On the snow carpet

The space of words for Emily Nasrallah is boundless. Time and place accompany her, carrying her bags on a perpetual journey; from village to city, from the time of the carriage to the time of the jet. It is the space of the perpetual journey on pages, in regions and atmospheres, to wherever the magic carpet lands. And it seems that this time, it has landed on a carpet of snow, where the world begins, or should we say, where it ends... There, where the sun remains floating on the horizon for six months, the duration of its long, miserly visit, and where the veil of night embraces a white carpet in a gray dance for six months, the writer resided for a period in the warm embrace of ice, among people wearing two garments, one from heritage and the other from modern civilization. But Emily Nasrallah's journey is endless; it continues before our eyes and on silently murmuring lips, where words transform into images, which are human life on this earth. The realm of words knows no limits of time and place when Emily Nasrallah spells them out. They accompany him, carrying their bags on a constant journey, from the village to the city, and from the era of carriages to the era of jets. It is the realm of an eternal voyage on the pages, in distant lands and atmospheres, to where the wind's carpet lands. And it seems that this time, it has landed on a carpet of snow, where the world begins or rather where it ends... there, where the sun remains suspended on the horizon for six months, the duration of its stingy long visit. It is where the night's scarf embraces a white carpet in a gray dance for six months. The writer spent a period in the embrace of a warm icy environment, among people wearing two costumes, one from heritage and the other from the civilization of the era. However, Emily Nasrallah's journey never ends. It continues in front of the eyes and on the lips that silently murmur, where words transform into images, representing the life of a human being on this Earth.