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3.9k · Dec 2019
Same Sad December
Anwer Ghani Dec 2019
It is the same sad December every time in Iraq, no change, no hope. Really sad thing.
--What I wrote in December 2017
You sit there, on that branch with my dream, but I cannot see your beauty because my eyes are soaked in the redness of December. I am a red man from the land of wars; my blood is shed and my soul is broken. No flowers here, no spring, only red December.( From " Red December" poem)
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--What I wrote in December 2018
These streets have been made by the rough fingers of our December where the nights are weepy, and the moons are colorless. You can’t see anything here in December just violent and shameless faces. ( From " Stormy December" poem)
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--What I wrote in December 2019
I freeze; but I do not freeze because the snow plays with my nose and cheeks, but rather because the New Year's tree has become red like the streets of my city and the New Year's party cups are full of tears of our mothers. ( From " Crazy December" poem)
3.3k · Jan 2019
STORMY DECEMBER
Anwer Ghani Jan 2019
No windows in my small house where the birds had been made of faint shadow and the rivers are laughing with tears. Our windy December has destroyed everything even my soul so I am now just a soulless apparition. Look at our trees; they are kneeling; the wind has stolen their dreams. I am a man from the south where everything is soft and bland, but the rigid hands of this windy December have scattered our girls’ woolgathering.
Here the streets are so raging, do you know why? I think you won’t know the story. These streets have been made by the rough fingers of our December where the nights are weepy, and the moons are colorless. You can’t see anything here in December just violent and shameless faces. Yes, our December has a veil but its stormy soul destroying our dreams. Our stormy December is strange and reckless, but we love it because we are strange and reckless like it.
Yes, December is not my friend, but I see its footprints and follow them. It fills my lung with wild air; yes, our December is crazy and has so attractive eastern eyes. You may see that bough, that leaf and that very small bird; you may see them but you wont know anything about their wild souls. Our wild December is unbelievable, and it can make amazing fairies from our vanished tales.
3.0k · Apr 2020
I WRITE TO YOU WITH SADNESS
Anwer Ghani Apr 2020
I am just a sad rock on the road, but when I remember your voice, I feel the strange green and dewy touch of my skin, so I smile. I am alone, like this bitter time, and I am only good at sadness. I write to you with sadness because I am from the sad land. The roads here are sad, the stories are sad, the hearts are sad, even the smiles are sad. We are here when we write, we write with sadness, when we read, we read with sadness, when we love we love with sadness, and when we laugh, we laugh with sadness. They stole our door and stole our windows, so the sadness entered our homes with air. We have become fish that breathe sadness, and when we are born, we are born with sadness because we know that behind our stolen doors and behind our stolen windows, nothing awaits us but sadness.
2.6k · Jul 2019
Ramadan Lantern
Anwer Ghani Jul 2019
When you touch me, I do not stand near the faint window, but I open all the bright doors, the doors of a very strong and very shapeless breeze. O Ramadan; the rain of touches that reach every story in my weak body and every region in my soul. Your touch is a soft candle, yes your touch is a new white flower. When you smile at me, I do not wait behind the absent window, but I see the true doors, the doors of endless time and unlimited place. Oh Ramadan, you can imagine my very intense and very shapeless happiness. When your soft whispers flow deep in me, I will never be near the salty window, but I will be immersed in warm doors , the doors of swimming in a stunning river, disappearing in a very strong and very shapeless sea. O Ramadan, let your lantern to touch my cheeks and draw a beautiful spring on my eyes. Let fasting immortalizes my body out of the water that will gone, and the food that will perish. Let my body know its true existence, and let me see my real body without food or drink. O Ramadan, allow your lantern to shine in my depth and to color my soul with unforgettable chants.
2.1k · Apr 2019
India; the Special World
Anwer Ghani Apr 2019
In the special world, everything is special; the birds are special, the flowers are special, the buildings are special and the dresses are special. In India, the faces are special, the eyes are special and the words are special. The rivers in India are special, the forests are special and the hills are special. The moments are special, the smiles are special, the glances are special and the beauty is special. India plants in your depth a special memory, creates special moments and leaves in you a special yearning. Yes, any land can be special, but India is very special, I mean magically special. Yes, in India, the special world, everything is special.
1.3k · Jul 2020
Eid in Babylon
Anwer Ghani Jul 2020
Eid in Babylon sits on his high chair, on knees of snow. Grandparents smile for the beloved alleys of Babylon and overlook the mighty Euphrates. Eid in Babylon is a bright face of dawn.  Magic smiled on his hands like the hearts of the Babylonians.  These civilizations have occurred here, do you not see all these lighthouses and the sounds of eternity? Don't you see dew hearts where lovers' poems here mired in their dreams? At sunset, we will bid farewell to the spirit of rebellion. At sunset, a new Eid will be rise in Babylon.
Anwer Ghani Apr 2020
Summer is not beautiful in Iraq; it is old and it is standing on a long failure. The summer here, like me, loves watermelon, but it is a bitter love. The watermelon here is something hidden and wondrous, full of secrets and magic, and our ancestors often tell us about it strangely, until I thought that the watermelon is a mythical being. When I return from my long absence, I will go to one of the doors of my grandfather's small orchard, and I will paint a small watermelon on it and I will celebrate. I will invite all the birds of the earth to seed the grain of watermelon in the fields of the Iraqis in order to make a big celebration; it is the festivity of the great Watermelon.
