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( ترك عطره .. )

( ترك عطره .. )

Al-Kenana14-04-2025

( 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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Hamid El-Shaeri: The Man Who Defied Tradition From Benghazi to Cairo

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Hamid El-Shaeri: The Man Who Defied Tradition From Benghazi to Cairo

In 1978, at the heart of Tripoli's Al-Saha Al-Khadraa, pianos, violins, guitars, drums, and keyboards were set ablaze—accused of being Western, un-Libyan, and tools of cultural corruption. The scene echoed the infamous Nazi book burnings of 1933, where works by Ernest Hemingway, Karl Marx, Sigmund Freud, and others were reduced to ashes for being deemed un-German. At the time, the Libyan authorities ordered inspections of homes, schools, and universities to ensure they were cleared of all so-called 'corrupting instruments.' Amongst the onlookers was a teenage Abdelhamid Ali Ahmed al-Shaeri—later known as Hamid El-Shaeri, and then as Il Capo—who watched helplessly as his prized piano, awarded to him for his academic excellence, and a keyboard gifted by his father were destroyed in the flames. At this moment, he knew had to flee Libya. The young teenager couldn't really understand why he had suddenly been made a national enemy, or why he was made to feel this way—but he knew the only answer would be heading to Cairo. Hamid El-Shaeri was not an isolated case of personal ambition clashing with political authority. He belonged to a pioneering generation in Libya that listened to music with a new ear and read its notes with a fresh vision. His peers—like Nasser El Mezdawy, who fled to Italy, and Ahmed Fakroon, who sought refuge in France—were part of a generation defined by defiance and the courage to create, pursuing renewal at a time when the safest path in Libya, musically, was strict adherence to artistic tradition. Stepping into Egypt as a stranger, a foreigner entering a land he had only seen on television, Hamid El Shaeri brought with him what would come to define his distinct sound—his roots, carried all the way from his hometown in Benghazi. 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Il Capo rose just as Egypt was shifting in the 1980s, delivering the sound they didn't know they needed

The Libyan Reggae Band That Ghosted the Internet
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It was on that stage that they truly affirmed their message of peace and love through reggae music. That experience set the tone for the years that followed, and their confidence grew as they realized the power of their music to connect people. When I asked about the current Libyan music scene, the band didn't mince words. 'It's struggling,' they said. 'There's no real support, no venues, no platforms for artists.' Yet, despite the obstacles, they remain committed to supporting young Libyan artists. "We stay in touch with them, offering guidance and sharing experiences," they said. "There's so much talent here, but they need help getting their voices heard." It's clear that White Bird sees their role not just as musicians, but as mentors to the next generation of Libyan artists. Looking toward the future, the band is full of hope and excitement. "We're recording new material," they shared with a smile. "We're also planning live shows. We miss the stage." 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( قصة السلام…. )
( قصة السلام…. )

Al-Kenana

time15-04-2025

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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

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