Wherever I go, I remain in the room that my mother infuses each evening with the scent of herbs unknown to me. My mother died and the room retains this odour unknown to me. It travels with me like Cavafy’s City. There, if you ruin your life ruin follows wherever you go. It is like my grandmother’s perpetual proverbs which keep returning to the beginning.

How can I break out of this delirious circle

and walk as never before, unfettered by a word, a step, a fragrance? 

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Husam Massalha

قصيدة جميلة معبرة. اعجبني الربط بين الروائح المعتادة للنباتات العطرية ورائحة البخور وتغلغلها في شخصية الانسان. هل يمكن ان نتنازل عن ماضينا؟ عن مركبات شخصيتنا الاساسية؟ هل هذا ضروري لكي ننطلق؟

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