agelesslibrary

[agelesslibrary]

✨A Voice From Gaza Needs Your Attention ✨🙏🍉

✅ Vetted by @savefami -vetted link

✅ Vetted by @happaliff vetted link

Please help in vetting @90-ghost @gazavetters

We don't even know anymore. Khaled, my little one, has started pronouncing the word "bombing," and it terrifies me.

I’m not here to beg or list every detail—because even an entire newspaper wouldn’t be enough. The images on TV screens and the stories you see online already tell you so much about what we endure. But no matter how much you see, you’ll never truly feel what we feel. And I wouldn’t wish this life on anyone.

How You Can Help🥺🙏

In this moment of despair, I reach out to you—not just as a stranger, but as a fellow human being. Our humanity connects us, and compassion knows no boundaries. Your kindness, no matter how small, can bring a glimmer of hope to our lives, shattered by war.

Here’s what we’re trying to rebuild:

💔 $5,000 for the father.

💔 $5,000 for the mother.

💔 $2,500 for Khaled.

💔 $2,500 for Intesar.

The rest will go toward essential living expenses—because there’s no safety net here, no hospitals, no medicine, no healthy food.

Our baby has been sick countless times, and every evacuation has only made things worse. We need help to survive, to heal, and to dream of a better tomorrow.

Even a Little Means Everything

We appreciate your help, even if it’s just a small donation or simply sharing our story. Every bit of support matters. Together, we can rebuild what’s been taken from us and find hope amidst the rubble.

My Donation link here👇👇

[agelesslibrary]

You know how to love someone, but you don't know how to believe that someone loves you, and that is your tragedy.

[agelesslibrary]

[agelesslibrary]

This feeling of never being able to love

Melancholia fits my frame like a glove

Why should I call it loneliness when it feels like a release?

From the burden of trying to be the best for their mental peace

Confessions like these prevent the words from ever seeing the light

Do I write to convince or am I convinced to write?

By the shunned part of my being that has now become a stranger

She swears on being harmless while seeing everything as a danger

How I hate her for always being around

But how I love her for always standing her ground.

— agelesslibrary

[agelesslibrary]

#darkacademia

As the ink flows from my pen, I am but a vessel for the melancholy that consumes my soul.

— agelesslibrary

[agelesslibrary]

As the ink flows from my pen, I am but a vessel for the melancholy that consumes my soul.

— agelesslibrary

[agelesslibrary]

[agelesslibrary]

This was posted 8 minutes ago

[agelesslibrary]

Like clockwork

[agelesslibrary]

[agelesslibrary]

[agelesslibrary]

In the quiet corners of my mind, there’s a secret place where time stands still. Abandoned castles overlook vibrant gardens, and rivers run clear as crystal. Here, I reside—a solitary cottage, my sanctuary, where I devour the words of Dostoyevsky and pen verses about the dreams that visit me at night. These dreams paint the life of a girl, my counterpart, whose existence mirrors yet opposes my own. I drift into her world, where she, like me, finds solace in books—not for the love of stories but as a refuge from her reality, a world that is unkind and relentless. Although surrounded by the constant hum of people, she seeks not their company but the distraction they offer from the echoes of her own thoughts. Her diary, a vault of penned emotions, traps memories not to relive but to encage. Each entry locks away a piece of her life, transforming recollections into distant stories—observed but no longer felt. She often murmurs apologies, too many and too frequent, as though she bears the burden of her very existence. Her life oscillates between torrents of words and profound silences—her voice either a flood or a drought. Though she lives when I dream, and dreams when I live, in our moments of sleep, our worlds overlap, meeting in a dreamland where the lines between reality and imagination blur. I wander through the maze of her mind, an unseen companion. We meet in the quietest corners of her thoughts, places so deep within her that she convinces herself I'm just a figment of imagination. A thin veil of doubt separates us; she can't see or feel me as I do her, and I often wake with a tear slipping down my cheek, grieving the distance between her disbelief and my existence. Unseen and unbelieved, I can only weep quietly for her sorrows under the silent watch of the stars.

[agelesslibrary]

Basem Al-Khandaqji, a Palestinian prisoner in Israeli jail, has won the International Prize for Arabic Fiction for his book, "A Mask, the Color of the Sky," which is about a Palestinian who takes on an Israeli’s identity.

He was unable to recieve the Prize as he was jailed for three life sentences from back in 2004. The person who recieved the reward on his behalf says Khandaqji smuggled the book out of jail page by page so as to avoid the suspicion of Israeli jailers.

The book is about a Palestinian archeologist who assumes an Israeli's identity after finding the Israeli's identity card in an old coat. Nur, the Palestinian, becomes the Jewish Israeli "Ur," and he travels through society to explore his occupiers way of life.

Israel has refused to allow Al-Khandaqji the cash prize, as they claim payment for terrorists is forbidden. However, the fact that Basem won this prize, which is called the "Arabic Booker" is outstanding in itself, considering the lengths he went through to write and publish the book.

This book is a testament to Palestinian resistance and art, showing the lengths Palestinians go through to make their voices heard, and the excellence of their crafts.

https://english.wafa.ps/Pages/Details/143583

[agelesslibrary]

One minute my body is on fire, fuelled by all the love in my heart

A switch flips and there I am, cursing the day I promised to play the part

Claiming that I'm proud would surely be a sin

One minute I flow like honey, pouring away the secrets I had forever concealed

The next season makes me numb, and I feel as though this sting can never be healed

Knowing all my stories end the same makes it hard to begin

One minute your voice seems to bandage the fractures unseen

The next moment you can see in my eyes that we've got miles in between

Suddenly the butterflies turn into spiders crawling up my skin

[agelesslibrary]

This feeling of never being able to love

Melancholia fits my frame like a glove

Why should I call it loneliness when it feels like a release?

From the burden of trying to be the best for their mental peace

Confessions like these prevent the words from ever seeing the light

Do I write to convince or am I convinced to write?

By the shunned part of my being that has now become a stranger

She swears on being harmless while seeing everything as a danger

How I hate her for always being around

But how I love her for always standing her ground.

— agelesslibrary

[agelesslibrary]

Ready to react, his hands are blue

Infinite ideas, the words are few

So much to plan, nothing to pursue

The room looks mesmerizing with moonlight shining through

Are you magnanimous enough to see beyond the mess?

Would you blur the hands to focus on what they are trying to express?

Would the chaos beneath, make you admire the surface any less?

If he can't get a hold of his life, he'll get a hold of his pen

If he manages to hide his scars, he will manage to pretend they don't exist every now and then.

If he can't find her warmth, he will slip under the covers

If he can't cry for himself, he will start crying over the centuries old star crossed lovers.

If he can't devise a solution to the problem, he will devise a verse

If the hurt is not harrowing enough, he will wangle to make it worse

If he cannot be the person that everyone adores, he will play his part

If no one else is willing to, he will gladly break his own heart.

—agelesslibrary

[agelesslibrary]

So many lives to live within this one, it's hard to choose what I want

Peaceful nights are not so peaceful when the choices you never made come to haunt

I wish the love was as pretty as the words you used to flaunt

Yet in the echoes of silence, their absence does daunt.

— agelesslibrary