( ترك عطره .. )
( ترك عطره .. )
بقلم الشاعرة الليبية د.ثريا خيري القهواجي
ترك عطره يتنافس مع من يسبق انفاسي ..
وتلك الرجفة ظلت تستعطف الأحلام لعله يعيد أجمل أحلامي..
اتكأت برأسي على حافة ذكرياتي
هلعت فقط مسح كل الماضي ..
سرق خوفي
عبث بحروف شعري
اسدل ستار الحنان فوقي
وجعل الأمان يسكن قوقعتي
جرف الأمي..
ابتلع آخر قطرات اليأس والأمل أهداني
كيف السبيل للقياه من يذلني
أعيد بهدوء ترتيب حساباتي
لهفة وجنون عينيه تدعوني
اهز رأسي لعل طيفه يغادرني
أجده بكل دروبي
حنانه كم هز أغصان عمري
فجعل الدمع لايجف من عيني
(أزف إليك الخبر )
(He left his scent..)
(By the Libyan poet Dr. Thuraya Khairy Al-Qahwaji. Ambassador of International Peace, Culture, Arts, Literature, and the Pen. Zliten, Libya)
..
He left his scent competing with those who outstrip my breath..
And that tremor kept begging for dreams, hoping he would bring back my most beautiful dreams..
I leaned my head on the edge of my memories.
I panicked, just erasing all the past..
He stole my fear.
He toyed with the letters of my poetry.
He drew the curtain of tenderness over me.
And made safety reside within my shell.
The shore of illiteracy..
He swallowed the last drops of despair and hope.
How can I meet the one who humiliates me?
I calmly rearrange my calculations.
The eagerness and madness of his eyes call me.
I shake my head, hoping his ghost will leave me.
I find him in all my paths.
His tenderness, how it shook the branches of my life.
And made the tears never dry from my eyes.
(I bring you the news.)
(By my pen, Dr. Thuraya Khairy) Coffee maker. Zliten. Libya)
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The Libyan Reggae Band That Ghosted the Internet
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Their collective passion for creating something bigger than themselves fueled the early days of White Bird. It wasn't until 1990 that they officially began their musical journey, after years of working and growing together. "In 1993, we released our first album, which was our true beginning," they explained. And the name White Bird? It's not just a name; it's a symbol of everything they stand for. 'The white bird represents peace,' they said, 'It's the dove, the olive branch, the message of spreading hope and love.' That sentiment runs through everything they do, and it's clear their music is their way of passing on that message. For White Bird, reggae isn't just a genre; it's a way of life. 'Reggae spoke to us in a way no other music could,' they shared. "It expressed everything we wanted to say about freedom, justice, and peace." The reggae beat resonated with them, not only because of the rhythm but also because of its deep connection to their African roots. 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It was a reminder that music, at its core, is organic, unpredictable, and full of life. As they talked about the instruments that mean the most to them, their passion for music was evident. 'We can't pick just one,' they laughed. 'Each instrument adds something special.' To them, every instrument plays a crucial role in creating a song that feels whole. Whether it's the rhythm section that keeps things grounded, the strings that bring emotion, or the wind instruments that add layers of depth, everything works together to tell a story. I was so moved as the band reminisced about their early recordings on cassette tapes, which became an integral part of Libyan culture. "We used to hear our music in taxis, in buses," they said. 'It was everywhere. People connected with it in ways we didn't even imagine.' Those tapes were an important part of their legacy, and as they've planned to digitize their old work, they've made sure that their music continues to live on. 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Al-Kenana
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( قصة السلام…. )
( قصة السلام…. ) بقلم الأديبة الليبية د.ثريا خيري القهواجي رسائلي المهترئة في جيبي إنزلقت أناملى لتخرج بحفنة من أوراق شبه ممزق بعضها . رغم الدموع الحمراء بعيني. ارتسمت بعض الكلمات البلهاء التي سطرها ذات يوم قلمي … السلام ….. نحتاج لمرسى الأمان ….. زغاريد وهتافات …ودمار وحطام … آآآه ياموطني تعثرت خطواتي فلم تكن الحجارة ملقاة بالطريق فقط هناك أشلاء وحطام ودمار وصراخ يتعالى وآخر يتغنى أنين يشبه ماقبل الغيبوية بقليل أصابني .. أي سلام كتبه قلمي ؟! ثلاث حروف عشقها العالم وزينتها الأقلام وابدعت في وصفها مختلف الجنسيات وبقيت صغيرة .! زغاريد أمهاتنا تزف الأرواح الطاهرة لمقبرة الفخر والشرف كم ستبكي ؟! عروس بثوبها الأبيض أم تلك الفتاة المناضلة بمستقبل غير مشرق والطفل فقد ذراعه ولازال ببراءة يلهو بدمية مكسورة الاذرع! لازلت اتعثر شبه منام مخيف سكن براءة أحلامي. أخرجت بعض الأوراق بيدى المبتلة بالعرق وببعض الندوب.. فكرة السلام تنخر رأسي تشتث ذهني . أحتاج أن أكتبها ألف مرة وأن أعيد تشكيل حروفها مئات المرات.. فالكتابة حضن يأويني. أيها العالم الغير مبالى لصراخ القلم وأنين الحروف وبكاء أدوات التشكيل كم تعاتبني. الأوراق بجيبي ظلت قصة أحداثها دامية لم تنتهي . والحلول مستعصية تشكو أمامها مذلتي. وخيبة أن يعم السلام لم تنجلي . حتى خطوات القلم فوق الورقة خطها قصة السلام بواقع مجروح خذلني . مضيت وتطايرت مع الهواء رسائلي. نسيت ذات يوم تقديمها أمام محكمة العدل لتصدر حكمها ببراءة قصتي . فإذا بكل الشعوب أعلنت قضيتي . فيا بر الأمان اسلك طريقي . بكاء موطني وجرح نازف قصة السلام تحتضر وتبكي. ( أزف إليك الخبر) ( لقلمي . ثريا خيري القهواجي. زليتن.