My mother’s grandmother, Shahira, died asking: What if the locusts come back again, eating our supplies and killing our children?
Yasmine, my grandmother, suffered from internal bleeding, leaving her lifeless after my mother gave birth.
My ...
My mother’s grandmother, Shahira, died asking: What if the locusts come back again, eating our supplies and killing our children?
Yasmine, my grandmother, suffered from internal bleeding, leaving her lifeless after my mother gave birth.
My mother, Laila, lived her life in novels and then disappeared when I was nineteen, like a grain of salt in a sea.
I, Asmahan, live without my son Karim. His father snatched him from my arms on his seventh birthday.
This is how we, the women of the Dali family: leave, become silent, go crazy, or simply die prematurely like cherry blossoms.
'We are facing history in its feminist depth, and therefore it becomes not only more real but also more fluid and poetic. We are thus facing another song, facing depth itself, which has become a song, and time, which has found its context and meaning in pain and hope.
Abbas Baydoun, Lebanese poet and writer
We are using technologies like Cookies and process personal data like the IP-address or browser information in order to personalize the content that you see. This helps us to show you more relevant products and improves your experience. we are herewith asking for your permission to use this technologies.
