This is your face,
a women says holding up a 
leaf from an azemmur
as a mirror
and this is your story, 
pressing dust into my palms. 
This land of barbed questions,
in spite of everything,
this is your only identity.
I didn’t recognize myself in the shade of the Aurès.

This is my inheritance, 
centuries of spilled blood, 
storing it for the alter of the ancient gods.
Cultivating false courage, 
this is how legends are destroyed.
From the mountains 
they still come unrepentant.
Still grinding galena,
still trying to rediscover the 
geometrical path to Home.

The nations who call themselves the free people.
The attempt to eradicate continues,
occupied, then ruined.
Yet history could not be eliminated,
which rooted itself deep 
soaked with lineage and 
the bold repetitions of stories
articulated by women who
can not differentiate 
warrior and queen, 
thinking they are synonymous.

For too long we have been silent as you 
attempted to block admission, 
imposing the shape of your words into our mouths, 
breaking loom after loom.
Under the risk of collapse,
on the verge of revolution 
we’ve finally realized that we too, are 
also the guest of eternity. 
Now, we can finally master tifinagh* 

*Azemmur = olive tree tifinagh= our language

خلقوا ليموتوا // KHALED ALQAHTANI

هم دائمًا متأهِّبين ومستعدِّين، إلَّا أن أي دفعة من وطنهم الدافئ تكون مباغتة بالنِّسبة لهُم.
لا يشعرون بالألم عندما يُيقذفون خارجًا، لا يشعرون بأي شيء على الإطلاق! إلَّا الأخير، الذي كان دائمًا يقف على الحافَّة، بجلدِهِ الشفَّاف اللَّزِج، بين الحياة والموت ينظر بأجساد البقيِّة وهي تسقط.
يتشبَّث بكل ما أُوتي من قوَّة، مع أنه يعلم بأن مصيره سيكون كالبقيَّة، ولكنه يريد بأن يحظى بلحظةٍ أخيرة مع نفسه، ليتأمَّل حاله وحال من سيأتون بعده، وكيف بأنه بهذه اللحظة يعيش حياةً ميِّتة.
أي موجة ستأتي الآن ستلقيه ليلقى حتفه كالبقيِّة،
ها هي الموجى الأولى آتية بقوَّة ولكنها لا تستطيع اسقاطه...
موجة ثانية..
موجة ثالثة، حتَّى سقط.
وما زال الأمر يتكرَّر بالنوُّور والظلام، ولا يشعر بها إلَّا الأخير.



A meteor hurtled through the dark, cold universe like a silver bullet. It had been traveling in space for quite some time now; at least a few billion years. Its rugged surface was unusually dotted with thousands of white blotches, each blotch was several feet wide and had irregular borders, as if they were paint stains.

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