If The Olive Trees Knew The Hands

Poetry Is Perhaps What Teaches Us To Nurture The Charming Illusion: How To Be Reborn Out Of Ourselves Over And Over Again, And Use Words To Construct A Better World, A Fictitious World That Enables Us To Sign A Pact For A Permanent And Comprehensive Peace ... With Life.

For The Arabs In Israel There Is Always A Tension Between Nationality And Identity.

And I Tell Myself, A Moon Will Rise From My Darkness.

Exile Is More Than A Geographical Concept. You Can Be An Exile In Your Homeland, In Your Own House, In A Room.

We Suffer From An Incurable Malady: Hope.