Under Deconstruction!

So, here I am joining the virtual world by starting my own blog. The information that you see on the right side of the page “About” and “About me” might provoke “too” much “politics”. I do not know how “much” is “too much”, but lets call it explicit obsession with justice, politics, inequality and so on. Although it is very fashionable in the world of today and the modern age of Empire [precisely U.S] to be political, it is also very necessary. Yet, since power, violence or policing, as we were told, exists everywhere and since such aspects rule our lives, we can not but resist. For some people, only by existing they are resisting, like the case of Palestinians in Palestine (which I will elaborate on in the further postings) who suffer constant displacements, lack of nutrition, lack of access to education, health or movement, and endless efforts by the Israeli state to transfer. Others resist by campaigning for a cause in their own countries, like Kefaya in Egypt (for freedom and –real- democracy, for a change) or like RAWA, an Afghani feminist organization resisting multiple oppressions from Taliban, patriarchy to U.S colonization, or lastly Aswat a Palestinian queer women group who fight racism, sexism, and an apartheid state. And others resist individually, electronically (like electronicintifada), through art, or through small scale community or work.
So resistance is inevitable. It might sound as if I am talking mottos or slogans but I hope this blog will be a space where such issues be dealt with deeply and most importantly a space of deconstruction, where "things" are never taken for granted.
But since I am obsessed with poetry, precisely romantic Arabic poetry [Ghazal], let me start by a poem I wrote that reveals my inner -if you mind- illusionary poet. The poem was originally written in English refereing to the Apartheid wall that is being built in Israel since 2003:

Memories of the Wall
5 September 2005


Memories of smells scattered in my body
Remind me of how once
I used to walk near a wall.
The wall was high cutting
Myself from myself.
Cutting myself from my other.

Memories of scenes fragmented in me
Of how the wall was built
You were telling me to look
And I was engaged in fighting
Nothingness in a political geography

You told me that the great wall
Is that inside me, is inside you
But me, I was demonstrating
Screaming, throwing myself
As a stone of anger on the wall
All myself to that monstrous wall.

Memories of voices echo inside me
Violently of the crash of that
Stone hitting the earth helplessly
Tearing my virginity to small
Pieces of black blood on the wall.

I lost myself
When the wall was erected,
Leaving me with memories of
How heavenly it used to be before.