Tuesday, 21 October 2014

MCR: Pasolini's Salò (1975)

Article by: Ahmed Shaweesh

"The 120 Days of Sodom" by Pasolini; This famous Italian film, disgusting and horrifying as it is, may be important and necessary in order for us to know about the other side of humanity.
The film, banned since it was made in 1975 to appear in any form in most countries of the world, is based on the story the Marquis de Sade taken from real events in the town of Salo, Italy during the fascist era.
It tells about four wealthy fascists who kidnapped sixteen boys and girls and enjoyed torturing them physically, sexually and psychologically in a remote mansion for 120 days as a form of entertainment. Pier Paolo Pasolini was not only a filmmaker. He was also a poet and a novelist; a Marxist who was expelled from the Communist Party because of his homosexuality. Pasolini was killed shortly before this film was released, apparently because of the film itself being controversial. Most of Pasolini's later films were considered philosophical and required a specific kind of audience with considerable rationality; qualities not necessarily descriptive of his earlier works such as Accattone (1961) and The Gospel According to St. Matthew (1964). Salo, a pet name for the movie discussed, apparently was a message from Pasolini, the novelist and poet, to this world before his death. It is a cinematic work overstuffed with evil and horror that strips off the dark side in human beings.

De Sade's novel "120 Days of Sodom" about an Italian town called Salo and the feudal fascists of that era, was considered by readers to be too gloomy to finish or even read without getting into a depressive mood. But Pasolini's movie brings all the visual and psychological shocks in the book's chapters alive in front of you! A villainous but important work of art.
The film, which generally employs long shots of torture, begins by the appearance of the four fascists. Pasolini excellently chose for these roles actors who easily registered features you often see in a mental health facility; sick smiles and stares; faces stuffed with charismatic toughness and hostility.
The film is fraught with decor and accessories that pertain to that era of Italy at the end of the rule of Mussolini. The selection of the palace in which the film events take place is noteworthy in terms of the many rooms, corridors and luxury lounges that are almost devoid of furniture, like a grand theater for a sick entertainment.

This is not Pasolini but it is OK
Pasolini does not hesitate to materialize de Sade's story honestly and clearly with some additions. He wrote the script himself, to make it more sinister and influential. The film is packed with rape scenes and scenes of deviant desires; rape by straight or gay sex. In one scene, one of the girls is forced to eat the feces of one of  the four feudal masters amid their happy laughter at her weeping and her trembling hands. In another scene, verily not for anyone's eyes, victims are stripped nude and whipped in an insane way. In most events, victims are shown naked and chained like dogs in a representation of slavery unprecedented in the history of cinema.
Although the film is difficult to accept, it is thought very important by many critics and writers around the world. Its importance lies in its sincerity toward the events that often had taken place in Italy at that time. The depths of European books and scriptures swarm with lots of real stories about human slavery, Nazism, Fascism and the demeaning of man. Europe as we know it now was not born in a meadow of roses, birds and butterflies. These societies were the result of suffering, injustice and contempt of others; of murder and torture. After World War II, European societies got busy developing the spirit of peace and humanity that has evolved rapidly and spread to the whole world.
Watching such stories as in this Pasolini movie makes us pay attention to the important point that the complex human mind can do anything evil imaginable; can always return to its animal origins despite all cultural and moral delusions.
It is one quality of those stories that make you think too much about the essence of man; his psychological make-up and biological structure. Your mind will review all human disasters since ancient times until our recent times when we begin our day by news of murder, slaughter and torture. Racism and hatred, rape, torture and slaughter, these things are not shocking. These are normal biological traits that will continue with the survival of the human kind. Pier Paolo Pasolini, the poet, novelist and filmmaker, wanted us to keep in mind, by watching this movie, that we are the most deadly and evil of all animals on the face of this planet.

The 120 Days of Sodom 1975, Italy
1:52 min, color
(Based on book by same name by the Marquis de Sade)
Genre: Artfilm; horror movie*
Written & Directed by: Pier Paolo Pasolini
Music: Ennio Morricone

The Full movie on YouTube.

* The film was named the 65th scariest film ever made by the Chicago Film Critics Association in 2006.

