Kholoud Charaf

Kholoud Charaf is a Syrian poet, writer, activist, and member of PEN Germany. She has published four books, including the volume of poetry, "The Remains of the Butterfly,” about war and life in Syria. Her poems have been translated into ten languages. She has received scholarships as a writer from Poland, America, Latvia, Sweden, and Germany. Her autobiographical report "Journey of the Return to the Mountain” received the respected Moroccan Muhammad Ibn Battuta Award in 2019. She is working on a new novel.

Life is a journey

Life is a journey through reality that is filled with our emotions. Exile is the feeling of being without land, even though we were born on Earth. Borders are fake lines arranged to polarise our human race and to create a reason to fight. When we were born, we had neither nationalities nor religions; we

My voice walks on water

Secrets of Poetry As a poet and activist from Southern Syria, my goal is to contribute significantly to the enrichment of literature with a strong emphasis on the reality of war. Thanks to my background in social activism during the war in Syria and ten years of work as a medical technician in a women’s

The human being and humanity

The human being and humanity. What does humanity mean? If the human being is blood and body and probably soul, how does our humanity compare to these? Are we limited? Will our humanity finish when we die? We as a humankind do not know each other without names. Our knowledge belongs to others, starting with

Who am I

Who Am I?

Who am I? Which part of your body is your identity? If you would like to know who you are, let us start from the first cells you had at birth. Are those cells still the same? Within this journey in our body, we have been changing almost every day; our entire body is regularly

The other I , Shuddhashar

The Other I

Do not insult the gods you neither believe in nor did not know about.  We have been becoming adults through our long journey on this earth; the first human was killing to survive, and he or she didn’t know that the others were him or her.  It was a fear of difference.  It’s quite a pity

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