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A review by andreeaz
Rifqa by Mohammed El-Kurd
5.0
"Rifqa," a powerful collection of poetry by Mohammed El-Kurd, a Palestinian author, offers a profound and deeply moving insight into the experience of living under Israeli occupation. The poems are not just words; they are a vivid expression of pain, resilience, and the longing for freedom in a land scarred by conflict.
A paradox appears, that of seeking normalcy in a world where even the most basic expressions of emotion are a struggle. These lines resonate with the profound frustration and suffocation experienced by those living in the shadow of occupation and conflict:
"This is why we dance:
Because screaming isn’t free.
Please tell me:
Why is anger–even anger–a luxury
to me?"
The historical and ongoing pain of a people is poignantly captured in lines such as these, where days blend into each other, marked not by living but by the constancy of loss:
"It’s the same killing
everywhere.
Seventy-some years later
we haven’t lived a day."
The myth of the phoenix appears as a loss of hope, a resignation to despair where the prospect of rebirth and renewal has been extinguished: "This morning the phoenix made sure its ashes were damp enough to never rise again."
The absurdity and helplessness of trying to maintain a sense of normalcy and ambition in the face of overwhelming force and adversity can be seen in the lines:
"What’s a resumé
to a tank?"
A paradox appears, that of seeking normalcy in a world where even the most basic expressions of emotion are a struggle. These lines resonate with the profound frustration and suffocation experienced by those living in the shadow of occupation and conflict:
"This is why we dance:
Because screaming isn’t free.
Please tell me:
Why is anger–even anger–a luxury
to me?"
The historical and ongoing pain of a people is poignantly captured in lines such as these, where days blend into each other, marked not by living but by the constancy of loss:
"It’s the same killing
everywhere.
Seventy-some years later
we haven’t lived a day."
The myth of the phoenix appears as a loss of hope, a resignation to despair where the prospect of rebirth and renewal has been extinguished: "This morning the phoenix made sure its ashes were damp enough to never rise again."
The absurdity and helplessness of trying to maintain a sense of normalcy and ambition in the face of overwhelming force and adversity can be seen in the lines:
"What’s a resumé
to a tank?"