Potential Titles: Yousif M. Qasmiyeh

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Like a well to the lost - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "At the feast of asylum"

In silence, we foretell the end - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "At the feast of asylum"

Who stayed behind to count the void that is - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "The bomb shelter"

Only dust departs and remains at once - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "The bomb shelter"

Carved its past out of God's shoulder - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "The bomb shelter"

With an empty bullet for decoration - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "The bomb shelter"

An escape route for stagnant intentions - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "The bomb shelter"

Where we swapped faces in haste - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "The bomb shelter"

Bartered hands to caress time - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "The camp -- is it possible?"

As pronounced by the sleeping and the mad - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "The camp -- is it possible?"

We planted ourselves next to their scarecrows - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "The camp -- is it possible?"

The parchment for the afterlife - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "The camp -- is it possible?"

Ravenously gnawing at their shadows - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "The camp -- is it possible?"

What accompanies us to the unpredictable - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "The camp is the reject of the reject par excellence"

Time gives birth to nothing - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "The camp is time"

Failed to preserve what I have inherited - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "Contamination"

That questions are inherent within the answers - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "Foreigners"

That answers very often comprise their questions - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "Foreigners"

Questions which no answers can address - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "Foreigners"

With the ghosts of the before and the after - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "Function of inhabiting"

Walking alongside his shadow - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "If this is my face, so be it"

Who needed to cross the border - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "If this is my face, so be it"

Act as an alibi to existence - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "If this is my face, so be it"

So invite them over to our death - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "In arrival, feet flutter like dying birds"

Time died so that it could return home - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "In arrival, feet flutter like dying birds"

No time to lament the superfluous - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "An infinite outing; or the cemetery"

We leave our intentions in the distance - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "An infinite outing; or the cemetery"

To capture time on its deathbed - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "An infinite outing; or the cemetery"

Life dwells in the neck of the future - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "An infinite outing; or the cemetery"

Once stole from underneath my mother's dream - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "Is it distance or is it a far god?"

A loss in the shape of a language - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "Is it distance or is it a far god?"

Possesses the perpetuity of nothing - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "Is it distance or is it a far god?"

A journey of feet made of water - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "Is it distance or is it a far god?"

A river of tales fenced in by the dead's texts - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "Is it distance or is it a far god?"

Separated by air and the narrowest of voids - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "It is a camp despite the name"

But the echo was always hers - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "My mother the philosopher"

Surrounds its limbs with spears - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "Necessarily, the camp is the border"

Instead of wheat they grind their memories - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "Necessarily, the camp is the border"

To count the eyes of which we dream - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "Necessarily, the camp is the border"

We store our dialects in broken hearts - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "Necessarily, the camp is the border"

To mark the occasion of coming back - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "Non-arrival"

We write it on parchments of time evermore - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "Refugees are dialectical beings"

Killed my father to steal the name - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "A soliloquy before time"

To sail towards the wildest of screams and never return - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "A soliloquy before time"

The silent hand on my shoulder - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "A soliloquy before time"

My eyes trespassing in every void and flesh - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "A soliloquy before time"

Time in the superfluity of tenses - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "There it is: the camp that is yet to be born"

That has no name but forever exists - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "There it is: the camp that is yet to be born"

Sipping from the same dry well - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "There it is: the camp that is yet to be born"

Sacrificed at the builder's doorstep - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "Threshold"

To baptise the feet of the descending crowds - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "Threshold"

Delve deeply into the corridors of the sudden - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "Threshold"

A fistful of absence suffices - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "The throne"

Things they see with their eyes shut - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "Time"

They walk on a thread of dust or water - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "Time"

So as not to forget their intentions in the air - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "Time"

Urns of fresh metal and time - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "Time"

Wreathed by the sun's orbits - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "Time"

To write their return to nothing from nothing - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "Time"

From dusty borders and crushed wheat - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "Time"

Escaping greyness and air - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "What remains of the camp when the name dies?"

Wrinkled memories tucked away - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "What remains of the camp when the name dies?"

Both acts betray silence - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "What remains of the camp when the name dies?"

Rummage in the ash in search of sound - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "What remains of the camp when the name dies?"

Leave it in your place and depart - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "What remains of the camp when the name dies?"

Forgot that my tears are for me alone - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "What remains of the camp when the name dies?"

They wedded each other at sunset - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "What remains of the camp when the name dies?"

See beyond our feet and their shadow - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "What remains of the camp when the name dies?"

Fleeing women nearing the abyss - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "What remains of the camp when the name dies?"

Red soil to nurture escaping blessings in dryness - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "With a third eye, I see the catastrophe"

Infinite gratitude to death's eloquence - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "With a third eye, I see the catastrophe"

Awake to see with the eyes of dust - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "With a third eye, I see the catastrophe"

Bespoke mirrors for our escaping faces - Yousif M. Qasmiyeh "With a third eye, I see the catastrophe"


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