Where can I free myself of the homeland in my body?

Nothing is harder on the soul, than the smell of dreams, while they're evaporating.

I see poetry as spiritual medicine.

To be under occupation, to be under siege, is not a good inspiration for poetry.

We are captives, even if our wheat grows over the fences/ and swallows rise from our broken chains./ We are captives of what we love, what we desire, and what we are.

I believe in the power of poetry, which gives me reasons to look ahead and identify a glint of light.

Against barbarity, poetry can resist only by confirming its attachment to human fragility like a blade of grass growing on a wall while armies march by.