But I Am Not Made of Clay

A poetry collection that declares, from its very title, a quiet rebellion: a refusal to let the self be reduced to its material, and an insistence that there is in the human being something that overflows the dust from which it was formed. These poems write of body and soul, of earth and idea, of a self that knows its own fragility yet declines to be equated with clay.

In a language stretched between philosophical meditation and longing, the texts move between the private and the shared — between an individual life and a collective wound. There is in this book a voice that resists dissolution, and that searches within the word for proof that a person is more than a passing handful of earth.

They said: you are made of clay. I said: then the light within me — where did it come from?

The book is written in Arabic; this page presents it for English readers.