خلخال

Dear Suheir, It is the first of July. I don't know where you are now. I don't know you Suheir, but July brought you to me. You and July and Darwish and all the poems are entangled together in this intricate complex system of a month ending and another one beginning. A month that marks a fair division, a month of heat and restlessness. I think I wanted to spend the first of July in bed. I remembered your poem yesterday and I listen to it. I listen to the softness of the sheets and the rhythm of your words and I try to recall the beat of past days. I listen to your voice and I feel the weight of the 7 th month of this holy year: it has arrived. And I think, Suheir, I wanted to spend it in bed reading Darwish. I'm not as humanitarian as you are. I'm a bit more self-centered than that. A piece of the world is falling at the moment I am writing this, and another piece will fall at the moment I will post this to the universe and yet I can't see bey...