Monday, 20 October 2014

الجزء الثالث من فصل ١٤، طقس حار، الحسن بكري

في طريق عودتنا، عبرنا المشروع الزراعي من الغرب إلى الشرق.  في ظاهر أبقوتة، صادفنا مفتشا زراعيا إنجليزيا قصير القامة، وحيدا، عالقا، يريد عبور إحدى الترع للحاق بفرسه التي سبحت إلى الضفة الأخرى. حمل المفتش الإنجليزي معه طبنجة، جديدة من الحجم الكبير.  ما أن رآنا قادمين، ثلاثتنا، مرتدفين الناقة حتى، أصيب بفرح غامر.  ناداني، مطبطبا على مسدسه:
- تعال هنا، يا عربي، تعال، سريع، سريع.
جذبت الرسن مميلا سيرنا في اتجاه الإنجليزي.  ما أن وصلناه حتى زجرنا:
- فكنج بلودي فولز!  كيف ثلاثة أنفار يركب جمل واحد؟
- سوري جنابك.  نحن مساكين.  في أونلي ون جمل.
- إنت رحمة ما في.  اليوم راح تشوف.
قال وهو ينظر إلى الناقة، ناحية عضوها التناسلي:
- نزّل جملة، سريع، سريع.
أنخت الناقة فبرّكتها.  أشار بيده قائلا:
- إنت يشوف حصانة أبيض بعيد هناك؟
- أجل أراها.
- إنت لازم يروح يركب حصانة هنا.
تعللت متهرباً:
- جنابك، أنا لا أجيد ركوب الخيل.
- كيف؟  إنت عربي كذاب!
برر كذبي بكذبة بلقاء:
- إنت يركب جملة كبير، لازم يركب حصانة صغير!
أبوك وجدية قهقهتا بمرح.  صاح فيهما:
- أسكت.  ولا كلمة، ولا نفس!
أقلعتا عن القهقهة، لكنهما بدتا سعيدتين بالمأزق الذي أوقعني فيه المفتش.  أبوك، ضاحكة، قالت للخواجة:
- معليش جنابك.  هذا العربي سيذهب لإحضار الحصانة، لكنه لا يجيد الركوب!
قلت لها:
- أنا لا أجيد الركوب؟  يا للجاحدة!
المفتش في لهفته لاستعادة فرسه صاح:
- هس!  روح أقطع ترعة سريع، سريع.
وأضاف بصلف، ممسكا بغليونه بيده اليمنى:
- إنت يروح سريع، سريع أو أنا يخبط راسك بكدوس دا سريع، سريع.
جدية صاحت مبتهجة:
- إسماعيل باشا!
قلت في نفسي إنها مقارنة صائبة وفوق ذلك فهي مفيدة.  الإنجليزي صاح:
- إيش يعني إسمايلاشا؟  مرأة جاهل، ما في مخ.
أبوك وجدية قهقهتا من جديد فصاح بهما:
- أسكت.  ولا كلمة، ولا نفس!
صرت مغتاظا غاية الغيظ.  متمالكا نفسي، اقترحت عليه أن أحمله على كتفيّ عابرا به إلى الضفة الأخرى حيث فرسه.  أمر معتاد أن يطلب إنجليزي من الأهالي حمله عبر برك مياه الأمطار في الخريف.  راقت له الفكرة.  جلست على حافة الترعة فامتطاني، متشبثاً، مؤخرته على عاتقي وفخذاه على كتفيّ، ومتزنراً بطبنجته الجديدة الضخمة.  إنه قصير ونحيف.  رائحة إسته فائحة، فالإنجليز كانوا لا يغسلون مؤخراتهم.  تقدمت به خائضا الترعة.  سمعت أبوك وجدية تقهقهان من جديد.  صاح الانجليزي من فوقي مكررا زجرهما:
- أسكت.  ولا كلمة، ولا نفس!
حر الظهيرة قائظ.  الزراع في بيوتهم يغطون في نومة القيلولة.  سمعت أبوك تصيح:
- المك نمر.
جدية صاحت:
- المك نمر.
بدت الخطة واضحة لنا كلنا من لحظة إن امتطاني الخواجة بمؤخرته المنتنة.  في منتصف الترعة تماما، قد بلغ السيل الزبى، أطيحه في الماء وأمسكه من عنقه، أخنقه ثم أغمر منخريه وأظل مثبتا له تحت السطح فينتفض كفروج ذبيح.  قليلا، قليلا تخفت حركته وتتقطع أنفاسه.  أظل ممسكا به تحت الماء حتى يلقى حتفه.  أنتزع الطبنجة من وسطه وأنادي:
- هيا ولندع هذا الاست يغتسل!
حالا تنتصب الناقة.  أصعد، متسلقا رقبة الدابة، أتخذ مكاني بالحوية وننطلق في رحلتنا شرقا إلى توريلة.

