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Famous Louis Yako Quotes

“[Silent Messages] I’ve lost track of all the times I have passed by married couples or lovers Dinning at fancy upscale restaurants in foreign cities When the woman sitting across the table from her lover Gives me that quick look Conveying in a painful silence That she no longer loves him, That she wishes she were elsewhere… And each time, I respond with an equally silent look: Why are you there? Why don’t you turn this dinner table of triviality on him, And on everything that happened and is happening And just walk away? [Original poem published in Arabic on November 8, 2022 at ahewar.org]”

LoveRelationshipsCourageWomen EmpowermentBreaking UpLife ChoicesArabic PoetryArabic LiteratureDysfunctional Relationships
Author:Louis Yako
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“Beware of Strangers As children, they teach us To beware of strangers, To refrain from approaching them. As we grow older we learn That no one is stranger than those We thought we’d known all our lives. As we grow older we learn That a stranger may carry more empathy, And may understand us more deeply. Even feelings of affection from a stranger May be more sincere. And so I ask: can humanity and the strangeness be synonymous? Could we say: I am a stranger; therefore I am? Can we truly feel alive Without strange things Strange encounters without strangers reminding us that our hearts and minds are still beating? They teach us to avoid strangers, And life teaches us that human awareness can only be borne out Of the dagger of strangeness… That life is tasteless When we don’t mix it with strangers… That familiarity is opposed to life! And thus, I loudly declare: A stranger I was born. A stranger I wish to remain! And I ask that you issue my death certificate The day I become familiar. [Original poem published in Arabic on October 29 at ahewar.org]”

IdentityAdventureExperienceFamiliarityHuman ExistenceStrangersWeirdnessStrangenessArabic PoetryArabic Literature
Author:Louis Yako
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“Death by Starvation or Boredom” Many toil for scraps and cheap wages, surviving one fragile breath at a time— just one more breath... While others, bloated with excess, labor only to escape boredom, pretending they’re saving a world drowning in the greed they created, and the power they refuse to let go. The first walks a tightrope between breath and hunger. The second, cushioned by comfort, drifts closer to spiritual starvation, their soul numbed by excess. And here lies the cruel symmetry— fate, with its blunt hands, levels the field by offering death either way: starvation... or boredom. But the greatest tragedy belongs to those who die of both.”

PovertyCharityBoredomElitesWorking ClassHumanitarianismClass StruggleArabic Poetry
Book:سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]
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“Taxi Driver” There’s a strange kind of liberation in being just a taxi driver— the freedom tucked inside that word: just. Because you’re just a driver, no one truly sees you. Yet you see it all— the absurdities, the shallows, the beauty, sorrow, joy, heartbreak—passengers unknowingly exposed. They grant you a diluted respect, sometimes half-fake, sometimes not at all— because you’re just a taxi driver. But they leave you be. No one's scheming to steal your seat. They want you in that seat. They ride with you because, for now, it’s a seat they don’t desire. Still, like all fleeting liberations, this too carries disappointment— a bittersweet sting. You realize the only reason they leave you alone is because you've escaped into a seat they never wanted in the first place. And that hurts.”

PovertyPowerWorking ClassHuman BehaviorTaxiClass StruggleInvisibilityArabic PoetryPower DynamicsRidesharing
Book:سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]
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“[Donor Countries] When are we going to understand That donor countries never donate anything for free. When are we going to understand That the only countries that donate Are those with the biggest role in destruction and ravage? That such countries only donate To shape societies and destroyed countries According to their whims and their desires… That their only aim is To keep the defeated the marginalized the disempowered and the impoverished In that state for as long as they can… When are we going to understand That the easiest way to identify and name the big criminals, Is to take a quick look at the list of donor countries? [Original poem published in Arabic on November 12, 2022 at ahewar.org]”

WarPovertyDevelopmentExploitationThird WorldReconstructionDecolonizationArabic PoetryArabic LiteratureDecoloniality
Author:Louis Yako
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“Are You Afraid of Sadness?” In an old interview with a famous and talented Iraqi actress, the interviewer asked, 'Why are you afraid of sadness?' The actress responded, 'I am afraid of it because it quickly takes you to a place from which you can never return.' And exactly as she answered, insightful viewers could feel the sadness on her face, indicating that the actress herself wasn’t truly present in the interview— sadness had long since taken her, with no return. November 19, 2023”

