Dearest Amal, with a long vowel of hope.
Sometimes the air is redolent with the sighs of memory. A waft of olive wind or the jasmine of Love’s hair. Sometimes it bears the silence of dead dreams. Sometimes time is immobile like a corpse and I lie with it in my bed.
  And there I sleep, waiting for the honourable thing to come of its own accord.
  For I’ll keep my humanity, though I did not keep my promises. . . . and Love shall not be wrested from my veins.

~ Yousef’s letter to his sister, Amal.

– (From Mornings In Jenin)

• This book will always be one of the witnesses against the brutality that power chose to silence.