844 · Apr 2019
The Simple Man
Anwer Ghani Apr 2019
Be simple and you will be beautiful. Be simple and I will love you more.Believe me, be simple and everything will love you more and more. The amazing nature is simple, the awesome seas are simple and the holy sky is simple. Beauty is the simple simplicity. Life is not in the complexity; life is in the simplicity. Your sleepy eyes are more beautiful with simple eyelashes, and your smooth whispers penetrate my hearts with your simple words. Here, in my chest, there is a very simple heart knows nothing but spontaneity and need nothing but simple love. When I talk, I talk simply, when I eat I eat simply and when I love, I love simply. So, please love me with your simple love and call me by my simple name. I love you deeply when you are simple and I get crazy when your smile is very simple.
759 · Mar 2017
Melodic Compassion
Anwer Ghani Mar 2017
Do you see the lights when they glister over a quiet sea? Do you understand the snow’s twilight? Like this are the hearts of the unsleeping physician. They stand like trees but instead of leaves there are patients' faces and instead of chanting birds there are beating hearts. In that warm space, you see the flowers with colored wishes and merciful hands. There, you can touch the infinite warmth’s essence with worry eyes and hot pulses.
Instead of metaphors, the physician surprising innovation is the melodic compassion. He catches the remote lands valleys and from that magic universe, he brings a smooth management like a poet.
For the Physicians
708 · Jan 2019
THE FLOOD OF ETERNITY
Anwer Ghani Jan 2019
The grand flood was a teacher who learnt his student the secrets of eternity. Utnapishtim knew all the secrets when  the mightiness of water transfigured in front of his eyes. There are no fairies or witches on the flood but Utnapishtim realized the listen and knew the essence of life.  In front of the wide eyes of the flood, Utnapishtim built his big ship to save our life and all these smiles. Gilgamesh crossed the great sea to meet Utnapishtim, the man of the flood who told him about the plant of immortality which resides peacefully behind the wide sea.  Gilgamesh traversed the wide sea and found the eternity plant but when he entered the cold pond to swim, a snake of destiny stole the timelessness from our hands. Yes, Utnapishtim grasped the eternity because he had built a big ship while Gilgamesh lost his immortality plant because he just made a small boat. The flood has a heart, so it learned Utnapishtim the wisdom and the secrets of life while Gilgamesh’s plant has a sleepy eyes, so it chose the snake instead of us.
575 · Jul 2020
The Land of Dreamers
Anwer Ghani Jul 2020
You might think that I came from the heart of the sun and from the eyes that color songs. You might think that I came from a land of great wishes and pleasant endings. You are wrong, my friend, you are very wrong, yes, this land is dignified, but on its back, the dreamy feet walk. I came from the land of dreamers, where the eyes are dreamy, the tongues are dreamy and the faces are a dreamy. I came from the land of dreamy words, dreamy smiles and dreamy promises. The flowers here are dreamy, the butterflies here are dreamy, the rivers here are dreamy, the trees here are dreamy, even the birds here are dreamy. Very simply, I am a dreamer who came from the land of dreamers, where traitors stole our dreams.
Anwer Ghani Jul 2020
When I came back, I didn't find those songs, and didn't find the lake of goose, but she quickly whispered from there: "Smile, smile, here will you find your story". Yes, purple roses here and you too. The mirrors are full of possible songs and possible longing. The birds know, the rivers know and I know too.  Yes, it is the moment we know; the moment that need warmth and hug.
435 · Jan 2019
COLD PASSION
Anwer Ghani Jan 2019
It has stolen any possibly warmth from the bag of my days, so I was delightedly standing under that tree as a damp bird. This lovely coldness intentionally cuts my skin with her hidden knife, and destroying my face like a frozen lake’s water. She had fiercely slapped my face, so you are seeing the redness on my cheek every morning.
I am a man of the twenty-first century and my legs had dipped in the soul of the earth as an old cow. I don't like the darkness, or its cold voice, but my hand was frosted as a woman’s coat and my friends’ hearts were hung on the absent trees of our coldness.  
Our sun has a thick veil and many daughters with hard hearts; they are lightless and cold. Everything under our cold sun is icy and soundless even our evenings which they were travelling between the ambergris as a blind grasshopper. They are as an eternal hero eating all the beauty and building on our back all the glory. Please don’t ask me about their skirts or hair, because in addition to my blindness they have cloudy faces and we know that they had arrived from their cold winds.
Its a passion of lightness in front of the darkness.
362 · Aug 2019
I CAN’T LOVE YOU
Anwer Ghani Aug 2019
I'm so sorry, I can't love you because I'm just a faint residue. I can't love you because I'm from here; from the sad land. Yes, you have a very beautiful voice, but I can't love you because I am a man who can only cry. Believe me I can’t love you because I cannot smile in the morning, and I will fail to whisper at night. You see; I'm just a blind shadow so I can’t love you. I am a sandy man and son of the desert, so I can’t love you. I'm the heir of wars and red tales, so I can't love you. I'm from here; the dry land, so I can't love you.
320 · Jun 2018
MESOPOTAMIANS
Anwer Ghani Jun 2018
Our Masgouf
The fish has wings, and she feels our pain as a sister. Yes, we are the fish’s brothers and any halo occurs in the clear night is a birthday of this brotherhood. Come here, and see the first cookbook; it had appeared with the seeds of this earth. It had slept in an ancient Sumerian tablet, which was shining as a morning sun. In the heart of (800) recipes in that Iraqi mud, you can see the smoke of our Masgouf and you may smell its exciting flavor. You may know that Masgouf had resided as a moon in our dreams, and we delightedly disappear in its perfume as the butterflies. Our Masgouf, as well as, the face of our river, is pure, but smoky, and I will be so happy if you can see its chants which dance as a fairy at its small bank. Because of this warmhearted brightness, you may like to sit under our smiley tent and musing our truthful Masgouf.