LossGriefSadnessSorrowDepressionArabic PoetryArabic Literature
Book:سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]
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“Are you Afraid of Sadness?" In an old interview with a famous and talented Iraqi actress, the interviewer asked her: “Why are you afraid of sadness?” The actress responded: “I am afraid of it because it quickly takes you to a place from which you can never return.” And exactly as she was answering, an insightful viewer could notice a sadness on her face indicating that the famous and talented actress herself wasn’t really present in the interview for sadness had long taken her with no return… [Original poem published in Arabic on November 19, 2023 at ahewar.org]”

DeathLossGriefSadnessSorrowDepressionGrievingMourningDepartureArabic Poetry
Author:Louis Yako
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“Taxi Driver" There is something strangely liberating about being just a taxi driver… The secret lies in the “just”! Because you’re just a taxi driver, nobody really sees you… But you see, hear, and feel the absurdities, the shallowness, the beauty, the sorrow, the joy, the heartbreak of every rider! Most treat you with half or totally fake respect, because you’re just a taxi driver… But they leave you alone They don’t find justifications or create crises to take over your seat… In fact, they want you to be exactly in that seat! After all, they only ride with you because - at least for that time – they don’t wish to occupy your seat… Yet, like every sense of liberation, Being a taxi driver, is a liberation kneaded with a strange sadness and disappointment when you realize that the motherfuckers only leave you alone when you run away from them and occupy a seat that they don’t desire during the their ride …. [Original poem published in Arabic on June 21, 2923 at ahewar.org]”

PeoplePowerLaborPoor PeoplePrestigeArabic PoetryHuman ConnectionsPower RelationsTaxi DriverLow Wage Jobs
Author:Louis Yako
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“بينما كنت أشاهد صوراً التقطها عبر السنين اتضح لي بأني اعشق الأبواب العتيقة ... فأنا ابحث عنها في كل مكان لأصورها وأتأملها ... فتجدني أتخيل بأن لهذه الأبواب عيون وأتسأل عن كل ما رأته من الخارج وعن كل ما مر بها عن كل من مر منها ومن أمامها ... أضيع في رحيلي وأنا أتخيل كل ما دار خلفها من أفراح وأتراح من غنى وعوز من نفاق ونميمة من أيام مملة وكئيبة عاشها ساكنيها خلفها وهي ومغلقة .. وتراني اتأمل في تصاميم أبواب من أزمان مختلفة وفي أماكن مختلفة.. بعضها ينم عن ذوق سيء زاده مرور الزمن سوءاً ... وأتخيل كيف ظن أهلها يومها بأنها أجمل ما كان! وبعضها – الأكثر عتقاً – تبدو وكأنها تزداد جمالاً بمرور الزمن ... وكأن القبح والجمال غير ثابتان ... ام تراه قصور في العين البشرية التي لا تميز بين الجمال الحقيقي والقبح الحقيقي إلا بعد فوات الآوان؟ بعض الأبواب معدنية ويملؤها الصدأ بشكل يشبه تآكل قيم ومبادئ البشر، بعضها خشبي ورغم الثقوب والحفر المتناثرة عليها، تراها لازالت توحي بالدفء والأمان .. بعض هذه الأبواب العتيقة لم تعد تفتح إلا للسواح بعضها أجبر اهلها على تركها دون رجعة بعضها الآخر تفتح من حين لآخر لزوار سريين لا يعرفهم احد ولا نعرف ماذا يفعلون خلفها بعد دخولهم ... وما أكثر الأبواب العتيقة المحاطة بسلاسل وأقفال صدئة ابتلع الزمن اهلها ومفاتيحها .. وكم تحزنني الأبواب العتيقة والجميلة التي أضعنا مفاتيحها إلى الأبد بسبب طيشنا وحماقاتنا ...”

PeopleWisdomPoetryLiteratureMemoriesCreativityDoorsNostalgiaArabic Poetry
Author:Louis Yako
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“The Silence Game" Many have understood the game and chose to remain silent… They chose silence thinking that their silence will save them… Yet silence killed them through heart attacks, without even giving them a chance to scream at least one last time to inform the world that silence is much more costly than resistance… [Original poem published in Arabic on December 11, 2023 at ahewar.org]”

