I proceeded with caution / Like a marble inching toward the line

silence sullen-faced fate reaches my ears

The intensity of the parent-child relationship, with its high emotional stakes, life-and-death responsibility, and inescapable physical proximity, makes for powerful stories.

This issue is not a departure but a continuation.

A strange thing began to happen in the country.

In the current environment of relentless political strife . . . debate deteriorates into name-calling; partisans morph into zealots, complex issues are reduced to binary terms, and hostility seethes just beneath the surface.

Most massacres occurred after Friday prayers.

The narrative threads that weave through the last ten years tell a tale in themselves.

I just want to know one thing: how would it feel to hold your hand?

When they torched my poems they burned me along with them

He said they’d taken Omar away naked.

Their work is deeply entangled with the extreme politics of the context in which they’ve grown up and lived.

You pour water onto the severed head once again.

In short, the ongoing war in Syria is not a revolution.

When blood is exiled, / nothing binds it to the race.

“Sometimes I feel like I’m a medium who brings ghosts back from the past.”

The surprise shook me like an earthquake.

A visual exploration of the physical and psychological experiences of persecution and forced displacement.

Our dreams remember our dreams.

I asked my best friend, the black stone wall, about the latest news in our house.

Come, I’ll show you two silences in the doorway.

They extract tears from our mothers’ dried eyes.

What is it like to be Syrian today?

How do the gardens of Sham transform me?

Migration is another name for exile made gentler by the alphabet.