سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere] Quotes

“[The Game of Silence]

So many learned the rules
of the game
and chose silence.
So many remained silent,
believing
their silence would save them.
So many were undone
by that silence,
struck down
before they could utter
even a single cry of protest,
before they could tell the world
that the cost of silence
was far higher
than the cost of resistance.

12 December 2023”
― Louis Yako, سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]

“[Spices]

Sad are the scents of spices,
whether in one's homeland
or in exile.
At home,
they drift past the nose
offering a brief reprieve,
a breath of hope,
making us forget,
if only for a little while,
the chains of religion and gossip,
the farce of politics,
and the brutality of those who rule.
At home,
spices soften
the weight of customs and traditions
that break people's backs.
Everyone longs
for a meal
that might help them forget
the terrors of their homeland,
its tragedies,
and its unfitness
for living.
In exile,
the scents of spices awaken
everything people have lost,
including the loss of the land,
and the loss of the homeland itself,
with all its sweetness
and all its bitterness,
its nobility
and its failures.
Sad is the sight
of an exiled woman
standing in a kitchen
filled with the fragrance of spices,
reminded of what happened,
of what might have been,
of what should never have happened,
and of losses
that can never be recovered.
How many societies
have been destroyed,
leaving behind
nothing but
the scent of spices
that season our food
and flavor our wounds.
Are spices perhaps
like old songs?
We loved them at home
because they played upon a wound
we longed to heal.
And they sadden us in exile
because we learn too late
that exile does not heal wounds,
but drives its knife
deeper into them.
And like exile itself,
the scent of spices declares
that the story of the wound
is not yet over;
to suppress it
is deadly,
yet telling it
brings no cure.

11 December 2023”
― Louis Yako, سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]

“[Are You Afraid of Sadness?]

During an old interview,
a celebrated Iraqi actress
was asked by the host:
“Why are you afraid of sadness?”
She answered:
“Because sadness quickly escapes our control
and takes us somewhere
we can never come back from.”
Yet as she spoke those words,
a shadow of sorrow crossed her face,
revealing to any attentive observer
that the actress was no longer fully there,
not even in the interview itself.
Sadness had already taken her
to that distant place,
and it seemed
there was no coming back.

19 November 2023”
― Louis Yako, سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]

“[Coming-of-Age Ailments]

If only the ailments of adulthood
were like the ailments of childhood:
healed by a mother's kiss,
a bowl of hot soup,
a glass of warm milk,
and a spoonful of honey,
even if it were adulterated.

14 November 2023”
― Louis Yako, سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]

“[Colors]

Once, our identity cards
described our skin
as the color of wheat.
Elsewhere, peoples' complexions
were compared
to olives
and chocolate.
There are eyes
the color of honey,
or green pistachios,
and hair
the color of chestnuts.
All these names
remind us
that we are born of nature
and among its most beautiful gifts.
Yet the racist West
insists on shrinking humanity,
painting it
in politicized colors
where only white
is deemed to matter.
And all other colors
become synonyms
for no one
and nothing,
until the world is reduced
to a field of snow,
or a blank white page,
and nothing more.

31 October 2023”
― Louis Yako, سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]

“[A Moment of Joy]

The world's ruling elites
hold their breath,
wondering
who will unleash
the first nuclear weapon.
The wealthy,
the financiers,
and the guardians of the markets
watch the rise and fall
of their fortunes
in quiet panic.
Elite writers,
media personalities,
and academics
drawn close to power
live in fear
of a revolution
that might carry away
those who govern,
and them along with them.
Doctors,
engineers,
and countless professionals
scan the labor market,
anxious that the comforts
they have grown used to
may disappear.
Only the waitress
in the corner restaurant
is genuinely happy,
overjoyed by the tip
left by the final customer
of the evening.