FearSilenceInjusticeResistanceRebellionCowardiceComplicityArabic Poetry
Author:Louis Yako
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“Sounds" Few are the sounds that deepen and enrich silence .. There are sounds without which silence remains incomplete, like a ticking clock or the sudden sound of a cycling fridge… The chirping roaches and cicadas, or croaking frogs… Then there are those sounds that make existence more alienating and unbearable, like the scuffle of a big insect against a window or a door as if committing suicide! Or a creaking rusty door we close behind a departing loved one, knowing deep inside that they won’t return and nothing would be the same after closing that door.. The whistling sound of a kettle declaring that peace and tranquility are illusions that never last… There are also those sounds that summarize the traumas of the past from which hearers never recover, like the screams and cries of the woman next door when beaten by her husband… The coughing, spitting, and heavy breathing of an elderly woman we visited in our childhood… And can we ever forget the sounding sirens of the ships and trains declaring that departure is inevitable? [Original poem published in Arabic on September 15, 2023 at ahewar.org]”

SilenceMemoryTraumaMeaning Of LifeTranquilityArabic PoetryVoicesSoundsVoices Inside Your HeadThe Journey Of Life
Author:Louis Yako
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“(Guaranteeing Tomorrow) I watch in sorrow most people occupied with collecting more money getting more promotions building bigger houses purchasing more real estate and other possessions new cars more products to consume… I see people obsessed with owning anything and everything they could lay their hands on to guarantee tomorrow to ensure luxurious lives… Yet few realize that tomorrow may never come, and if it does come, it shall be sad, scary, and desolate… Few realize that it may not rain tomorrow that the land may completely dry up that everyone’s preoccupation with possessing more, is the very thing that shall cause humanity’s demise, after draining all possible forms of life… Few are aware that the panic, the fear, and the obsession with guaranteeing tomorrow, are exactly what have made tomorrow impossible to guarantee… What a painful paradox… [Original poem published in Arabic on February 7, 2024 at ahewar.org]”

HumanityFearEnvironmentTomorrowFutureCapitalismConsumerismPlanetArabic PoetryThe Future Of Us
Author:Louis Yako
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“Shocks and Joys" The biggest shocks in life were: That freedom is a lie Choosing chains carefully is more important than chasing illusions… That family and relatives are but a hit or miss biological coincidence… That life isn’t short as they claim for those who understand the game… That there is no friend in need, but indeed, need is the only constant friend… The biggest joys in life were: The smell of a freshly baked loaf of bread A sip of water The depth of a word The taste of a fresh fig The silence and tunes of nature The unexpected scent of a rose that tickles the nose after having fallen in the abyss of despair… [Original poem published in Arabic on March 9, 2023 at ahewar.org]”

WisdomJoyLife LessonsUnderstandingAwarenessShockArabic PoetryArabic LiteratureThe Art Of Living
Author:Louis Yako
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“Fate’s Smile" That line from an old Turkish song is still ringing my ears… A song they used to play on the radio in my teenage years on hot and boring summer days… The song had melancholy tunes, recoded with basic technology… The singer repeated in a hesitant and defeated voice: Bize de bir gün kader güler, güler inşallah… [The fate will one day smile at us, too. One day it will smile, Inshallah…] [Original poem published in Arabic on August 12, 2023 at ahewar.org]”

DestinyFateSorrowFortuneMelancholyWishful ThinkingArabic PoetryArabic LiteratureFleeting LifeThe Wheel Of Fortune
Author:Louis Yako
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“[The Gaze of an Invisible Stranger] In western Europe and north America In the cities of cruelty, racism, freedom & democracy, Cities of exile and alienation, You see many young people Who’d rather die than greet a stranger, You observe how they master the art of ignoring And not acknowledging the humanity of anyone Who is not their height and weight Whose features, skin color, and eyes are different than theirs… In return, you observe cities filled with older people Who delight at a nod or greeting from any stranger Who are hungry for the slightest kind human touch From any by passerby… Making you, the Invisible Stranger, wonder: Did these same elderly folks raise the young ones? Are they merely inheriting a world of their creation? Do the young ones realize The isolation, loneliness, and desolation awaiting them tomorrow? [Original poem published in Arabic on January 3, 2023, at ahewar.org]”

