Magazine of the Pen's Tear

To you, the reader who resembles no one but yourself,

There are moments not measured by time, but by the tremor they leave within us...
And this seventeenth issue of Tears of the Pen is one of those moments.

We publish not to celebrate fresh paper, but to affirm that writing is still capable of siding with humanity—especially when everything else is up for sale.
We write, not because we are masters of ink, but because we fear silence as much as consciousness fears betrayal.
And because May is no innocent month, but a tear-stained mirror of memory, blurred by the hand of forgetfulness.

We are not announcing the release of a new issue;
We are proclaiming the continuation of a silent resistance—etched in words,
A glowing ember that refuses to fade in the heart of time.

We publish because we do not believe literature is decoration.
We believe it is a form of unknown prophecy,
A voice echoing in the wilderness when meaning falls, one by one, from the mouths of politicians.

Dear reader,
As you hold this issue, do not search for certainty. Do not look for closure.
We did not write to please, but to shake.
To shatter the mirrors of deceit, to rouse memory from its long sleep.

Tears of the Pen is not merely a magazine.
It is a written protest against a world that excels in sculpting ugliness.
It is a final clinging to the poetic, in a time when values fall like withered leaves.
It is a soft rebellion—like a letter screaming into the silence, or a conscience igniting in canned shadows.

In this issue, we were not just writers.
We were creatures fleeing extinction through words.
We were guardians of light in corridors no one dared to walk.
We wrote to live, not to be admired...
To provoke, not to be applauded...
To become witnesses, not followers.

O you who come from the quiet of reading,
Read us as one reads a prayer written in shards,
Or a testament engraved beneath the skin of memory.

Do not ask about the point of a magazine called Tears of the Pen...
Instead, ask: What remains of a human being, if nothing remains but the word?

This is the seventeenth issue...
Written for you, so you do not wither with the world.
Written about you, because you are the ink that refuses to become water.

So enter it...
As lovers enter a legend yet to be told.
And lose yourself in it,
As poetry enters its open wound—and never returns.

With regards,
The Editorial Team
Tears of the Pen

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Read online through the following link.

https://online.fliphtml5.com/uczyba/zbmh/#p=1

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Attachments:

مجلة دمع القلم .. عدد 17 آيار

[مجلة دمع القلم .. عدد 17 آيار]