30 October 2023”
― Louis Yako, سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]

“[Politicians of the Global Slave Market]

To succeed as a politician
in the grand circus
of global political depravity,
one must be willing
to auction off
one's people
and the wealth of one's country
in the imperial marketplace
of human bargaining.
The hallmark
of such politicians
is the ability
to sell everything precious
in the name of honor,
everything sacred
in the name of principles,
and surrender itself
in the name of peace.
As for recognizing them,
nothing could be easier.
They are distinguished
by the absence of action.
Their entire vocabulary
consists of little more than
condemnation,
denunciation,
expressions of concern,
calls for restraint,
and carefully rehearsed appeals
for calm,
all intended
to keep victim
and oppressor
exactly where they are,
for as long as possible.

8 October 2023”
― Louis Yako, سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]

“[The Flower Seller of Arequipa]

On a refreshing spring evening,
while wandering through the city of Arequipa in Peru,
I met a young Venezuelan
in the heart of the city.
From his eyes,
his greeting,
and the kindness of his spirit,
I knew at once
that he was homeless, like me.
I knew he came
from one of those countries
to which they had done
what they did
to Iraq,
Syria,
Libya,
Yemen,
and the list goes on,
growing longer
and more painful.
After a long conversation,
in which we exchanged stories
about attempts to plunder our countries
and scatter us across the world,
we stopped before a Peruvian flower seller
who had spread her flowers
on a simple mat
along the pavement.
She was a woman
in her late forties,
perhaps younger.
Time, after all,
is harsher on those
who struggle
for every mouthful of food
and every sip of water.
I greeted her in Spanish
and, picking up a bouquet,
said jokingly:
“May I buy these
at the local price,
rather than the tourist price?”
The flower seller smiled.
And through my new Venezuelan friend,
who translated her words into English,
she replied:
“Flowers are beyond price,
dear visitor.
If poverty and injustice
did not exist
in my country
and in the world,
I would not sell flowers at all.
I would give them freely
to every passerby.
And that is precisely why
I sell them as cheaply as I can.
Not because flowers are cheap,
but because I believe
every human being
deserves a bouquet of flowers.”
Her words touched me deeply.
So I asked her
what flowers meant to her.
She answered
in a gentle voice:
“Flowers sadden me
as much as they delight me.
They sadden me
because I know
that most people in this world
are like flower buds,
stifled by circumstance,
never allowed to bloom.
And they delight me
because their fragrance endures,
even after our harsh hands
have cut them.
Flowers, like all that is precious,
are mortal.
They taught me
that mortality itself
is what makes natural beauty
so beautiful.”
Before I parted
from that kind flower seller,
she asked me in turn
why I loved flowers.
I said:
“I owe flowers
everything I know
and every step
I have taken in life.
And as an Iraqi,
I have always dreamed
that we might plant flowers
for one another
instead of landmines.”
At that,
she placed a bouquet
in my hands
and embraced me warmly.
I then gave the bouquet
to the kind Venezuelan guy,
and in my heart
cursed those responsible
for the impoverishment
and displacement
of millions
of good and gentle souls
throughout the world.
And I thanked fate
for a precious human moment
that could never have happened
without a love of flowers.

21 September 2023”
― Louis Yako, سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]

“[Sounds]

Few are the sounds
that deepen silence
or make it more eloquent.
There are sounds
without which silence
would not be complete:
the ticking of a clock,
the sudden hum
of a refrigerator coming to life,
the chirp of a cricket,
the rasp of a cicada,
or perhaps
the croaking of a frog.
And there are sounds
that make existence itself
more strange,
more lonely:
the sudden thud
of an insect striking
a door
or a window,
as though
it had chosen
to end its life.
Like the groan
of a rusted door
we close behind
someone dear
as they leave,
certain
they will never return,
certain
that nothing will remain
quite the same
after their departure.
There is the whistle
of a kettle,
like an alarm siren
warning us
that peace
and stillness
are only fleeting illusions.
And there are sounds
that contain
the tragedies of the past,
sounds from which
the listener's memory
never fully recovers:
the cries of a woman
weeping and screaming
as her husband beats her
in the neighboring house;
or the cough
of an elderly woman
we visited with our families
in childhood,
spitting,
sighing,
again and again.
And how could we forget
the whistle
of a ship
or a train,
announcing
that there is no escape
from departure.