HumanityCommunityCompassionLonelinessRacismAgingExclusionOlder PeopleArabic PoetryAgism
Author:Louis Yako
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“[Long Life] This famous writer has died at 92 And that legend journalist, The darling of authorities and mainstream media, Has died at 95. This pious religious man Has died at 96, And that billionaire, Known for his countless charities and charitable deeds Has died at 96 also… The veteran and shrewd politician, The former president of that country, Has died at 95 as well… And the same questions that dawned on me Ever since I understood the oppression & filthiness Of what the elites, authorities, and those in power are capable of, Begin ringing in my ears once again: Can anyone aware of the ugliness of what is going on live a long life? Is it a coincidence that most people, writers, and artists Who enriched my awareness and world died prematurely Or died, literally or metaphorically, by suicide, assassination, or in prison? Can a shred of awareness fell upon us without defeating the body and the soul Cell by cell and one organ after another causing a premature death? I also wonder have the writers, journalists, religious men, and politicians Who lived long lives enriched truth and justness, Or have they gotten rich at the expense of the above to live long lives up to 92, 93, 94, 95, & 96? And by biggest questions of all: Is there somewhere, in some world, in some place, a dagger of awareness that stabs without the killing the stabbed prematurely? [Original poem published in Arabic on December 31, 2022, at ahewar.org]”

HumanityPowerAwarenessLongevityQuality Of LifeCaring For OthersComplicityArabic PoetryArabic LiteratureLifespan
Author:Louis Yako
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“I’m red poppy from the mountains of the homeland The winds are my tunes The thunder is my voice When I object what is going on… Rains are my tears When I’m speechless The gushing sounds of water Are my hearty songs… *** I’m red poppy from the mountains of the homeland When I welt, I shall leave smiling And assured that my seeds Shall create vast meadows of wildflowers For future generations Wiser than you and I…”

LoveHomeWisdomHumanityNatureBeautyCommunicationBelongingArabic PoetryWildflowers
Book:أنا زهرة برية [I am a Wildflower]
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“[Imprisoned Poem] Somewhere deep inside me There lies an imprisoned poem A poem that is Buried Chained And holding its breath Ages ago… A poem about futility The fragility of words About alarms, if sounded, They’d be either destined to silence Or get written on the walls of indifference… There is an ancient poem Imprisoned in my soul Waiting to be released impatiently, In due time… Like a house cat this imprisoned poem keeps eagerly watching Every move outside the window, Without any participation… And like a house cat, Whenever this imprisoned poem Gets exhausted by the triviality of reality, It sleeps for long hours Only to wake up and find The status quo unchanged And the strings moving the puppets uncut… It then looks out the window in sorrow And goes back to sleep once again To dream of a less ugly world… My imprisoned poem has vowed not to release itself From the deepest points in my soul Until everyone else is awake For its release to be meaningful… (November 17, 2014)”

HumanityPrisonUnityFutilityArabic PoetryCollective ConsciousnessArabic LiteratureCollective ActionThe Power Of Words
Book:أنا زهرة برية [I am a Wildflower]
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“They say the world will end soon. They say that the nuclear weapons made, Due to fearing ‘the other’, Have become a curse, a plague, a scourge On those who made them Even more than those they were made to scare... And I wonder: Will the nuclear weapons be the cause of the world’s end? Or will the world’s end be caused by humanity’s fear, complicity, and submission? And if what they say is true, Before the world ends and before I die, I wish to drink one last cup of cardamom-flavored tea Taste one last fig, peach, or apricot, Smell a quince, Dip one last piece of bread In Palestinian thyme and olive oil… Before the world ends, I wish to smell a few pine needles, To breathe the smell of the first rain shower After a long, hot, and dry summer… Before the world ends and before I die, I wish to read one more book Out of the thousands of books that I still want to read… Before the world ends and before I die, I ask for one more spring To smell bunches of Iraqi narcissus flowers. I want to live one more autumn, To enjoy the magical colors Of the dying leaves on the trees As they challenge death with beauty Right before falling on the grounds of indifference… But my biggest wish before I die is For my death not to be the end of the world… [Original poem published in Arabic by ahewar.org on October 13, 2022]”

