Nada El-Omari

I feel like I’m stuck inside a temple aflame, daydreaming of plucking a fig from a blaze. I want to ask you if you think we’re too young for this ghorba, but I don’t.

I tell you a little deaf girl said she can’t hear the bombs but what she imagines in her mind is usually reality. You tell us about a song you don’t sing anymore

In Arabic, “wholeness” translates in a word that lifts when you say it rather than falling in your chest like in English.

I shot myself But I can’t seem to recall how it felt

Seule et honteuse dans mon lit