15 September 2023”
― Louis Yako, سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]

“[Today's Songs]

They ask me
what I make
of the songs of today.
And I answer:
I have never joined
the choir of those who say,
"nothing could be better than what once was."
Yet I cannot help noticing
that modern songs
grow shorter,
noisier,
more shrill,
day after day.
And I find myself wondering:
might this be the voice
of a generation worn thin,
crying out at the world
that it can no longer bear
the silence
of mute demons
who look away
from its rights?
And could the ignorance
that surrounds us now,
the ignorance we hear
and see each day,
be nothing more
than the offspring
of neglect
and a frightening absence
of belonging?

11 September 2023”
― Louis Yako, سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]

“[Where Are You From?]

Wherever I go,
people assume
I am from somewhere else.
And the first question they ask
is always
that melancholy question,
the one that never fails
to remind us
how fragile belonging is:
"Where are you from?"
And they are right.
My grandmother used to say
that I am an ancient soul
from a time
and a place
that no longer exist.
My friends say
that I carry my home with me
wherever I go,
and that, for that reason,
I belong
to every place
and every age.
As for me,
more often than not,
I find myself wishing
I had never been at all.

1 September 2023”
― Louis Yako, سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]

“[Fate's Smile]

A fragment
of an old Turkish song
still rings
in my ears.
A song that played on the radio
in the days of adolescence,
during those long,
oppressive,
melancholy summers.
Its melody was steeped in sorrow,
recorded on humble equipment,
and at its close
the singer would murmur,
in a voice trembling
between defeat and hope:
Bize de bir gün kader güler, güler inşallah...
"One day fate will smile on us as well... God willing, it will smile."

12 August 2023”
― Louis Yako, سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]

“[Pity]

Amer sat down
in the same old wooden chair.
Roua still remembered well
the furniture store
where she had bought it,
less than a month
after they were married.
The store was gone now.
And perhaps that great,
stormy love
that had filled the days
before their wedding
had also closed its doors,
shut down by boredom
and the shocks of passing years.
She began cutting his hair,
a habit that had started
back when they were poor
and Amer could not afford
to spend money on a barber.
The years passed.
Many things changed.
Yet Roua went on
cutting his hair
in that same wooden chair,
roughly once a month.
He sat there,
clothed only
in his underwear,
and she studied
his softening body,
growing softer still,
and the belly
that seemed to grow larger
with every haircut.
Her thoughts drifted elsewhere
as she wondered:
Had she truly loved him
back then?
Or had it merely been
a consuming passion
that, over the years,
had turned into pity
without ever passing
through the winding corridors
of love?
Her feelings swayed
between love
and pity
with every touch
of the scissors.
She was afraid
to admit,
even to herself,
that the story
had been pity all along,
for the price of such an admission
was nearly the whole
of her life.
Yet neither could she swear
that it had been love,
for she had not felt
love for him
in a very long time.
Then suddenly
she noticed Amer
looking at her
as though he could read
her thoughts.
A tear slipped
from her eye
without her willing it.
And she went on
cutting his hair
as usual.

3 August 2023”
― Louis Yako, سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]

“[Missile]

A missile fell
near the heart of the city.
According to our correspondent,
its shrapnel killed
a widow
and a divorced woman.
The blast also struck
at least two people
from what are called
"minorities,"
and four others
who spoke languages
other than the country's
official one.
According to our correspondent,
the missile also killed
eight foreigners,
several homosexuals,
two prostitutes,
and two beggars.
It seems
that the only ones
who escaped its shrapnel
were those who classify people
under labels such as these.