The Dolma’s Master
The small girls in our gardens knew nothing about the flowers or their breathtaking colors, but they are so efficient in making of magic Dolma. In the morning they meet a green dove, and listen to her chants. They are soft and pure exactly as our Dolma’s smiles. She teaches our girls the art of Dolma and the secret of grape’s leaves with a smooth voice and gentle hands. This Dolma’s master is so soft and deep, and she can color the girls’ hearts with the wedding dresses. My mother was a good Dolma’s student, so she had learned its chants expertly and  wore her wedding dress early.

The Kebab Glory
The Iraqis can’t live without war or Kebab and can’t smell the morning breeze without their deep voices. I am an Iraqi man, and my soul was kneaded with Kebab’s Sumac. My dreams had immersed in the Kebab’s perfume and straggled in the desert of sad Sumac. Kebab, which we inherited from our Babylonian, can’t be transfigured without a soft lap, and any saying disagrees this is a hard illusion, but essentially you need the Iraqi sad smile to find the Kebab’s sublime glory.
316 · Dec 2018
Windy fingers
Anwer Ghani Dec 2018
When you reach those remote lands and when you see my pain, please ignite a candle in our cold night, and make this sleepy world know something about the truthful light. I know; you can't remember the souls of the flowers which know nothing but beauty but when we drown deeply in our dreams and when you meet all the possible illuminations, at that time you may find the windy fingers of the poet.
prose poem
310 · Mar 2018
"Gypsies"
Anwer Ghani Mar 2018
The Gypsy Girl

