In affirmation of precious Palestinian lives and in solidarity with the struggle of the Palestinian peoples for freedom, Adi Magazine is dedicating our platform to Palestinian writers, poets, storytellers, and artists starting now through (at least) the end of October 2023.
While we will exercise editorial judgment in selecting pieces to publish on our website and/or social media, we invite you to submit whatever art you are moved to share at this time to document any aspect of Palestinian life. All topics, styles, and themes are welcome.
Not an all-inclusive list: Poems. Stories. Essays. Photographs. Drawings. Collages. Voice memos. Songs.
We are able to offer a minimum honorarium of $250 for each contributor. Please email your submissions to info@adimagazine.com.
Adi Magazine’s Editorial Team
Cover art by Fadia Jawdat
In this Issue
My Gifts from Gaza
Baba once mentioned how Palestinians were the patient dough of the Taboon. No matter how much we are kneaded, beaten, and stretched beyond our limits, our capacity for hope is supernatural. Taboon, even burnt beyond recognition, is still Taboon.
Three Poems
Poems by Rashid Hussain, translated from Arabic by Salma Harland Against ضد I’m against my country’s revolutionaries Wounding an ear
I am the stranger
I am the stranger / The shadow beneath the cloud / Adrift and looming over my land
(out of borders)
He wears winter and searches for another land, / Where he will say to the raining clouds, / To sow the sea in a land other than the one we know. / Hope was the last breath of the traveler, / Hope was his land.
Why I Love Secrets and Lies
You learn to make your gods as small as a coffee cup and hide your future in it
In October, the sky turned white
Why are these babies asking too much when they demand nothing but the most basic human rights?
A Farm in Gaza
My grandma had a farm in Gaza where her children played outside. Only her two oldest sons remember living there.
Letters to the Unliving and Unborn [for Palestine]
We are the land and the land is us. / Its holiness and grime cannot be dispelled from us.
For the Dead Among Us
We will open the day for you, and the night. We know that you are beneath the earth, or ash
A Few Lines
At a hospital-turned-housing-shelter, a father wept, cradling his newborn son at the gate of Al Shifa hospital.
I Was Imagining
Planes claim the sky; claim mothers and fathers, / Claim dreams, futures, one last kid's hope