19 July 2023”
― Louis Yako, سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]

“[Hands]

Too many hands
no longer wave in peace,
no longer reach out
to shake another hand,
no longer rest upon a shoulder
or rub a weary back
to comfort
and console.
Too many hands
no longer care
to caress,
to cherish,
to soothe.
They no longer trouble themselves
to wipe the tears
from the eyes
of the brokenhearted.
Too many hands
have lost all concern
for creation
and generosity.
Too many have ceased
to write,
or to sow the earth.
And too many fingers
have abandoned the struggle
for a world
less cruel,
less ugly.
Now all that the hands
of our paralyzed age
desire,
all that they long to embrace,
is the iPhone.

29 June 2023”
― Louis Yako, سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]

“[Losses]

I discovered
that every trait
people value in me
was earned
through loss.
And from everyone
who ever inspired me,
I learned
that neither character
nor inspiration
is born
except in proportion
to what has been lost.
So tell me:
should we not redefine
loss itself?
Perhaps the true loser
is the one
who has never tasted
the bitterness
of defeat.
What a painful paradox.

2 May 2023”
― Louis Yako, سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]

“[Endurance]

And your love endured
far longer than I ever imagined.
I, who know too well
the painful truth
that everything beautiful
and alive
is short-lived.
Your love endured
far longer than I expected,
leaving me to wonder:
Is the secret
that you let me go
wherever I wish,
whenever I wish?
Do we discover
love's hidden faces
in absence
and in parting?
Each time I leave you,
I find myself longing
to return,
like laborers
and workers worn by hard days,
yearning for their modest homes,
where a beloved
and a cluster of children
rush toward the door,
their eyes fixed
on the weary hand
carrying the day's bread
and a few inexpensive sweets.
Each time I leave you,
I become more certain
that only the love
that grants freedom
to leave
and to return,
whenever and wherever the heart desires,
can truly renew itself.
For it returns
laden with the luggage of awareness,
and with small sweets
that soften routine
and sweeten
the bitterness of the years.

22 April 2023”
― Louis Yako, سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]

“[Disappointments and Delights]

The greatest disappointments of life were these:
that freedom is a lie,
and that choosing one's chains wisely
matters far more
than chasing every illusion.
That family and kin
are merely a biological accident,
one that may bless us
or betray us.
That life is not short,
as people claim,
but unbearably long
for those who understand the game.
That there is no friend
in times of hardship,
for hardship itself
is the only constant companion.
And the loveliest delights of life were these:
the smell of fresh bread,
a drink of water,
the depth of a single word,
the taste of a ripe fig.
The silence of nature
and its music.
And the scent of a Damask rose
drifting unexpectedly past,
in the very depths
of despair.

9 March 2023”
― Louis Yako, سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]

“[The First Lady]

The First Lady is elegant,
impeccably dressed,
fashionable and refined.
And her esteemed husband,
the revered leader,
appears equally polished,
handsome in suit and tie.
You see her devoted
to charitable organizations,
scattering crumbs
to the poor
here and there.
And you see him
stealing the people's wealth
from every direction.
You see her present
at every charity gala
in support of the disabled.
And you see him
signing orders
to purchase more weapons,
or decrees that lead
to foreign wars
and civil wars alike,
producing ever more dead,
more prisoners,
and more disabled.
You see her
never missing an opportunity
to inaugurate a new center
for women's rights.
And you see him
in the company of clerics,
unceasing in his support
for venerable patriarchal institutions
whose sole purpose
is to marginalize
anyone who strays
from the filthy path
of male domination.
You see her donating generously
at every fundraiser
for children.
And you see him
signing decrees
to slash funding
for equal access
to education
and healthcare
for children
and their families.
In short,
the role of the First Lady
is to pretend
to repair
everything
her honorable husband
has broken.
Her role
is to offer us patience,
comfort,
and consolation
for the disasters,
the thefts,
and the crimes
of her distinguished husband
and his entourage.
And that is why
they are both thieves,
partners in the same enterprise,
united in the plunder
and destruction
of their people.
And this dirty game
will never end
until we create societies
conscious enough
to have no need
for the rule
of a First Gentleman,
and no need
for the performances
of false goodness
dispensed by the First Lady
drop by drop.

