If you ask me: who are you?/I would reply: I am the man/Covered all over with tattoos of pain/With a body riddled with holes/With teeth fused together/I am the map of a country sold..Poem by Ogundare Tope.
A soft rotten blanket occupies the empty spaces/opportunities lost in time/a burning path behind/There is no going back. Poetry by Cristina Bresser de Campos.
‘hey’ one guy would yell ‘you know what PC stands for?/it means Pussy-whipped Cunt-licker’/that bunch was full of laughs” says Hitler. “but that’s beside the point.” Poetry by Dick Lourie in the aftermath that is Trump.
As Syrians we have found ourselves thinking globally, not only because we are very bitter and angry at the world that left us to be killed for more than 2000 days, not because we know the world more than others, not because almost the whole world is literally in Syria, but because we have become…
It is possible, the sun has risen/and over the mountains, the clouds are there still/still, that winds are driving/and families arriving, and there is the sound of a party. Poetry by Reza Mohammadi.