Mad Girl’s Ballad
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nevk.bsky.social
Mad Girl’s Ballad
@nevk.bsky.social
79 followers 59 following 40 posts
'so I am not of the east/and I am not of the west' || feminist political theory | linguaphile | bibliophile | traveler
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Reposted by Mad Girl’s Ballad
workshops4gaza.bsky.social
Dukka
...

to risk. Love
is paying attention, I remark, and you
repeat it to me. Love is also the father
who plants an olive tree for every newborn
trusting they will grow up to harvest it. Love is
the elderly woman who stood inside
Damascus Gate, knowing the settlers
were on a rampage, knowing...
Dukka At the restaurant the loudest sound in the ocean a few blocks away. A meteor shower is forecast, a once- in-a-lifetime event, but the freeway flush with headlights precludes us from viewing. The stars fall silently over us and the waves and the commuters. We review the menu. We help the waitress pronounce dukka. We talk about aging and what is left to risk. Love is paying attention, I remark, and you repeat it to me. Love is also the father who plants an olive tree for every newborn trusting they will grow up to harvest it. Love is the elderly woman who stood inside Damascus Gate, knowing the settlers were on a rampage, knowing what her body would have to endure. Love is a story we never tire of telling, just as Shireen told it with a microphone and a camera. Love lives in many rooms. In the kitchen where Nadia teaches using only the Arabic names of ingredients. And in the car where Lema embroiders wine-colored roosters and cypresses on ancestral linen, waiting to pick up her children from school. Love is the children we carried at the protests, leading their own marches in the rain. Let the stars fall. I have no idea what hope is, but our people have taught me a million ways to love.
August 14, 2025 at 3:47 AM
nevk.bsky.social
These people being the Liberal Party of Canada.
October 2, 2024 at 12:20 AM