in the sea of your eyes, and tears are my ship. So the hopes of salvation were lost and all the banners were drowned, so I built for you a sanctuary with the aim of passion calling on your figs with longing for the pulpit of prayers Abdel Fattah Ghareeb
The limbs complained, and the limbs complained to the two, abandoning your pulse in love, so I cried for their complaint with the cores. My pulses, O whose ghost I comfort in my solitude, have become the tenderness of the heart, hoping for your desired arrival in prayers. I fear for you the rejection. I do not fear for the beating of my loyal heart from being burned by the groans, O complainant, be gentle with a tormenting heart. You burdened it with embers of silence, and you did not yearn for me. The beats I ask and your figs are gentle in the dusk. I wish my pulse would pass through your mind so that you would be aware of my answers. Oh Hajri, with the beating of my heart, I am the one who constructed your love with dreams of wishful thinking until it became pleasures. O oppressor in his love, when I was content to leave Hajri, and my heart overflowed with prayers for your love in my prayers when you did not see me, and your passion captivates my heart when it sees you. A full moon has illuminated for the soul the darkness of the heavens. Do you see it as a happiness for life, your love? Or is it embers on the edges, and it has come bitter in the dust of my cups. My poetry has fallen silent and the letters are dark. You did not find the false meanings. For abandoning you, my verses. You know the screams of my silence, calling out for the goodness of love. With the connections of my heartbeat. My words have sailed in the sea of your eyes, and tears are my ship. So the hopes of salvation were lost and all the banners were drowned, so I built for you a sanctuary with the aim of passion calling on your figs with longing for the pulpit of prayers Abdel Fattah Ghareeb
قمة اليئس
رؤية فى قمة اليئس
عبث على ضلوع الهوى
نسيم راكد فى ظن
جميل قبحة ارتوى
انا فى عزم الأمور
الأمور تكتم السُطور
ينفق انين جوى
كل الاشياء محنتى
كل الاوقات مظلتى
احب الزمن والتاريخ
مجاهل الواقع
أعاصير نوه
اكتفى اكتفى يانور
ميزان العدل تأرجح
سبيل الحب
بالفراغ اختلى
عبير صفوت محمود سلطان
The pinnacle of despair, a vision at the pinnacle of despair, tampering on the ribs of passion, a stagnant breeze in a beautiful thought, ugliness that has been quenched, I am in the midst of matters, things are muffled, lines are spent, an air groan is spent, all things are my distress, all times are my umbrella, I love time and history, the unknowns of reality, tornadoes of Noah, enough is enough, enough is enough, light of the scales of justice, the path of love swings in emptiness. Abeer Safwat Mahmoud Sultan 
The pinnacle of despair, a vision at the pinnacle of despair, tampering on the ribs of passion, a stagnant breeze in a beautiful thought, ugliness that has been quenched, I am in the midst of matters, things are muffled, lines are spent, an air groan is spent, all things are my distress, all times are my umbrella, I love time and history, the unknowns of reality, tornadoes of Noah, enough is enough, enough is enough, light of the scales of justice, the path of love swings in emptiness. Abeer Safwat Mahmoud Sultan
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