Baladi dogs. Aziz, Rustin.
I listen to María at the Zamora family party
With the philosopher in her apartment half-past one
When I felt shy as a child
"I got a halal bathing suit"
"Our bathing suits are definitely not halal."
Tatreez and flowers all around her, chicken shawarma and cola, the Rio Grande Pool with Ameerah
I just woke up from a dream about you.
The way Fawaz introduced himself.
Passing camels in green winter coats.
Hundreds of bubushir dragonflies with messages to bring.
The gentleness of an afternoon in Khabari Al-Awazem, where olive branches burned and herders offered us fresh milk
"The poem your Uncle Bader had written on the wall at their old house in sharq. His handwriting was beautiful. It was about love being a burden, desire a poison. A parallelogram of an eager heart."
Gentle sea rain and independent Kuwaiti filmmakers speaking from their hearts, reminded me how much I believe in the independent arts
My Aunt Kheiriya's little corner in Rumaithiya smells like flowers and sounds like birds, an indescript Hussainiya, she's so petite and beautiful, a handful of hours in her home
Worried to be sitting alone by the river, I saw three cranes land.
A little corner of Ardiya
I loved going to my grandpa's house in Adailiya, and now I love listening to my mom's stories about her youth there.
Mama's youth in Old Sharq
The costumer at the National Institute of Flamenco Arts.
People will burn the anguish, anxiety, and gloom of their past year in Santa Fe.
Baladi dogs. Aziz, Rustin.
I listen to María at the Zamora family party
With the philosopher in her apartment half-past one
When I felt shy as a child
"I got a halal bathing suit"
"Our bathing suits are definitely not halal."
Tatreez and flowers all around her, chicken shawarma and cola, the Rio Grande Pool with Ameerah
I just woke up from a dream about you.
The way Fawaz introduced himself.
Passing camels in green winter coats.
Hundreds of bubushir dragonflies with messages to bring.
The gentleness of an afternoon in Khabari Al-Awazem, where olive branches burned and herders offered us fresh milk
"The poem your Uncle Bader had written on the wall at their old house in sharq. His handwriting was beautiful. It was about love being a burden, desire a poison. A parallelogram of an eager heart."
Gentle sea rain and independent Kuwaiti filmmakers speaking from their hearts, reminded me how much I believe in the independent arts
My Aunt Kheiriya's little corner in Rumaithiya smells like flowers and sounds like birds, an indescript Hussainiya, she's so petite and beautiful, a handful of hours in her home
Worried to be sitting alone by the river, I saw three cranes land.
A little corner of Ardiya
I loved going to my grandpa's house in Adailiya, and now I love listening to my mom's stories about her youth there.
Mama's youth in Old Sharq
The costumer at the National Institute of Flamenco Arts.
People will burn the anguish, anxiety, and gloom of their past year in Santa Fe.
