Mahmoud Darwish's words about love

Mahmoud Darwish

Mahmoud Darwish is one of the oldest Arab poets. He is a Palestinian poet, and he is the most prominent person who revived modern Arab poetry. His poetry is characterized by love for the homeland and the beloved. Here in this article, I have collected for you some beautiful words, sayings, and some love poems about Mahmoud Darwish.

Mahmoud Darwish's words about love

• I do not remember my heart unless love split it in two and dried up from the thirst of love.
• I don't want love other than the beginning.
• Love is our true lie.
• This is love.. I love you when I die, and when I love you I feel like I am dying.
• I train my heart to love so that it can accommodate roses and thorns.
• No one changes suddenly, and no one sleeps and wakes up transformed from one extreme to the other! all that is ! We are in a moment! We close the eye of love and open the eye of reality! We see with the eye of reality what we did not see with the eye of love! In the eye of love.
• When love ends, I realize that it was not love. Love must be lived, not remembered.
• When love ends, I realize that it was not love. Love must be lived, not remembered.
• Love teaches me not to love and leaves me blown away.
• He who does not have love fears winter.
• Love is like death, a promise that cannot be returned or faded away.
• Love is not an idea. It's a passion heat up and cool down and come and go. An emotion embodied in form and texture, and has five senses and more. Sometimes he appears to us in the form of an angel with light wings capable of uprooting us from the ground. Sometimes he attacks us in the form of a bull, throws us to the ground and leaves. Other times it blows in the form of a storm that we recognize by its devastating effects. It sometimes descends on us in the form of night dew when a magic hand milks a stray cloud. Love has an expiration date, just like life, like canned goods and medicines. But I prefer that love fall into a heart attack at the height of lust and passion, just as a horse falls from a mountain into an abyss.
• Can I choose my dreams, lest I dream of what does not come true?
• As for me, I will enter the mulberry tree, where the silkworm will turn me into a silk thread, and I will enter the needle of a mythical woman, and then I will fly away like a shawl with the wind.
• History mocks its victims and their heroes...it takes a look at them and passes by!
• I came, but I did not arrive.. I came, but I did not return.
• We will become a people when we do not recite the prayer of thanks to the sacred homeland whenever the poor finds his supper. We will become a people when we insult the chamberlain and the sultan, without trial.
• I loved you under duress, not because you are the most beautiful, but because you are the deepest. The lover of beauty is usually a fool.
• One day I will become what I want.. One day I will become a bird, and I will escape from my non-existence.. Whenever the wings burn, I get closer to the truth, and emerge from the ashes.. I am the dialogue of dreamers. I turned away from my body and from myself to complete my first journey to meaning, but it burned me and disappeared.. I am absence. I am the heavenly one who is expelled.
• A year goes by, another comes, and everything about you gets worse, my country.
• Can I choose my dreams, lest I dream of what does not come true?
• As for me, I will enter the mulberry tree, where the silkworm will turn me into a silk thread, and I will enter the needle of a mythical woman, and then I will fly away like a shawl with the wind.
• History mocks its victims and their heroes...it takes a look at them and passes by!
• I came, but I did not arrive.. I came, but I did not return.
• We will become a people when we do not recite the prayer of thanks to the sacred homeland whenever the poor finds his supper. We will become a people when we insult the chamberlain and the sultan, without trial.
• I loved you under duress, not because you are the most beautiful, but because you are the deepest. The lover of beauty is usually a fool.
• One day I will become what I want.. One day I will become a bird, and I will escape from my non-existence.. Whenever the wings burn, I get closer to the truth, and emerge from the ashes.. I am the dialogue of dreamers. I turned away from my body and from myself to complete my first journey to meaning, but it burned me and disappeared.. I am absence. I am the heavenly one who is expelled.
• A year goes by, another comes, and everything about you gets worse, my country.
• And we have no hand in longing.. And in distance we have a thousand hands.. Peace be upon you, I missed you so much.. And peace be upon me in what I miss!
• A country is born from the grave of a country.. Thieves worship God so that a people may worship them.. Kings forever and slaves forever.
• We should not blame the suicide bombers. We are against the suicide bombers, but we must understand what drives these young people to do these actions. They want to free themselves from this dark life. It is not ideology, but despair.
• Every river has a source, a stream, and a life! My friend! Our land is not barren. Every land has its birth. Every dawn has its rebellious date!
• And here I can live until the end of the month.. I do my best to write what convinces the heart to beat for me.. and what convinces the soul to live after me.. and in the power of a gardenia to renew my life.. and in the power of a woman to set a limit for me.
• There is a philosophy in indifference, it is an attribute of hope.
• We have our smallest dreams; It was as if we woke up free from disappointment... We did not dream of disobedient things! We are alive and staying,, and the rest of the dream.
• As if your hands are the only place.. As if your hands are a country.. Oh, from a homeland in a body.
• Forgetting is training the imagination to respect reality.
• There is love that passes us by, so it does not know, nor do we know.
• It is my misfortune that I forgot that the night is long, and it is my good fortune that I remembered you until the morning.

Poems about old love

• On the ruins we arrived

Our faces are on the sand

If the summer winds pass by

We took out the napkins

Slowly... slowly

We wanted to add two songs, like prisoners

We dodge the drop of dew

Come once in your mind

Sister!

It's late at night

Strip me of colors and shadows

And protect me from humiliation!

And in your eyes, my old moon

It pulls me to pray

To a blue nap

Under the sun...and the palm trees

Far from the darkness of exile..

Close to my family's home

• I craved childhood in you.

Since the spring birds flew

The trees were stripped

And your voice was, oh wherever,

He comes to me

Sometimes from wells

Sometimes the rain drops it for me

So pure as fire

Like trees.. Like poetry, it falls

Come here

There was something in your eyes that I desired

And I was waiting

And pull me to your hand

Hold me captive

He will be forgiven from you

Childhood lust in you

Since she flew

Spring birds

Strip the trees!

• We cross the road

Handcuffed..

As if we were prisoners

My hand, I don't know, or your hand

I felt sore

Who else?

It was not released, as usual.

On my chest and on your chest..

Anniversary sermon

As if we were crossing a path,

Like all people,

If given

No longing

No regrets

And no shame

We dive into the crowd

Let's buy our little things

We didn't leave for our night

Ashes.. reminds embers

And something in my veins

He calls me

To drink from your hand

Memory burns

• He stepped, once, on a planet

And he walked on our fingertips

And he didn't get tired

And when I sipped from your lips

Raspberry water

I accept, then he drinks

And when I wrote about your eyes

I proofread everything I write

We shared our pillow.

And our coffee

And when you went...

He did not go

Perhaps I have become forgotten

You have

Like a cloud in the wind

Coming down to Morocco..

But if I try

to forget you..

A planet landed on my hand