WarEarthHumanityEnvironmentNuclear WeaponsEnd Of The WorldArabic PoetryArabic Literature
Author:Louis Yako
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“Exhaustion Salima sat in the fancy hotel room In the evening time. Here she is again in another foreign city, Attending a conference discussing “human rights”. Her eyes roamed the room. She suddenly felt a severe chill in her body. She suddenly realized that she is exhausted, But her exhaustion is not that of one day, It was one of a lifetime! It fell upon her abruptly. The thoughts of the bygone years Nested in her head, Were suddenly awoken. One thought after another. She realized at that moment That she is tired of responding to The same absurd questions About her origins Her ethnicity, Her religion, Her hobbies, Her favorite foods, Her education background, Her age, And her occupation. Questions asked frequently by people who don’t care. She suddenly realized That throughout her life, She never found a friend who could really understand. The evening was about to draw its dark curtains. She remembered that ever since she was a child, She had been hiding her favorite words and writings In notebooks that nobody will read. She has been murmuring her favorite tunes, In places where nobody could hear her. The evening was about to draw its dark curtains. She realized that her true thoughts and feelings Lived nowhere expect inside of her head, And there they will most likely die. Her head had become like a prison for her thoughts. The evening was about to draw its dark curtains. She suddenly realized That she had wasted so many years of her life Looking for someone who might understand. And each time she thought she had found one, She found herself in yet another prison. She looked through the window of the fancy hotel room And saw that the darkness had covered the entire city. September 9, 2017”

InspirationalPoetryWaitingWomenHuman RightsDisappointmentDisillusionmentArabic PoetryWorld Literature
Book:أنا زهرة برية [I am a Wildflower]
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“The Cats in the City Location: an Arab city. Time: the age of defeat. The twenty-first century. General atmosphere: “fancy” neighborhoods. Expensive houses painted in tombstone colors. Beautiful and well-maintained gardens. Flowers that no one dares to smell. Imported cars. Imported devices. Imported clothes. Imported foods. Endless consumer shops for anything and everything. Between every other restaurant, there are shops selling cosmetics and souvenirs. Between every other consumer market, There is a worship place. All consumer shops are built skillfully On the scab of the same old wound; A wound that can flood the city with blood and death With the slightest fingernail scratch. As I walk farther from the city, The consumer shops vanish. The lights are suddenly dimmed. The cheering and the hustle and bustle of the consumers go silent. I see myself in total darkness. I am alone hearing nothing but the sounds of my footsteps, And the meows of hungry stray street cats, Covered with the ashes of daily existence. A thin and hungry cat approaches me, She meows in despair and starvation, Begging me for her bite of the day (or the week?) I throw her a small piece of my sandwich. She picks it up and runs away To celebrate her temporary gains! She leaves me alone wondering in darkness: What reflects the reality of this city more The 'fancy' neighborhoods I saw earlier, Or the starving cats in the darkness? June 8, 2014”

HomePoetryCatsArabic PoetryAppearancesWorld Literature
Book:أنا زهرة برية [I am a Wildflower]
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“Departure" Everyone wants to leave— those here long to be there, and many there ache to return here… There are some who’ve grasped that living is impossible neither here nor there— so they search, in vain, for alternatives. Few have come to understand that this impossibility of living stems not from geography, but from complicity. Most who stay or go never part ways with their surrender and quiet compliance— and so they recreate, everywhere they settle, the same conditions and reasons for departure. Few have realized that all places will remain unlivable as long as the urge to leave is born from a complicit, defeated self…”

ChangeSurrenderDenialEscapeDepartureComplianceComplicityArabic PoetryArabic Literature
Book:سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]
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“Waiting She caught herself waiting by her bedroom window. A window facing a quiet street, where a car or two passed occasionally. Otherwise, it was a motionless place. The tree branches outside danced Whenever the winds flirted with them. Although she habitually sat by that window every day, for years and years, She never noticed her habit until today! When she realized that, she felt heart sick and upset. She didn’t know whether she was angry at herself Or at the time she had wasted waiting. What upset her even more Was that she wasn’t waiting for any person to arrive, Not even for the postman Who no longer brought her any personal letters. She was not waiting for a lover A friend Or for parents. All those she once loved are long gone. What was she waiting for all these years? She asked herself this question a thousand times that day, And she waited for her inner voice to answer. She must know today! It suddenly occurred to her that Since she was a child, She was waiting for the arrival of a person Who she could never name or describe. She could never put a body or a face On their ambiguous figure. It was a person who only visited her imagination In the form of a shadow. She realized that all her life, She was yearning for something that she couldn’t name, And thus, she remained waiting, Wishing to find out one day What or who she was waiting for. February 9, 2013”

