Musique Vangelis '' 1492, Christophe Colomb ''

photos - Translation Studies and Practice

photos - Translation Studies and Practice

'Translation is a heavenly gift sent to us to save the wealth of knowledge.' 
Chokri Omri

~Sourate Al Baqarah~ (Saoud Shuraim)

Online zine of poetry and everything else!

100 Thousand Poets for Change, 100 Thousand Musicians for Change, and Big Bridge The central information point for the 100 Thousand Poets for Change and 100 Thousand Musicians for Change organizations, as well as Big Bridge Magazine. http://www.100TPC.org/ Fri, 20 Jan 2012 04:00:00 UT en-us Social Networking at Big Bridge! We've now placed icons for Facebook, Google+, and this RSS feed at bigbridge.org. http://www.bigbridge.org/ Hollywood, Florida! "Caribbean Riddims" hosted by Eddy Edwards on WZAB 880AM Hollywood, Florida! "Caribbean Riddims" hosted by Eddy Edwards on WZAB 880AM. 5:35pm EST (Sat., 1/14) talk about 100 THOUSAND POETS FOR CHANGE with special guests Damali Adele Ife (100TPC Jamaica) and 100TPC co-founder Michael Rothenberg http://www.bigbridge.org/100thousandpoetsforchange/?p=13055 "Vasa Radovanovic and celebrated Serbian Rock Band Gresnic will join 100 Thousand Musicians for Change Vasa Radovanovic and celebrated Serbian Rock Band Gresnic will join 100 Thousand Musicians for Change September 29, 2012 http://www.bigbridge.org/100thousandpoetsforchange/?p=13047 Pasadena - Free China, Free Tibet! 2012 Pasadena - Free China, Free Tibet! 2012 http://www.bigbridge.org/100thousandpoetsforchange/?p=13042 html { padding-top: 34px !important;}

A beautiful worth listening to ode in Arabic

نشيد اسلامي

Why Silence? - Palestine will be free

Why Silence? - Palestine will be free

'THE INVISIBLE BRIDGE OF LOVE', a poem by Roxana Jones

Roxana Jones "My books are for those who are able to put Mr or Mrs ego aside while they read." THE INVISIBLE BRIDGE OF LOVE A dedication to an old friend ♥ By: Roxana Jones He was dying And I came to his rescue Nothing to do But still I wanted to help I wanted to show him the love I had discovered The love I had become Wishing he could become it too Instead He kept seeing me through those old lenses filthy with mold and obsolescence Seven days Six nights Wishing Hoping It would happen for him For us My friend had been my murderer in another past He was supposed to heal that wound of mine in this present So that he could heal his But he was never able to see my wound I showed him how I had died in that dark dungeon beaten by him But the memories were so painful that he decided to forget Erase them forever Without knowing they were an essential part of what he had come to live…again This time, my last try I went to his bedside And asked him: Do you remember? He said no So I asked again Are you willing to remember so that you can liberate yourself? He said no And he didn’t say another word I was there like a bridge But I was an invisible bridge to him He let himself go along with his troubled waters This timeThe one that died was him Not I Roxana Jones EL PUENTE INVISIBLE DE AMOR Dedicación a un viejo amigo ♥ Por: Roxana Jones Estaba muriendo Y fui a su rescate Nada que hacer Aún así Quise ayudarlo Quise mostrarle el amor que había descubierto El amor en el que me había convertido Deseando que él se convirtiera también en el Al contrario Continuó viéndome a través de sus viejos lentes curtidos por el moho y la obsolescencia Siete días Seis noches Deseando Esperando Que sucediera por él Por nosotros Mi amigo había sido mi asesino en otro pasado Se suponía que debía sanar mi herida en el presente Para así poder sanar la suya Pero nunca pudo ver mi herida Le mostré cómo había muerto entre sus manos a golpes en aquel oscuro calabozo Pero los recuerdos eran tan dolorosos que prefirió olvidar Borrarlos para siempre Sin saber que eran parte esencial de lo que había venido a vivir…de nuevo Esta vez, mi último intento Fui y me postré al lado de su cama Pregunté: ¿Recuerdas? Respondió que no Así que pregunté de nuevo: ¿Estás dispuesto a recordar para que así te puedas liberar? Respondió que no Y no dijo una palabra más Estuve allí como un puente Más solo fui un puente invisible para él Preferió dejarse llevar por sus aguas turbias Y esta vez El que murió fue él No yo IL PONTE INVISIBILE DELL' AMORE. Dedicato a un vecchio amico ♥ By: Roxana Jones Traduzione in Lingua Italiana di Rosetta Savelli Lui stava morendo ed io mi precipitai nel soccorrerlo. Non c'era più nulla da fare ma io insistevo nel volerlo aiutare. Volevo fargli vedere l'amore che avevo scoperto, l'amore che si era sviluppato, che era cresciuto e che sarebbe potuto diventare grande invece lui continuava a vedermi attraverso quelle vecchie lenti sporche di muffa e di obsolescenza. Sette giorni, sei notti, sperandoche sarebbe potuto accadere questo per lui e per noi. Il mio amico era stato il mio assassino in un altro passato. Io dovevo guarire da quella ferita in questo mio presente, in modo che potesse guarire anche lui, da quella stessa ferita. Ma lui non fu mai in grado di vedere la mia ferita, nonostante io gli avessi mostrato in quale modo lui mi avesse uccisa in quella prigione buia. Ma i ricordi erano troppo dolorosi così che lui ha preferito dimenticare, cancellare per sempre. Senza sapere e ignorando che questo momento era una parte essenziale per la quale, lui era ritornato di nuovo a vivere un'altra nuova vita... Ora eccomi al mio ultimo tentativo, sono andata al suo capezzale e gli ho chiesto: "Ti ricordi? " Lui ha risposto di no. Così ho chiesto di nuovo: " Sei disposto a ricordare in modo da potertene poi liberare? " Lui ha risposto ancora di no e non ha detto una sola parola. Ed io sono rimasta ferma lì, ero come un ponte, un ponte d' amore, invisibile per lui. Si lasciò andare in avanti, trascinato dalle sue acque agitate. Ma questa volta, è morto solo lui e non io. Sincere and warm thanks go to Rosetta Savelli for introducing this poem by Roxana Jones and translating it into Italian. Rosetta Savelli can be reached at: http://editor.wn.com/page/rosettasavelli/Rosetta_Savelli/ http://rosettasavelliit.blogspot.it/ http://roxanajones.com/2012/05/04/a-moment-in-time-may-4th-2012/

