In the presence of poetry—where meaning is born from the ashes of words, and where letters ignite the fuse of existence—this collection emerges: Hell of Hope.
It is not a fleeting title nor a metaphor tossed by chance, but rather a cry where fire and dew alternate, where the disappointment of history embraces the passion of a human who refuses surrender.
Hell of Hope is the reflection of a soul cast into the furnace of great questions, into the furnace of loss and betrayal, only to return clinging to a single thread of light—a thread like a red sail cutting through the sea at sunset. Here, hope is no serene oasis, but a blazing inferno: it wounds as much as it gives life, it burns as much as it opens windows to tomorrow, reminding us that nothing is born of stillness, but of flames that collide with the wind.
This book is not merely a collection of poems; it is the journey of a poet who embraces both earth and sky at once, holding in his hands the ashes of cigarettes and the fragments of a dream, striving to reshape the world through verse. Each line bleeds, each word is a fire, each image a garden of ash from which the grass of longing grows.
Here ink meets blood, exile embraces homeland, and poetry becomes an unbreakable sword, an unfading lantern, and a flame guarding the memory of the soil. From within these pages rises the poet’s voice declaring: the homeland will not die while there are those who sing for it, history will not fade while there are those who record it in verse, and hope will not be slain while there are those who guard it with tears and fire.
Hell of Hope is the testimony of a poet who lived on the edge of night and insisted on writing dawn from his letters. It is an existential plea against nothingness, and an enduring confession that poetry is neither luxury nor ornament, but the weapon of the weak, the refuge of the exiled, the memory of the oppressed, and also the final promise that tomorrow will be born no matter how ruined the present may be.
It is a collection that converses with wounds and stars, with dreams and gallows, with homeland and exile, rewriting the untold story. In every poem there breathes a long, burning, pulsing voice, reminding us that poetry is not lived in ivory towers but in dark alleys, in cafés filled with the scent of smoke, and in the cries of migrating birds searching for anunbroken branch
Enter this collection as a lover enters an unknown forest—with fear and desire, with trembling and wonder.
Read these poems as though they were the final testament of a poet fighting with words.
Between its pages you will find clusters of sorrow hanging from the ceiling of night, wings of hope breaking and rising to soar again, death igniting life, and an inferno giving birth to spring.
This is Hell of Hope:
A poem that cannot be extinguished,
A voice that will not vanish,
A homeland that cannot be erased from the memory of poetry.
—Dr. Adnan Bouzan
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