PoetryLiteratureWaitingFutilityArabic Poetry
Book:أنا زهرة برية [I am a Wildflower]
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“America" Loans Interest rates Endless advertisements Usury and deception Countless heavy bodies filled with fear Migrant, refugee, and illegal bodies that came escaping America’s oppression in their own countries… America Depression, anxiety, and pain relief pills A political, media, and institutional matrix of power ran by one lobby… Credit cards Bankruptcy Debts Drugs The homeless Racism Weapons Strict security measures Suffocating any attempt for any meaningful change under the pretext of the homeland security… America Sanctions imposed on this country and that, Internal psychological sanctions imposed on a majority of the naïve who believe themselves to be free… America Tasteless fruit, vegetables, meats, eggs, and cheeses, injected with hormones, sprayed with pesticides and many other carcinogenic substances… America Houses that look beautiful from the outside, inhabited by people who are mostly lonely, going through psychological or nervous breakdowns, or perhaps wrestling with depression or hysteria, the luckiest of them are on daily pills to help them adapt to the psychological and spiritual death surrounding them from all sides… America Fruitless trees and scentless flowers, as if as a punishment or a curse from heaven upon those who stole the land from its native people, after erasing most of them… America Bills Sad letters in the mail, mostly from companies and advertisers wishing you a delightful day and great consumption, encouraging you to solve your problems with more consumption, and reminding you that you may die abruptly of loneliness or the toxins that you consume, and therefore, you must seriously consider purchasing your casket and the plot under which you will be buried… [Original poem published in Arabic on August 27, 2024 at ahewar.org]”

LonelinessDepressionRacismIllusionAmerican DreamColonialismAlienationAmerican CultureRefugeesArabic Poetry
Author:Louis Yako
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“(Twins in the Wound) It took me years to understand that we didn’t love each other because we were conventionally compatible or in perfect harmony, but because we were broken and shattered in the same exact places… We are twins in the wound, abandoned and banished by our families when they discovered we refused to play by the rules of the overwhelming—and overwhelmed—majority… And so, my love, I hid you from everyone, not out of shame, but out of dread of the tyranny and ignorance of the rabble… From your hidden love I learned that only love which quietly masters the art of hiding from watchful eyes and hypocrites survives in the end… May 15, 2024”

LoveTrue LoveWoundsCompanionshipForbidden LoveArabic PoetryCompatibilityArabic Literature
Book:سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]
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“(Beware of Strangers) As children, we are taught to beware of strangers, to refrain from approaching them. As we grow older, we learn that no one is stranger than those we thought we’d known all our lives. We learn that a stranger may carry more empathy, and understand us more deeply, and that affections from a stranger may be more sincere. So, I ask: Can humanity and strangeness be synonymous? Could we say, 'I am a stranger; therefore I am'? Can we truly feel alive without strange things, strange encounters, without strangers reminding us that our hearts and minds are still beating? They teach us to avoid strangers, yet life teaches us that human awareness can only be born of the dagger of strangeness… that life is tasteless without mingling with strangers… that familiarity is opposed to life! Thus, I loudly declare: A stranger I was born; a stranger I wish to remain! And I ask that you issue my death certificate the day I become familiar. October 29, 2022”

WisdomGrowthTravelConnectionFamiliarityExclusionStrangersArabic PoetryArabic LiteratureThe Meaning Of Life
Book:سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]
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“Losers" Losers are closer to my heart, because they were right... Because integrity doesn’t win the way it does in shallow Hollywood scripts. Integrity always loses— too many fear it, too many sell out, and too many find its demands too heavy to carry. I love losers because they were right. I, too, once placed my bet on humanity— and I lost.”

JusticeLossPrinciplesIntegrityEthicsRebellionLoserComplicityArabic PoetrySelling Out
Book:سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]
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“(Donor Countries) When are we going to understand that donor countries never give anything for free? When are we going to realize that only those with the largest role in destruction offer themselves as benefactors? They donate merely to reshape societies and ravaged lands according to their whims and desires… Their sole aim is to keep the defeated, the marginalized, the disempowered, and the impoverished in that state for as long as possible… When are we going to see that the quickest way to name the world’s greatest criminals is simply to scan the list of donor countries? November 12, 2022”