15 February 2023”
― Louis Yako, سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]

“[The Paradox of Earthquakes]

How fate mocks us,
when all that we build,
from mighty infrastructure
to homes anchored in stone,
is transformed into a curse
that collapses upon our heads
with a single movement
of the hips
of our great mother,
Nature.
Here lies the clash
between human reason
and the wisdom of nature.
And I wonder:
when will we understand
that the permanence
and stability we chase so relentlessly
are no different
from building a house
in the very heart
of an earthquake?

14 February 2023”
― Louis Yako, سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]

“[Wristwatches]

I opened the drawer of my desk,
the one where I keep old things,
and suddenly before my eyes
leapt wristwatches
whose batteries had died,
whose time had frozen still.

Watches once gifted to me
by teachers and friends
at different moments in my life —
tokens of praise for my diligence,
for my respect for time.
None of us imagined then
that time would one day stop for me,
that it would die of a heart attack,
and cease to matter at all
on the day my country was occupied and destroyed —
the day invaders from outside,
with the help of thieves from within,
burned or uprooted
everything beautiful in it.

Since that day,
I have refused to wear a wristwatch,
and I will not wear one again
until my people reclaim
their time and their dignity.

And when that day comes,
there will be no need for watches anyway.
Time itself will lose its meaning,
for I will have turned into a butterfly,
into a bird,
into a narcissus flower or an orange blossom —
or perhaps I will become
a white bloom on an apricot branch,
a spring that flows endlessly,
needing neither time nor timing.

In that same drawer of old things
I found pens whose ink had run dry,
lying there like mummified bodies,
just like the frozen time
inside those dead watches.

And in a moment of despair,
a feeling struck me like lightning,
leaving behind a terrible, trembling question:

What if this is a wound
that no amount of time can heal,
and a cause
that all the ink in the world
cannot resolve?

February 5, 2023”
― Louis Yako, سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]

“[Social Media]

They call them
social networks,
when in reality
they are networks
of separation
and estrangement.
They are instruments
of counterfeit belonging,
creating a shallow world
whose entire vocabulary
rarely extends beyond
Like,
Love,
and Share.
And life in this world requires
enduring
the photos and videos
of imaginary holidays
and manufactured celebrations,
the trivialities
of engagements,
weddings,
children,
and grandchildren,
the nonsense
of clerics and politicians,
and the malicious opinions
of experts
carefully selected in advance
by the algorithms
of the few
who control
these instruments
of social death.
So congratulations to us
for living in a world of
like for like,
share for share,
love for love,
where the first to begin
is always
the most trivial of all.

4 February 2023”
― Louis Yako, سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]

“[Suspicious Things]

Among the things
I find suspicious,
and hold responsible
for the world's estrangement:
elegant suits,
evening gowns,
neckties,
wedding rings,
the briefcases
of diplomats
and businessmen,
money,
blue eyes,
blond hair...

22 January 2023”
― Louis Yako, سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]

“[Dying of Hunger or of Boredom]

There are people
who work for wages
that barely keep hunger at bay,
granting them
a single additional gasp of life.
And there are others
who possess more than enough,
yet work for one reason only:
to kill boredom,
to feel that they are contributing something
to a world drowning
in their greed,
their hunger for power,
and their love of wealth.
The first remain
one step,
or less,
from dying of hunger.
The second,
often the very people
who pay the wages of the first,
remain a hair's breadth,
or less,
from dying of boredom.
Herein lies the paradox.
It is as though fate insists
on breaking down
every human barrier,
forcing everyone
to choose
between dying of hunger
and dying of boredom.
And woe
to those
who die of both.