رواية طقس حار – الحسن بكري، الدار العربية للعلوم ناشرون – بيروت2011

اللوحة للفنان راني السماني

Published 2014-10-22 ET 1:38 am

Thursday, 16 October 2014

ابدال، يحيى فضل الله-انجليزي



Original Text by: Yahya Fadlalla
Translated from Arabic by: Mustafa Mudathir
Note: Yamustafa is delighted to inaugurate a section in Arabic for literary and cinematic writings. Guest writers, not ghost writers, are welcome.

It was an evening in Ottawa of unveiling clouds; stripping of copious rain.
She was walking ahead of me. lightly running, I should say.
With a nervousness ascertained to me when she hurled the Pepsi can and then kicked it with her left foot.
The can’s sonorOus rattle on the asphalt resonated well with the beauty in her tension.
I was hiding under my umbrella; a useful trick I had learned lately from watching the weather channels before I left home.
It also was a scheme that while I was hiding under my umbrella, she trotted her tension ahead, indifferent to the falling rain, but soaked up to the extent of vague sexual invocations. Did I say vague sexual invocations?
I had probably envisioned such a wetly beauty while bathing.
She kept bouncing ahead of me; her purse oscillating from her left shoulder to bear the burden of absorbing the harmonic elegance of her graceful tense body in its orchestrated intolerance of any discord. Her hair maintained its chaos in consort with bursts of drizzle that fell on her face as they conspired with the blowing breeze from the opposite direction.
A breeze unlike the one old poets delegated to visit their loved ones on their behalf. We both walked against the rain; apparently to the same destination; the Mackenzie King bus station from which buses were scattered in the four directions of the city.
I decided to abandon it. Was I not a creature of rain? I folded the umbrella to align myself with the bursts of rain; hoping for a unity, even if only when it rained, with the blissful carnival ahead of me.
In the waiting area at the station Mackenzie King, I followed other umbrellas with changing colors as people moved in and out of the Rideau Center.
But I also followed her. She had entered the indoor waiting area before me. When I spotted her, she was shaking her hair left and right and in graceful circles to rid herself of raindrops. She then walked to a dimly lit corner to examine herself in front of a glass wall capable of enduring the entirety of her beautiful body.
The waiting area swarmed with travelers. She moved to the phone hanging on the wall after she relieved the glass wall of her worrisome appearance and of its being a reliable mirror. Red buses were coming and going. People entered and others departed.
She screamed insults at someone on the other side of her conversation. All kinds of modern day obscenities yelled out of her.
She became so mad that she kicked and punched the wall several times. She cursed and yelled. Shouted and cursed. And when her voice got overwhelmed by her crying, she slammed the phone violently and hurled a high-pitched insult to an unknown entity, double-kicked the wall and entered into a sobbing fit. In the middle of her fit and shakes she pulled off her pink shirt declaring wild full-blown breasts over which a sleeveless top was loosely worn. With shaky hands, she wiped tears and rain drops from her face
and collapsed in a sitting position against the wall. Only her tears would reveal her silent crying.
I looked up at a wall clock. Seven thirty six. I shifted to the schedule board, scanning the charts for bus number 97 to South Keys. Luckily, I turned when bus number 84 just came in. I saw her lining up to board it! Instantly I decided to take it. Bus number 84 also went up to South Keys; only it had a lengthy itinerary in South West Ottawa. I had to desert the idea of a quick arrival home and spend some time following her. Now there was only this old lady between us in line. She was holding high a big umbrella with the colors of the Canadian flag. The girl appeared less tense. But a deep moan laced with, apparently, a history of losses; a moan scratched by residual crying; a moan of unlimited pain propelled audibly through her chest and out when she stepped to board the bus.
The old lady insisted on keeping her umbrella unfolded until she was seated by the bus driver when I noticed that the girl had tied her shirt around her waist. Down her neck and further down to the wet sleeveless top, raindrops slid from locks of her disheveled hair.
I noticed I was also wet. I was following her as wet as could be. I used my umbrella as a walking stick; held it in my right hand and did not think of any purpose, other than a walking aid, for it! I might have been trying to ward off a suspicion of failure to appreciate beauty or simply trying to preserve a relation with the rain! I might have had to know how beauty related to adversity.