WarDevelopmentExploitationImperialismThird WorldRefugeesReconstructionDecolonizationArabic PoetryPlundering
Book:سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]
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“A Sweet Woman from a War-Torn Country” In her exile, they often describe her as that ‘sweet woman from a war-torn country.’ They don’t know she loved smelling roses, picking spring wildflowers, and bringing them home after long walks. They don’t know about the first kiss her lover stole during a church power outage on that Easter evening— before the generators came on. They don’t know the long hours she spent under the ancient walnut tree in her village, waiting for her grandfather’s call to share freshly baked pita with ghee and honey. They don’t know about her grandmother’s mixed grains, prepared each year before Easter fasting began. In exile, they try to be kind, telling her she now lives in a ‘safe haven.’ They assume her silence comes from poor language skills or simple agreement with them. They don’t know life’s shocks have silenced her forever. Now she presses her ear against the cold window glass of her apartment, listening to the wind’s mournful cry outside. They remind her she’s among people who honor all values, beliefs, religions, and ethnicities— but she has learned it’s all too late. She no longer needs assurances. Occasionally, all she asks for is a sincere hand on her shoulder or around her neck, to remind her that nothing lasts, that this too shall pass. [Published on April 7, 2023 on CounterPunch.org]”

WarLossSorrowLongingExileAlienationRefugeesArabic PoetryArabic Literature
Author:Louis Yako
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“A Mall and Bullet Holes" While walking in the city of Mostar in Bosnia and Herzegovina, a country devastated and drained by the wars of the global elite, exactly like mine, I arrived at an intersection and noticed a huge mall on the right side… On the left side, there was an old residential building filled with bullet holes that looked like eyewitnesses to all the free death that took place here in a war that has since ended, yet its real causes and the criminals behind it are still lurking in every corner, like infected pus ready to burst at any moment of awareness… I wondered bitterly: When will the world understand that violence never erupts inadvertently, that all violence in our times is premeditated and agreed upon by a small elite that decides in advance that any nation that rejects malls, consumption, and superficiality, must be disciplined with free death for those who resist! It is also agreed upon – and it all costs – that the minds and souls of all survivors must permanently be pierced with bullet holes! In the same intersection, I observed a redhaired elderly woman with sorrowful eyes deep as bullet holes… I then saw a group of youth wearing modern clothes, like those we see in malls… The elderly woman looked at them as if wishing to tell them about all that happened here, but they didn’t notice her existence for their eyes were fixated on their phones… I painfully wondered then: Has anyone told them about what happened here? Can they distinguish the sounds of bombs from those of fireworks? Has this elderly woman, who looked broken and brokenhearted, told them about the real price she’d paid with all the holes left in her heart and her history for the sake of these malls and cheap consumer goods? [Original poem published in Arabic on July 4, 2024 at ahewar.org]”

WarDeathViolenceCapitalismArabic PoetryBalkansDivide And ConquerBosnian WarRuling ClassBalkanization
Author:Louis Yako
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“When will the world understand that violence never erupts inadvertently, that all violence in our times is premeditated and agreed upon by a small elite that decides in advance that any nation that rejects malls, consumption, and superficiality, must be disciplined with free death for those who resist! It is also agreed upon – and it all costs – that the minds and souls of all survivors must permanently be pierced with bullet holes! [From a poem titled "A Mall and Bullets Holes". Original poem published in Arabic on July 4, 2024 at ahewar.org]”

WarViolenceCapitalismArabic PoetryDivide And ConquerRuling ClassBalkanization
Author:Louis Yako
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“A Flock of Geese" She often wondered about the inexplicable deep sorrow that she feels every time she sees a flock of geese flying in the sky … Do the flying geese remind her that she has wasted her life stuck in the trivialities of daily life? Or perhaps the flying birds remind her that she’s lost her ability to fly? She thinks at times in sadness how she wasted the years of her life like a naïve bride dreaming about the ideal groom... A bride planning the minutest details of her wedding, not realizing, until her wings were clipped, that the wedding, the groom, and the bride are roles and illusions created by society to counter the dangers of all those who wish to fly; those who dream about creating new worlds instead of getting hanged or strangulated in a world created on their behalf by others … As she hears the honking of another passing flock of geese flying over her head as did the most beautiful years of her life the birds awaken in her that uncontrollable itch to depart to refuse the illusion of settling and stability The illusion of the wedding and the groom The illusion of all the wedding invitees Who spend an entire night dancing, cheering, and celebrating the clipping of her wings… [Original poem published in Arabic on December 14, 2023 at ahewar.org]” ― Louis Yako”