ليبيا) (The Story of Peace…) (By the Libyan writer Dr. Thuraya Khairy Al-Qahwaji, Ambassador of International Peace, Culture, Arts, Writing, and Literature. Libya) … My worn letters in my pocket. My fingers slipped to pull out a handful of papers, some of which were half-torn. Despite the red tears in my eyes. Some of the foolish words my pen had once written were drawn… Peace…we need a safe haven…ululations and cheers…destruction and wreckage… Aaah, my homeland! My steps faltered. There were not only stones strewn along the road. There were remains, wreckage, destruction, and screams rising, while others sang a groan that resembled a trance that had struck me… What peace did my pen write?! Three letters that the world loved, pens adorned, and various nationalities excelled in describing, yet they remained small! The ululations of our mothers escort the pure souls to the cemetery of pride and honor. How much will they cry?! A bride in her white dress Or that struggling girl with a bleak future And the child who lost his arm and still innocently plays with a doll with broken arms! I still stumble, almost terrifying, a dreamlike sensation that haunts the innocence of my dreams. I took out some papers with my sweaty hand, which bore some scars… The idea of peace gnaws at my head Distracts my mind. I need to write it a thousand times and reshape its letters hundreds of times… For writing is a bosom that shelters me. O indifferent world! For the screaming of the pen, the groaning of the letters, and the weeping of the diacritics, how much you reproach me. The papers in my pocket The story of its events remains bloody and unfinished. The solutions are intractable, and I complain before them of my humiliation. And the disappointment of peace prevailing has not been resolved. Even the steps of the pen on the paper, it wrote the story of peace in a wounded reality that has let me down. I went on, and my letters flew away in the wind. One day, I forgot to present them before a court of justice to issue a ruling acquitting my story. And then all the peoples declared my case. Oh, safe haven, follow my path. My homeland's weeping and a bleeding wound, the story of peace is dying and crying. (I bring you the news) (By my pen. Thuraya Khairy Al-Qahwaji. Zliten, Libya) نسخ الرابط تم نسخ الرابط
Al-Kenana
14-04-2025
- Al-Kenana
( ترك عطره .. )
( ترك عطره .. ) بقلم الشاعرة الليبية د.ثريا خيري القهواجي ترك عطره يتنافس مع من يسبق انفاسي .. وتلك الرجفة ظلت تستعطف الأحلام لعله يعيد أجمل أحلامي.. اتكأت برأسي على حافة ذكرياتي هلعت فقط مسح كل الماضي .. سرق خوفي عبث بحروف شعري اسدل ستار الحنان فوقي وجعل الأمان يسكن قوقعتي جرف الأمي.. ابتلع آخر قطرات اليأس والأمل أهداني كيف السبيل للقياه من يذلني أعيد بهدوء ترتيب حساباتي لهفة وجنون عينيه تدعوني اهز رأسي لعل طيفه يغادرني أجده بكل دروبي حنانه كم هز أغصان عمري فجعل الدمع لايجف من عيني (أزف إليك الخبر ) (He left his scent..) (By the Libyan poet Dr. Thuraya Khairy Al-Qahwaji. Ambassador of International Peace, Culture, Arts, Literature, and the Pen. Zliten, Libya) .. He left his scent competing with those who outstrip my breath.. And that tremor kept begging for dreams, hoping he would bring back my most beautiful dreams.. I leaned my head on the edge of my memories. I panicked, just erasing all the past.. He stole my fear. He toyed with the letters of my poetry. He drew the curtain of tenderness over me. And made safety reside within my shell. The shore of illiteracy.. He swallowed the last drops of despair and hope. How can I meet the one who humiliates me? I calmly rearrange my calculations. The eagerness and madness of his eyes call me. I shake my head, hoping his ghost will leave me. I find him in all my paths. His tenderness, how it shook the branches of my life. And made the tears never dry from my eyes. (I bring you the news.) (By my pen, Dr. Thuraya Khairy) Coffee maker. Zliten. Libya) نسخ الرابط تم نسخ الرابط