حمود الخضر - أنا الإنسان

Humood Alkhudher - Keep Me True حمود الخضر - يحلو الوصال

Sami Yusuf - No Word Is Worthy New Album 2010 Wherever You Are with lyrics

سامي يوسف الجديد 2012 مترجم sami yusuf 2012 new

a message to israel and usa my only wish / usa europe gaza palestine

My Only Wish 4 gaza

Maher Zain - Reading Al Qur'an Surah Al-Hasyr (Chapter 59 - Verse 21).mp4

'Gaze', a short story by Ayman Jaballi

Gaze (part one) A sparrow stood on the lemon tree under which I was sitting. I put my coffee aside and kept staring at the bird for a while until another one came along. I tried to watch both of them simultaneously but this proved to be practically impossible. Watching two birds at once is exactly similar to watching none of them. “It is hard to be democratic even with birds”, I murmured while raising the cup of coffee to my mouth so as not to lose sight of one of them at least. I perplexedly wondered whether I should keep on watching the first bird or, as a matter of change, focus on the second one. I tried to convince myself that a choice between two beings equal in position and character is not always arbitrary. As if it wanted to save me the trouble of it, the first bird flew away and my gaze moved automatically to the second one. Other questions came to my mind on whether birds like being watched and the reasons why they sing louder and more devotedly when no one is looking at them. I stood up as the hot rays of the quickly rising sun reached my head. My first contact with the sun today was in the early morning, about two hours ago, when I opened the window of my little room. I was still sleepy and drowsy and the sun was shyly sending its first rays and quietly trying to wake people up. I remember the deep feeling of gratitude to the creator which engulfed me as I was experiencing anew the reviving impact of nature upon human beings. I had just finished washing my face at that time so I waited until the sun dried it up then I headed towards the kitchen to prepare my coffee. That was in the early morning. But, when the sun's rays threatened the calm of my seat under the lemon tree, I felt, quite inexplicably, afraid of it. I was thinking that this gigantic star is so vital to our existence that we would look utterly impotent without it. The sun reminded me of my total dependence upon the external elements of nature and made me think, in a quasi-paranoid way, of my bodily existence as a manacle hampering my individual autonomy and keeping me vulnerable to external variations. I tried to keep these negative ideas away so I rushed back to my room and sat on my deliberately untidy desk. In front of me was a single piece of paper which had remained untouched for the last two weeks. I looked for one of my pens but I could not find any. I bought lots of new pens lately, not out of admiration for pens but because I kept losing them all the time. This time I decided to overcome my laziness and look for one of my lost pens. I checked under the table, behind the door and inside some of my books but in vain. I ultimately gave up and took the decision of going, for the hundredth time, to the bookshop to buy another pen. I put on my jacket and started fumbling for my keys in all its numerous pockets.“This jacket should have been bought by a far wealthier person than me”, I told myself. Luckily enough, I found a red pen in one of the pockets. So, I gave up the idea of going out and went back to my desk. I hate using red pens. They make me too nervous to write anything reasonable. But, I had no other options. The paper was so blank and so neutral that I felt unable to write any word on it. I tried to break its neutrality with whatever might come to my mind. I wrote “I” and kept staring at it as if I composed a whole text. But, I soon felt that I had made a mistake and that my white paper is no longer virgin as it used to be since it was made. Does a paper really die when you write something on it? Or does it get a new life? I had no settled answer. The only thing I was truly certain of was that I could not write anything more than “I”. I started drawing random lines on the margins of the paper. I like drawing lines which mean nothing. Meaninglessness is sometimes a bliss as it does not compel