Why was she so miserable to the extent of blatant disintegration that conveyed only to tears and confusion.
She sat on the last seat in the front section of the bus. I sat on the first seat in the rear section which offered a look from above because the rear part was three steps higher. I was above but close enough to see tears in those green eyes.
In fact it was my first encounter with tears that belonged to green eyes! She wept in silence.
From my seat, I could see her facial features registering various emotions. Tears flooded her eyes and slid down her carefully carved nose descending on her lips. Of course, I never failed to follow the receding raindrops from the tufts of her hair.
Of all the passengers, a mix of ethnicities and skin colors, and despite the clatter, I could hear that moan coming from a terrible disaster. A moan allied to the rain that washed the city in that evening in Spring. A rain so inciting to a night unrestrained.
Only me could hear her. She did not seem to bother about her free-flowing tears.
I did not lose interest in following her from a distance so close; from an obvious yet a hidden place. I thought about ‘what if she has to disembark in the next or any of the stops before South Keys’. Should I follow her?
Flipping through some possibilities, I came to realize I was totally biased to the idea of a ‘loosening up’ as a unique feature of Saturday nights! A deep and distinct moan
of a sorrow-revealing nature, brought my mind back with a startle.She had nervously opened her purse.
With trembling fingers, she took out a photo album. I shifted my body to a ‘ready mode’ that would enable me to see the photos in the album which she suddenly decided to keep in her lap for a while. She, then took a deep breath and leaked a dispossessed sigh. She opened her purse again and took out an average-sized envelope.
When she opened the album again, I could see two photos on its first page. She and a young man whose hair was dyed a metallic blue. The second photo showed her with the same young man but in a more intimate, close to a kissing pose. Suddenly, she tore the first photo from the album and reduced it to pieces with her face abuzz with pain.
She took out the next photo, tore it and stuffed its pieces in her purse. Opening the envelope, she took out a bunch of photos, chose one and placed it on the rectangular space previously occupied by the first picture she had destroyed. This new photo was for her with a dog.
The substitution was carried out with a clear expression of vengeance on her teary face. She took a different photo from the envelope and stuck it in place of the second photo she had destroyed. The dog in this new photo seemed to have just finished kissing her on the cheek. It was a somewhat black and brown German Shepherd with smart eyes.
It was raining heavily now. I realized I wasn’t paying attention to the bus stops.
She repeated this act of pulling out pictures, shredding them and stuffing her purse with shredded remains of photos. She did it with changing emotional expressions on her face. From my seat, my place above but close, I could see that she destroyed all photos that had that guy in them and replaced them with photos of a different friend.
More than ten photos in different places, fashions and poses were substituted. I noticed that the Canadian Parliament building, destroyed in the first photo, was replaced with one that showed the Parliament in which the dog stood in an erect position with his front feet rested on her breasts. Although many places did not survive destruction, other new buildings appeared on the dog’s photos.
Just before the bus reached South Keys, she looked somewhat relaxed and quiet. She noticed her tears, untied the pink shirt from around her waist and wiped her face. I could still see a shade of sadness looming on her beautiful face.
At South Keys, bursts of rain were still identifying that Saturday night with an inherent call for non-restraint. She disembarked, offering her slender body to the sting of raindrops. I left the bus behind her, as a follower.
I did not unfold my umbrella but sought refuge in one of those red kiosks. She stood for the rain to wash her and take full advantage of her shapeliness.
Before taking number 142 to Feather Lane, where I lived, I saw her walk to a litter box. She opened her purse, took out the shredded photos and threw them in the litter box.
She did this with what I sensed was like the most beautiful of all the tensions I had seen her in.