I like the quiet lakes and their reviving breeze, where the water’s eyes are always sleepy. You can't imagine his red cheek in the winter nights. I remember when my mother had made a nice hat for him. My mother is so expert in the seasonal souls and she told me that the autumn is a gypsy girl. I didn't see autumn, but I am sure that my mother saw her because she described her face precisely. She told me that Autumn is flying between the trees’ branches as a small bird and leaving her veil weaving airily in our souls. Sometimes I feel that Autumn is a fairy and you may see her stormy tale swimming deeply in our dreams’ water.    


A Gypsy Tent

I am not a hippie, but I seriously had thought to live in the forest without cooker or air-conditioner, just wood for the fire, and if you don’t agree, I will leave the fire for you. I will drink the river water with the birds and eat the greens with the deer. I will sleep under a tent without walls or doors. I will leave all your walls and all my closed doors for you. I will take a gypsy tent because I wish to dream at the night widely and chant at morning loudly.

A Gypsy Wagon

My grandfather had a beautiful horse with a heart filled with compassion and kindness. I didn't see her, but they said that she was legendarily clever and brave. My family might have possessed a wagon. I don't know and I didn't ask about this, but I think if we had one, it will be closed as the desert’s soul. I am an Arab man and you know there is nothing here but desert, so I decided to bring a gypsy wagon to my home to learn my children the freedom.
Poetry Mosaic with mirror language where every part is a mirror to the other.
307 · Dec 2018
SUMERIAN RECIPES
Anwer Ghani Dec 2018
OUR MASGOUF

The fishes have high wings, but they can feel our deep pain like sisters. Yes, we are the fishes’  brothers and any halo you may see in the dark night is a birthday of this brotherhood. Come here and see the seeds of this earth in an ancient Sumerian tablet, which its recipes were shining as the sun. In that Iraqi mud, you can see the smoke of our Masgouf and you may smell its exciting flavor. It is residing in our dreams like the moon, and we delightedly disappear in its perfume with the butterflies. The face of our Masgouf is pure, and I will be so happy if you can see its chants dancing as fairies at their small riverbanks.



THE MAGIC DOLMA

The small girls in our gardens knew nothing about the flowers or their breathtaking colors, but they are so efficient in making of magic Dolma. In the morning they meet a green dove, and listen to her chants. They are soft and pure exactly as our Dolma’s smiles. She teaches our girls the art of Dolma and the secret of grape’s leaves with a smooth voice and gentle hands. This Dolma’s master is so soft and deep, and she can color the girls’ hearts with the wedding dresses.

