By Dr. Adnan Bouzan
Evening descended upon the city like a heavy shadow of absence. The people’s breaths hung from the windows like weary dreams, and…
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Martyrs of the Word: The Kurdish Writer Is Only Honored After Death
By Dr. Adnan Bozan Why? Why are we a people who do not love those who write for us while they are still alive? Why do we leave our intellectuals...
By Dr. Adnan Bouzan
Pain alone—when it ignites deep within—resembles nothing that can be said.
It needs no voice to reveal itself;
it is enough for i…
By Dr. Adnan Bouzan
As if life, when it was born, did not weep in vain — its first cry was a declaration of presence against the face of nothingness,…
By Dr. Adnan Bouzan
My friend…
I no longer know where my body ends and where this homeland hidden in my veins begins; it has become like my shadow, p…
By Dr. Adnan Bouzan
O woman, not made of clay alone, but of the secrets of clouds and the dew of dawn, a poem that walks on two feet and hides in its…
The Kobani Exodus: When We Left the Land but the Homeland Remained Within Us
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By Dr. Adnan Bouzan
On this very day, September 19, 2014, the morning of Kobani was not an ordinary one.
The sun we had always known as warm and gent…
By: Dr. Adnan Bozan
On the margin of the world, where night grows small and hope stretches long, we walk — two lights cramped in the pocket of darkne…
By Dr. Adnan Bouzan
O human being—
O bearer of many faces and of stories hidden behind your eyes.
I write to you a letter that seeks not ready-made a…
By: Dr. Adnan Bouzan
When the pen aches, and the letters bow as the branches of a tree bow beneath a storm that left behind nothing but an echo of si…
By: Dr. Adnan Bozan
When the donkey rises carrying the pen, letters turn into shackles that bind minds, and papers into empty mosques where only igno…
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