28 January 2023”
― Louis Yako, سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]

“[A Fashionable Beard]

Teasing a friend
about his fashionable beard,
I asked,
"Has the beard won you
more admirers?"
"You cannot imagine
how many more,"
he replied.
I said,
"Do you ever wonder
why they cannot see you
without it?"
He smiled and said:
"This beard reminds me every day
that people do not like
to see things naked,
as they truly are.
They notice things,
they admire things,
beneath almost any disguise,
but rarely when they stand
uncovered
and in their truth."

16 January 2023”
― Louis Yako, سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]

“[Bread in Exchange for Silence]

The tragedy of the world
has never been
the wicked few,
but the multitude
who deny themselves
a single honest word
or a single courageous line,
lest they deprive
their mouths and stomachs
of the pleasure
of chewing and digesting
their daily bread of humiliation,
kneaded
with the spit
of strangers
and buyers of conscience.
And how many
have seen through
the game of buying and selling,
only to choose
to silence their souls
in exchange
for their daily ration of fodder.

15 January 2023”
― Louis Yako, سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]

“[The Art of Communication]

Wretched are those
who have never mastered
the art of communication,
even if they are among the dead.
For when the dead
still speak to us,
they continue to live
in some sense.
And how many of the dead
speak to us
with greater vitality
and clarity
than the living.

15 January 2023”
― Louis Yako, سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]

“[The Stranger and the Writer]

When a stranger asked me
about my passion,
I told him
that I loved to write.
He said,
"Is there anything new under the sun?"
I replied:
A writer is condemned
to repeat what has already been said
for as long as the world
remains silent
and looks away.
And so,
my stranger friend,
there may be nothing new
under the sun,
yet there remains
an urgent need
to find new ways
of revealing
the unsettling resemblance
between the follies
of yesterday
and those of today.

15 January 2023”
― Louis Yako, سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]

“[Death by Missiles ... Death by Racism]
A fortunate few,
Afghans,
Iraqis,
and others,
may survive
the wars
and missiles
that the West brings
to their homelands.
Yet when they reach
the so-called harbors of safety
in the West,
they find themselves
killed by racism.
This is no coincidence,
my friends.
Nor is it a paradox.
Do you still not see
that death by missiles
and death by racism
are two faces
of the same policy?
Do you still not understand
that missiles are the language
of foreign policy,
while racism is the language
of domestic policy?
Have you failed to notice,
my beloved friends,
how Hollywood
casts Arabs,
Muslims,
and anyone who resembles them,
however remotely,
into its stories,
to justify,
and even reconcile,
the West's policies abroad
with its policies at home?
How is it
that you overlook Hollywood
while remaining among
its most devoted consumers?
Have you not noticed
that many of you
have come to see beauty,
and even humanity itself,
only in white skin,
blond hair,
and blue eyes?
Yes, my beloved friends,
the death of an Iraqi,
an Afghan,
or anyone arriving
from a country occupied
or devastated by the West,
is neither coincidence
nor contradiction.
Nor is it strange.
What is truly strange
is that they are not killed
more often,
after decades
of Hollywood propaganda
portraying them,
and everyone who resembles them,
as savage villains
from whom the world
must be saved.
And remember,
my beloved friends,
wherever you may be:
missiles
and racism
are two faces
of the same coin,
rising and falling
like the American dollar,
whenever power desires,
and striking
whomever it chooses.

14 January 2023”
― Louis Yako, سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]

“[They Say My People Are Generous]

They say my people are generous.
Strangers and foreigners agree.
But ask my people
about my people,
and they will tell you
how many hypocrites
and flatterers
would sell
and burn
the entire homeland
for money.
Ask my people
about my people,
and they will tell you
how generous they were
to strangers
on the day those strangers
lit the fires
of war,
sectarianism,
and hatred.
Ask my people
about my people,
and they will tell you
how freely strangers move
through our country
and its riches,
while its own people,
deliberately impoverished
and exiled,
live either
with the humiliation of exile
or the humiliation
of home,
waiting for the first chance
to flee
with the first smuggler
who offers them passage
to the first
of the death boats.

13 January 2023”
― Louis Yako, سرطان في كل مكان [Cancer Everywhere]