Sama

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مصطفى إبراهيم
“برغم إن الكلام ع الحب من نظرة كلام معتاد
وإن الصدفة أحيانا بتبقى بألف ألف ميعاد
ورغم إن الكلام أصلا بينقص حاجة كل ما زاد
ورغم إني جدع وتقيل وعمرى ما أقولها بالساهل
أنا نفسى أقولها لك فـ أول مرة نتقابل
فلو كان المكان يسمح وست الكل لو تأذن
أنا عايز أقول إني بحبك من زمان جدًا”
مصطفى إبراهيم

إيمان مرسال
“يبحث الواحدُ عن الحبّ ثم لا يعرف ما الذي يصنع به. تقبضُ اليد على اليدِ ثم تخاف أن يقيّدها ما تقبضُ عليه. يتردد في الأذن صوتُ بعينه ثمّ لا تحتمل أن تحتفظ به يومًا آخر. كأنّي أحدّق في عتمة الرحم بحثًا عن البويضة السعيدة، أنتظر معها عقودًا ملتصقة مثلها بالجدار، لحظة النضج والتحرر، الدفء والتحقق، الالتحام والخلق ثمّ لا أعرف إذا كانت الحياة تحتاج حقًا طفلاً آخر أم لا. الحبّ مرة أخرى، ياللوهم الرائع الذي نصنعه ونتقنه.”
إيمان مرسال, حتى أتخلى عن فكرة البيوت

Rupi Kaur
“apparently it is ungraceful of me
to mention my period in public
cause the actual biology
of my body is too real

it is okay to sell what's
between a woman's legs
more than it is okay to
mention its inner workings

the recreational use of
this body is seen as
beautiful while
its nature is
seen as ugly”
Rupi Kaur, Milk and honey

Haruki Murakami
“I always feel as if I'm struggling to become someone else. As if I'm trying to find a new place, grab hold of a new life, a new personality. I suppose it's part of growing up, yet it's also an attempt to re-invent myself. By becoming a different me, I could free myself of everything. I seriously believed I could escape myself - as long as I made the effort. But I always hit a dead end. No matter where I go, I still end up me. What's missing never changes. The scenery may change, but I'm still the same old incomplete person. The same missing elements torture me with a hunger that I can never satisfy. I think that lack itself is as close as I'll come to defining myself.”
Haruki Murakami, South of the Border, West of the Sun

Rupi Kaur
“what i miss most is how you loved me. but what i didn't know was how you loved me had so much to do with the person i was. it was a reflection of everything i gave you. coming back to me. how did i not see that. how. did i sit here soaking in the idea that no one else would love me that way. when it was i that taught you. when it was i that showed you how to fill. the way i needed to be filled. how cruel i was to myself. giving you credit for my warmth simply because you had felt it. thinking it was you who gave me strength. wit. beauty. simply because you recognized it. as if i was already not these things before i met you. as if i did not remain all these things after you left.”
Rupi Kaur, Milk and honey

25x33 Lector Communis Book Club — 126 members — last activity Dec 18, 2012 03:25PM
نادٍ لجمهور القارئ الشعبي من هواة الكُتب.
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