FreedomSocietySocial JusticePrisonWomen EmpowermentGender EqualityGender RolesTraditionsArabic PoetryGender Studies
Author:Louis Yako
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“Lights" Lights of churches, monasteries, Christmas trees, and magnificent mosques The dim lights inside warm houses in all the foreign cities where I wandered alone The far away lights of cars driving over bridges I watched from the windows of boring hotels on clear moonlit nights Candle lights and lanterns Lights of little shops in ancient and forgotten alleys Lights of ships sailing to places I will never get to see The lamp post lights on dark rainy winter nights The remote lighthouses and lights of unknown fishermen The glittering lights I have seen in the eyes of kind strangers in cities tourists never go to All these lights I once loved that break me now as they remind me of the magical light that was extinguished in your eyes … [Original poem published in Arabic on November 13, 2024 at ahewar.org]”

LoveLife LessonsLossSorrowBelovedBroken HeartCompanionshipArabic PoetryLightsArabic Literature
Author:Louis Yako
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“Spices" The scents of spices are sad whether at home or in foreign lands ... At home, they passes through the nose to give a ray of hope, a breathing space that make us forget – albeit for a short while – all about the chains of religions, gossip, the absurdity of politics, and the cruelty of the ruling classes … At home, spices help us cope with the heavy weight of the backbreaking customs and traditions … You see everyone excited to have a meal that help them forget about the hardships, the crises, and the unsuitability of life at home … In alienating foreign lands, The scent of spices awakens everything that was lost, including the lost lands and homes… There is something unbearably sad about the image of a woman Standing in a kitchen filled with scents of spices reminding her of all that happened, all that was possible, all that should never have happened, and of all the irreplaceable losses … So many are the societies that have been completely destroyed, and of which nothing remains but scents of spices that add flavor to foods and marinate the wounds … Could spices be like old songs? We love them at home because they touch wounds we wish we could heal from, the same old songs break our hearts in foreign lands, because by then we have finally learned that exile doesn’t heal wounds, but rather pushes the knife deeper into them … And like the alienating foreign lands, the scents of spices declare that there is much more to the story of the wound; a story that kills if untold, and doesn’t heal when narrated … [Original poem published in Arabic on December 11, 2023 at ahewar.org]”

CultureLossDestructionExileAlienationSpicesScentsArabic PoetryDisplacementForeign Lands
Author:Louis Yako
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“They Say the World Will End Soon" They say the nuclear weapons—born of fear of the other— have become a curse, a plague, a scourge upon those who built them, even more than those they were meant to threaten… And I wonder: Will nuclear weapons bring about the end of the world? Or will it be humanity’s fear, complicity, and quiet submission? If what they say is true, before the world ends—and before I die— I wish to drink one last cup of cardamom-flavored tea, to taste one final fig, peach, or apricot, to inhale the scent of a quince, to dip one last piece of bread into Palestinian thyme and olive oil… Before the world ends, I want to smell pine needles, and breathe the scent of the season’s first rain after a long, dry summer. Before the world ends—and before I die— I long to read one more book from the thousands still waiting for me. I ask for one more spring to inhale bunches of Iraqi narcissus. And one more autumn to marvel at the dying leaves— defying death with beauty just before falling upon the indifferent ground. But most of all, my final wish before I die is that my death not be the end of the world…”

Life LessonsHumanityHopeFearCourageRebellionComplicityArabic PoetryArabic LiteratureThe End Of The World
Book:سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]
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“Sorrow in the Heart of an Apple” I tidied my old sorrow, wrapped it gently in scented cloth, and buried it beneath the apple tree in our village orchard. Seasons rolled by... And I believed it was finished, forgotten, even the burial site lost to memory. Then came harvest. I plucked a red apple— shiny, luscious, radiant with promise. But with the first bite, I tasted it. That same sorrow, aged but unmistakable. It had not only survived— it had multiplied. Now here I am, face to face again, finding it in the heart of every apple.”

LifeLife LessonsLossGriefMemoryTraumaForgettingArabic PoetryArabic LiteratureThe Human Condition
Book:سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]
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“Departure" Everyone wants to leave Those here want to go there, and many there are eager to return here… There are those who understood that living is not possible neither here nor there, so, you see them, in vain, searching for alternatives… Few have understood that the impossibility of living is a result of complicity not geography, that most of those who stay or depart never part ways with their complicity and tendency to surrender, thus, they recreate the circumstances and the causes of departure everywhere they go… Few have understood that all places will remain unlivable so long as the causes to depart are a result of a complicit and defeated Self… [Original poem published in Arabic on June 20, 2024 at ahewar.org]”

LeavingSeparationSurrenderDenialEscapeDepartureComplicityArabic PoetryArabic LiteratureThe Art Of Life
Author:Louis Yako
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