Wherever I go, I remain attached to the room that my mother infuses each evening with the smell of herbs unknown to me. My mother died and the room retained its fragrant smell that I cannot identify. It travels with me like the city of Cavafy. There, if you ruin your life, ruin follows you wherever you go. It is like my grandmother’s never ending proverbs which keep reverting to the beginning. 

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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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