I don't decide to represent anything except myself. But that self is full of collective memory.
I never wanted children, maybe I'm afraid of responsibility.
Where can I free myself of the homeland in my body?
If the Olive Trees knew the hands that planted them, Their Oil would become Tears.
Palestinian people are in love with life.
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.