Noria Adel – Visual Artist, Literary Writer and Poet was born in 1980, Algiers (Algeria). After studying Art, she lived until 2011 in Damascus (Syria) and had a unique experience of a fascinating and contradictory country.
Laureate Artists – 2012 of the UNESCO-Aschberg Bursaries for Artists – CREATIVE WRITING. July 2013, 16th edition of the Poetry Festival, Voice of the Mediterranean (Lodève, France).
Noria Adels’ recent publications:
- Damascus / Algiers: The Lamplighter, Minuscule Stories of The Arab Revolutions, Chèvre-feuille étoilée, France 2012.
- Youss Will Stay by The Side of The Marsh: Poetic Action of a Guard, Al Bait, Algiers 2009.
- Geometrical Sprain, Mille Feuilles, Algiers 2009.
Please visit:
Damascus, my city
On your head the stones grow and the rock climbs.
On your eyes, grow prayers and apricots.
Damascus you are a journey, often a labyrinth and sometimes just a journey.
You have eyes and on your fingers, eyes grow.
You touch and you shake to see.
My labyrinth, my city and my journey.
I had to leave because I created a character that does not stop me from saying that I had to, when he could not.
At a street corner, a stranger in a city can be seen sitting and cuddling a cat with one hand and having a cigarette in the other.
There, you know you love him.
There, you want to know everything when you already know everything.
And at the first word, it is surprising not to find his voice unfamiliar.
It is surprising not to ignore his name, his age, the bells of his laughter and the color of his eyes.
You understand that nothing is familiar, once you start to want to recognize everything.
Love is a wave.
Words are waves.
You know what waves are.
You know my words.
Once I rise and once I fall.
One day I am scum
An another a mirror
You know the story.
You too are a wave, black carnivorous water.
You too are calm water waiting to turn blue under the sun.
They would have us believe that the days we live are enough to make a life.
Often beyond time and human inventions, we learn to fly to what does not exist and at night, alone between moving breaths, with open eyes, in complete silence we seek…
It is late on a winter evening without rain or wind. The silence scares and the rare silhouettes are few illusions. Deep in the indifference, the sleep as every night is absent, and the heaviness of my body plays with the cold and icy breeze of a forgotten season. Around these intruder states, distant lights died in a dark hill. This night scenery hypnotizes me, attracts me and leads me to those light undulations, so familiar and so strange.
I look all around, cover my body and dream.
I dream that I hoard broken gleaming glass similar to the treetops in the moonlight.
I approach and invite the glass dust to penetrate the screen of my silvery hands skin.
My slowness makes me forget a polished fountain.
I approach and see in the water the mirage of your presence.
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Poetry in this post: © Noria Adel
Published with the permission of Noria Adel