The Pomegranate By Fatma SibaniShe was sitting on a ladder-back chair in the veranda, staring at the azure sky, clear but of a pigeon hovering around something in the ground. Nothing was disturbing the stretch of the horizon except for a fruitless pomegranate tree...
By Fatma Al Sibani He was not a man of wealth. Neither did he have a lamentable life that would have finished him years earlier than the day he left home to the city souq, forever. The day when the front door was knocked in a rapid pace, leaving the five siblings and...
Who has seen the wind? Neither I nor you; But when the leaves hang trembling, The wind is passing through — Christina Rossetti From the uncertainty, they rise; Sacrificing blooms all the way through They find the truth, somewhere in disguise: Unpleasant,...
By Fatma Al Sibani The grocery store was a few blocks away from her apartment. She drove her magma grey swift thinking of nothing but the two figures that had sprung before her at the store. After she got into her apartment and finished stuffing the milk in the...