And while I was feeling my steps onto bus number 142, I saw her light a cigarette and take a deep breath. Then I saw her shake her hair to free it from the bursts of rain, but to no avail.

Thursday, 9 October 2014

MCR: Caution, Powerful Emotions Ahead!

Mazin Elsadig's WELCOME BACK!

This forty nine minutes semi-biopic documentary Welcome Back follows a Canadian activist on his first visit to his original homeland Sudan after 21 years of exile. It is a warm tribute from Mazin Elsadig (of Degrassi-Next Generation), the filmmaker to his own father. A truly emotional and loving account of how the father's journey back home reveals the continued and mutually felt sense of belonging to the people in that part of Africa, who retain their yearnings and hopeful expectations for their loved ones "till death do them part"!

The Country That Hates Me, Awaits Me!
The massive reception of an ordinary person (who is actually not so ordinary as the film reveals at some points) is one representation of the moral codes of a society still based on the extended form of family.
The movie is narrated in a happy way in chapters: Travel, arrival and back to Canada . From the outset the call for prayer azzan on a background of African drums places the viewer into the cultural mood. This is then augmented by one of Sudan's favorite singers on the Oud (lute) instrument, Mohamed Elamin. A sure source of nostalgia aided by good cinematography.
Upon arrival, everyone is excited and the scenes of hugs, outbursts and festivities are so grasping. To all this, good African music is set as a backdrop, especially the meeting at Rabak town from where the visitor and his companions would cross the White Nile to his island of birth, Aba Island. It is imperative when telling about a political activist, which is the other descriptive of the visitor, to endure some political history and therefore listen to some recitations and musings from important political analysts, oh! and also from the visitor himself, bearing in mind that it is a film on him. But don't panic! The movie maker would intervene in due time and some heartily beaten drums will have you stamping the floor.
The movie is really fun to watch particularly by those who disbelieve stories about their dads' homeland told mostly by their moms. It is actually not about absence and return. It's about how this is equaled in tears, drums and well-deserved feasts.

Movie Specs

"Welcome Back" 2011, 49 min.
Color, Dolby Digital.
Genre: documentary Drama/family/history.
Countries: Canada, Sudan and Spain.
Production: By Any Means Necessary(BAMNFILMS).*
Cast: Elfadil Elhashimi, family and extended family.
Editing & Cinematography: Mazin Elsadig.
Music: Patric McGroarty.
Directed by: Mazin Elsadig.

Note On The Movie Maker

"Mazin Elfadil Elsadig (born September 2, 1987 in Cookesville, Illinois) is an American actor who portrayed Damian Hayes on Degrassi: The Next Generation, guest starring in season 6 and being added to the opening credits in season 7. Besides Degrassi, Mazin has appeared in the Disney Channel Original Movie, Jump In!, along with fellow Degrassi actors Paula Brancati and Jajube Mandiela. He is also known for the Canadian TV show Stoked as the voice of Broseph." courtesy Wiki. Also read on Mazin in these two links:
Mazin on IMDb
Mazin on Degrassi Wiki

* By Any Means Necessary is not a phrase to pass by without a note. It was originally used by French philosopher and playwright Jean Paul Sartre in his play Dirty Hands and was translated to English as follows: "I was not the one to invent lies: they were created in a society divided by class and each of us inherited lies when we were born. It is not by refusing to lie that we will abolish lies: it is by eradicating class by any means necessary." 
But the phrase was entered into American pop culture by Malcolm X in his last speech in 1965 and was highlighted by Spike Lee in his depiction of Malcolm X in his 1992 movie. The term is now perpetuated by Mazin and Co. and hopefully will snowball into in-depth representations of reality.

Saturday, 27 September 2014

مقطع من (هاجس السأم)، أسامة الخواض

دعونا ننسِّق هذا الفضاء،
بلا نظرٍ مُسْبقٍ في النصوصِ،
نحاول ما حاولته الشعوب 
الحديثة من نظرٍ فاحصٍ 
في كتاب الطبيعةِ،
لا تشترونا بتلك الوعود،
ولا تجرفوا يأسنا من حقول الأماني،
ولا ترجمونا بهذي الحروف العتيقةِ،
إنّا سئمنا نصوص الجدودِ،
سئمنا وعود الجدودِ،
دعونا نشاكس أجدادنا،
فسنرمقهم إن أصابوا بعين الرضا،
و نعلِّقهم من سراويل أوهامهم،
بحبال المتاحف،
إنْ أخطأوا،

دعونا لخبْرتنا الأنثوية في الجمْع بين الطبيعةِ،
لا توغلوا في الوراء الضبابيِّ،
سوف نصلِّبكم في جذوع الهجاء،
لكم دينكمْ،
والجدال العقيمْ

لكم دينكمْ،
و "عفا الله عمَّا سلفْ"

ولنا ديننا،
والنهار بألوانه الدافئةْ

اللوحة من أعمال الفنان راني السماني

Published 2014-10-18, 8:20 pm.

