In my heart there is a heavy tear, like a drop of mercury in mercury clocks.
The one who has your eyes needs no box of paints,
the one who has your tender fingers needs no piano,
Poetry easily flows through my veins when I see your Slavic eyes.
and the one who has your lips knows that silence is bitter and sweet, like medicine.
In my heart there is a heavy tear,
like a church bell waiting for the day of the Easter mass.
And my soul longs for Easter,
and I will rise from the dead, just as lilies
emerge from under the earth beneath the April sun.
Who are you, standing with a charming smile before the mercury clocks?
Are you that thirst which the heavy tear in the heart cannot quench?
mogheer Barghuthy
Dec 31, 2025
Dec 31, 2025 at 3:47 AM UTC
i have never seen a white stork in real life
I flip my heart like a coin to imagine it
When the heart rolls across the slippery tile, I catch the last image
of a face.
the face of a mother
her legs — like two storks
her face composed of all women, yet resembling none
I have never seen a white stork in a dream
I flip my heart like a pillow to imagine it
when the heart rolls in feathers
I catch the last image
The larch delights the spruces with its scent
there are no white storks on the larch, but my dream is full of their wings
Dec 24, 2025
Dec 24, 2025 at 2:35 AM UTC
It is true that the Sufi's fingers are prayer beads,
it is true that the sun is a labyrinth for the eyes,
but do not say that the sunset sun shattered like mirrors
on the prayer beads of the strange Sufi
and gathered as white grains in the ear of wheat,
but say: Maria Antonovna suddenly smiled.
It is true that seconds have no fingers,
it is true that they always seize us by the wrong place,
but do not say that minutes scattered like a ripe cluster
on the prayer beads of the strange Sufi
and gathered as white grains of sand in the sundial,
but say: Maria Antonovna suddenly glanced at the clock.
It is true that the heart is a homeland,
it is true that the heart has no homeland,
but do not say that the cloud tore apart on the Sufi's prayer beads
and gathered as white drops of water in the spring,
but say: Maria Antonovna suddenly wept.
It is true that the rose captivates the gaze with its fragrance,
and it is true that the fragrance of the rose is for all people.
But do not say that the rose tore apart into petals in the storm
and gathered in the honeycombs and on the wings of bees.
But say that Maria Antonovna suddenly flung open her heart like a window.
Mogheer Barghuthy
Dec 16, 2025
Dec 16, 2025 at 12:16 AM UTC
My mask is nothing but my real face
they do not believe
as they try to tear my face their masks start to tear.
They fear my silence because it makes them hear the echo of their collapsing souls.
Dec 21, 2024
Dec 21, 2024 at 10:22 PM UTC
I secretly love you
for the sake of your name
without you knowing
I pass you as i pass anyone
yet your my only one
I adore you and i'm hiding
as a question mark
not feeling my surrounding
posted as an outlaw
numbered with thieves
a broken totem pole
no roots no fruits no visitors or leaves
Dec 9, 2022
Dec 9, 2022 at 6:37 PM UTC
What a woman !!
I almost died to know your name
The one you gently taught me
With cunning lips of thirsty flame
A mantra of eyes that caught me
What a woman!!
Let me be your coming error
the one you admit and never regret
To be the man within your mirror
Who hands to you a black outfit
What a woman!!
Your eyes are dazzling dragonflies
hovering on shivering clover leaf
Storm of thousands of fireflies
Two blue cichlids on verdant reef
What a woman!!!
Dec 4, 2022
Dec 4, 2022 at 6:51 PM UTC
Bayo's the last of his people
The only guard of their farm
The living sun of their life
They are tattooed on his arm
Holding his wife and his knife
.....
Waiting for her to give birth
to queen kandake of the Nile
She'll lead the tribe to new earth
With hope and wisdom and a smile
...
Bayo's the last of his people
He will live for what he dies for
standing as firm as a steeple
a crouching panther by her door
Oct 31, 2022
Oct 31, 2022 at 2:28 PM UTC
chewing on corpses to hand you this rose
seeking the bones of ancestors
to know why the embryo is deformed :
We tend to flee from our suspicions
to be preyed on by what we know .
when we sleep we are within his hand
when we wake up
our illusions about him wakes up too.
love is the endless you.
the oldest we
the perfect she
the I-less I
and is the deepest sudden sigh
Oct 30, 2022
Oct 30, 2022 at 5:34 PM UTC
I long to someone I don't know .
to something about to happen
your eyes are the hidden green fire in smooth stones of the valley
the giant sprit of Charleville
The call of mighty Rimbaud.
crawls beneath my skin like a warm wind
I was about to give up
till I saw a promising smile like a lily glowing in the deepest darkness of my soul different from all lilies of the Ardennes
Oct 28, 2022
Oct 28, 2022 at 5:10 PM UTC
when light and shadow share your face, justice bleeds all colors
when you smile the sun beneath my skin cracks a pomegranate
red garnet comes to life.
this tango of lights ripens my heart as a fig,
crowded with seasons ,
on your fingers I counted my absence and my presence
when i think of you. ,you are the tribes in my voice
every mom like every city has her unique smell and yours is the smell of life, Mom
May 17, 2021
May 17, 2021 at 2:36 AM UTC