I have experienced healing through other writers’ poetry, but there’s no way I can sit down to write in the hope a poem will have healing potential. If I do, I’ll write a bad poem.
When the Islamic revolution began in 1979 under the leadership of Ayatollah Khomeini, it aroused considerable admiration in the Arab street. It presented a model of organised popular action that deposed one of the region’s most tyrannical regimes. The people of the region discerned in this revolution new hope for freedom and change.
Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul – and sings the tunes without the words – and never stops at all.
Hope is a waking dream.
I love the song ‘I Hope You Dance’ by Lee Ann Womack. I was going to write that song, but someone beat me to it.
How disappointment tracks the steps of hope.
And I hope that five years and 10 years from now, I’ll be a better man, a more mature man, a wiser man, a more humble man and a more spirited man to serve the good of my people and the good of humanity.
Flowers are without hope. Because hope is tomorrow and flowers have no tomorrow.
If any foes of mine are there, I pardon every one: I hope that man and womankind will do the same by me.
Not without hope we suffer and we mourn.