“death & birth in my holy country are twins”

there’s prose that reads like poetry and poetry that reads like prose. in his work, mahmoud darwish plays with vivid imagery that makes me, as a reader, picture entire scenes, no matter how bloody or horrifying the thoughts may be.

growing up, i used to hear of him in my surroundings, family members and friends who had studied him in grade school or university, read his work when they were younger and still thought of the words decades later. after finally sitting down and taking the time to read, i understand why they’re still haunted.

i felt a pang in my heart (and a tear in my eye) at every mention of his homeland taken away from him, the longing to come back to a place he hadn’t yet left, and eventually, the heartbreak of being forcibly removed from it. i believe to make someone, a reader who’s experience of life could not be more different, feel so much sadness, one has to be of the most talented, and it is unsurprising (and very much not worth much from me) to say talent oozes out of mahmoud darwish.