you to take sides and preserves the sheer neutrality of the paper. This time, however, I felt no pleasure in drawing such purposeless lines, maybe because the red color made me feel as if the paper was bleeding. I broke the pen and kept staring at the wall in front of me. The wall, too, was all white, neutral and virgin as the paper was ten minutes ago. And I felt deeply impotent and regretful for having broken the pen. I stood up sluggishly and went to the lounge seeking refuge from the mood of despondency that overwhelmed me. I switched on the T.V. and started moving aimlessly from one station to another. I was not really watching. I was rather gazing at the screen and thinking of a thousand other things. A multitude of different voices were flowing to my ears: “U.S. secretary of state … welcome to … bodies found at … Israeli leaders in … subscribe now…”. I was pretty certain that nothing of what I was hearing would make any difference to me. The same problems and the same unwillingness to find real solutions for them is what has characterized the world scene for at least half a century. I wondered if the people who were reading these stories – the T.V. presenters – were aware of the content of what they were saying. I took the remote controller and started lowering the volume until I could hear nothing. Then, I looked at their faces to see what was behind. It seemed as if they were saying nothing. The same face gestures were repeated with every news item delivered as though the detention of fifty young Palestinians were equal in importance to a collective wedding organized in Thailand. My phone started ringing so irritatingly that I hastened to answer the call. One of my friends asked me to meet him in the coffee shop. ‘It is important’, he said. I should avow that I would accept his invitation even if it was not so important as I was eager to go out of my desolate home and meet a living being. I put on my jacket again and started looking for my identification card. I usually don’t like the idea of taking it with me wherever I go but this time I was obliged to do so. I heard that, these days, the military is desperately chasing people who did not join the army for at least one year. I have already spent a year in the army and it was so lengthy and blatantly fruitless that it left me with no intention to revisit the barracks even for one single day. When I found the card, I kept looking at my photo on it as if I have never seen it before. The photo looked so lively and so expressive although it had no soul. The eyes kept staring at me directly and most insistently. I wondered why they put black-and-white photos on the IDs. Are they really afraid of life-like colors? The photo aroused many questions in me but I had no time for such speculations. I can’t help contemplating the minor details in life although most people deem such thoughts unnecessary. I think details give one a better understanding of his existence. Didn’t they say that the devil lies in the details? I sometimes feel an urgent need for my inner blather as it keeps me from falling prey to the arduous monotony of life. I received another call from my friend to ask why I had not come yet. I rode the bicycle but I discovered that one of its tires was utterly flat. I stepped down quickly and started striding to the coffee shop. On my way, I noticed some holes in the very middle of the street. Many ideas about the negligence of the municipality members came to my head. I started running to refrain from following these new thoughts and losing more time.

Darling

Unrequited Love by Bader Sayahi (Erregueb Secondary School) Darling, I loved you but you didn’t I wished you gave me a chance But you didn’t Darling, I wished I did something wrong To say sorry for, to forgive me But then I didn’t Darling, I don’t know why you have left me away Away in the dark I don’t know why you love me not? What are you taking me for? Am I insane to you? If it was that I have no choice it’s not my choice Darling, Listen carefully if you think money is all I truly believe it is a wall A wall between me and you A wall between rich and poor Darling, you are my first and last love Keep it with you or don’t You are still my own love

Guide Me All The Way