Friday, 26 September 2014

حجر، نبلة وراحة بال، راني السماني

**راني السماني
حَجَرْ ونِبْلَةْ
عَشِيقْ وحَبِيْبَةْ

طِفِلْ و أُسْرَةْ..
عَالَمْ مِنْ الألَمِ الْوِرَاثِيِّ).

ومِنْ بَيْنَ تِفَاصِيلِ هَذَا الْحُزْنِ)
انْشَرَّا الشَّر
الألَمْ جَاكْ

انْفَقَشْ الضَّوْ فِي وِشْ الضَّلْمَةْ
والنَّيلْ أصْبَحْ مَشِيْهُوْ عَدِيلْ
فَاضَ الْخَاطِرْ فَائِضْ قِيمَةْ
وطَارْ حَمَامُوْ يِتْرَجَّاكْ
رَكَّ الْحَنِينْ عَصْفُورْ

عَصْفُورْ فَتْرَانْ فِي جُوَّاكْ
فَتَّشْ فَنَّكْ
و أَمَلْ شَارِدْ
مُشُطْ وَقَصِيْدَةْ

تِتْبَسَّمْ لِيكْ فِي خَجْلَةْ
وإنْتَ تَمَشَّطْ فِي جُوَّاهَا الزُّولْ
حَنِيْنُوْ يَحَنِّنْ
تَفَاصِيلَ النَّحِيبْ
الانْكَشْحْ هناك
ضَفِيرَةْ غَلِيْدَةْ

ضَفِيْرَةْ سَمِيْنَةْ
تَقَرِّيِفْ صَمْتَكْ
بِي رُوحْ الرِّيدْ
وإحْسَاسُ مَقَهْوَجْ
يَطَايْبَكْ جُوَّا زُقَاقَاتْ جُوْفَكْ

دَونْ مَا زِيفْ

يِنْكَشِحْ الْلُّونْ
فِي بِيْتكُمْ حوش
أطْفَالْ و فَرَاشْ
أحْلامْ جَايَّةْ
بِتْعْرِفْ كِيفْ
تَرَتِّبْ تَفَاصِيلَ النِّقَاشْ
تِيْترُا سَايِكِلِينْ
حَقْنَةْ وبَنْسَلِينْ
كَلامْ دُقَاقْ و سماح وَهَّاجْ
يَخَلِّي الْقِيفْ يِنْحَازْ
يَمْرُقْ صَبَاحْ مُرْتَاحْ
وفي الطَّمِي النَّايمْ بِيْ مَزَاجْ جُوَّاكْ
تَنْبُتْ سَنَابِلْ الرُّوحْ
قَبْضَة رِيحَانْ

يَجِيكْ الْفَرَحْ بَاسِمْ
أحْلامْ قَمَرْ حَفْيَانْ
يَنْزِلْ مَعَ الْمَطَرَةْ
اصبع ودبله
امال وردية
وشَوَارِعْ وَرْدَةْ
تَبَشِّرْ إيدْ وُجَدَانْكُمْ زِينْ
وتَفِيْضْ جُوَّاكُمْ وَمْضَة شُوقْ
لِي رِيحَةَ الْبَحَرْ الفايحة عَبِيرْ
تَبِلُّوْا الشُّوفْ بِي حَضْنَةْ وشُوقْ
تَشِدُّوْ الْحِيلْ
(َتَنَقِّدُو)* بَعَضْ
وتَلْدُوْ بِنَيَّةْ شَفِيْفَةْ بِشَكلْ!
تَدَّفِي الْجَرِحْ النَّازِفْ فِيْكْ
وتَعْلِنْ عُمْقَكْ لِلْبَاقِينِ
تَبْقَى حَبِيبَةْ تَحِبَّكْ يَاخْ
وتَرَبُّوْ أوْلادْكُمْ سُتْرَة حَالْ

يَبْقَى الإحْسْاسْ الْبِينْكُمْ كَانْ
مَزَاجْ عَالي
رِسَالَة حُبْ
ورَاحَة بَالْ
راني السماني
١٥ اكتوبر ٢٠١٤

*(َتَنَقِّدُو): نَقَدَ الطَّائِرُ الْحَبَّ : لَقَطَهُ بِمِنْقَارِهِ حَبَّةً حَبَّةً نَقَدَ الدِّيكُ ثُمَّ رَفَعَ رَأْسَهُ وَهُوَ يَحْفِرُ الأرْضَ بِمِخْلَبِهِ.

** راني السماني، تشكيلي وشاعر سوداني.

Publishing date: 10-18-14