THE KEBAB GLORY

The Iraqis can’t live without war or Kebab, and can’t smell the morning breeze without their deep voices. Our souls were kneaded with the sad Kebab’s Sumac and the tears of war. Our dreams had immersed in the Kebab’s perfume and straggled in the desert of sad Sumac. Yes, you need the Iraqi sad smiles to find the Kebab’s sublime glory.
SUMERIAN RECIPES, A mosaicked poem by the mosaicist poet Anwer Ghani, Iraq 2018.
294 · Jan 2020
WRECK
Anwer Ghani Jan 2020
The days are hidden, and despite their wide illusions, the rain has touched my dewy skin, so I came out of their fields like moss with a sterile and blind crutch. For ages, I have been chanting dark and sad love for the sun. For ages, I have been sailing in my absent memory; the remains of this terrible wreck.
285 · Jan 2019
WHEN YOU HAVE A FAMILY
Anwer Ghani Jan 2019
When you go deep in your silence, there is nothing can break you but the faint sound of your days and when you read my poetry you will know that I am a farmer from the south my father has planted me with our ambergris. Yes, I am a simple farmer from the south around me a small tree, a small river and a small family. My morning is kneaded with my small daughter’s smiles, my evening is colored by my big son’s tales and my night is the glory of the soft hand warmness. When you have a family, at that time, you will see the secrets of twilight, the delicious taste of the backache and the very wide world of a small family in the south. Yes, I have a small family in a small house with a small window, but my eyes can see the beautiful night stars and my heart can touch the charming morning smiles. When you have a family, your smile will have pink lips and your work will wear a crown. Yes, my friend, when you have a family all the days will be valentine and all the times have meaning. Yes, when you have a family, there will be sadness and happiness, crying and laugh, pain and pleasure, but believe me this is the meaning of life.
281 · Aug 2020
Tumultuous Love
Anwer Ghani Aug 2020
The love that the tumultuous lover failed to create is the cause of all this hot flux, perhaps he should revise his tune. What we see in his promises is just glamor. I always told him to break free from tumultuous love. I told him that evening, and I was very serious; messing with bright promises is frightening. In fact, he knew that his tumultuous love made him a weightless ghost. It's now motionless and feelingless, and you can imagine what the bustle would be without the flavor of excitement. Yes, you can imagine that; It's really a strange thing.
275 · Aug 2019
A COLD SLAP
Anwer Ghani Aug 2019
This coldness is one of the beautiful pages I have met in my difficult life. It goes deep into my dreams and makes an ice shadow from my heart. It steals every possible warmth from my bag, so I'm still happily standing under that tree as a wet bird. This beautiful cold deliberately cuts my skin with its hidden knife, and breaks my face like the water of a frozen lake. This coldness kills my dreams every night and slaps my face every day, so you see flushing on my cheek every morning. It's not a lover's kiss or a pink rose, it's just a cold slap.
257 · Aug 2019
SECRETS OF A FARMER
Anwer Ghani Aug 2019
Yes, I'm a farmer from the south; my hair is grassy like my sleepy sunset and my dream is slow like an old train. If you touch my primitive heart you will see flowing secrets, and if you open my wooden treasure you will find colored stones. Yes, I can accompany the sun smiles and pick up the pink roses but I don't know anything about their songs. Now, I'll tell you a secret; don't love a farmer from the south, because his feelings are always ablaze and his passion is volcanic all the time.
248 · Jul 2019
A WHITE DRESS
Anwer Ghani Jul 2019
I always try to wear a white dress, but all my attempts always fail, perhaps because I am from a land where the ashes are rooted and have a long history of darkness. I am the son of dim lights, so I know candles only in the tales my father tells me, but look at my hands; they are very empty. This white dress smiles at you and tells you to be a rose; the roses do not know the hatred. When my mother gave birth to me, she put me in a white dress. When I died, my children put me in a white dress, so I do not want to cut that chain and that date, so I decided today to buy a white dress. The white dress is good, it makes you shiny and smiling, as it brings back the memories of the old heavenly. In fact, I am not celestial, and my feet are clinging to the ground like a blind rock, but I always try to walk quietly in the road and to love the morning for no reason.
244 · Feb 2019
The Land of Brotherhood.
Anwer Ghani Feb 2019
We are the brothers of suns; our winter chants have a very delicate roaring, and our mumbles have a wide love. We are the sons of old farmers know the magic tales of our rosary rivers and comb the golden braid of the sun at its smiley morning. You know; the brother is a smile, and the brotherhood is a gift so when you have a brother you will be an endless happy bird and a timeless openhanded tree. Yes, We are Iraqis; the son of  this land; the land of brotherhood; our Hilli beans inherited the magic songs from the Babylonian clayey tablets and our amber rice has learnt their peaceful colors from the white souls of our ancestors. Yes, we are the sons of the magic land but this strange world always -and without cause- trying to **** our dreams. Here, in our land, the land of brotherhood, the souls are smooth and the hearts are delicate but the roads are grey and the winds are rough because the blind world has a very black hand which don't stop the stealing of our chants. Yes, we are the endless chants and timeless songs but you should plant a red rose in your fields and  lodge wild deer in your lands to hear our magic and to see our colors.
225 · May 2018
VOICES
Anwer Ghani May 2018
BLUE VOICE
I am nothing but a boat its wing has a very bewitching tales I can't tell you their secrets. When the blue voice showed me its intangible soul, all the deep whispers dissolved in my dream as a sleepy blue rose. I can tell you another mystic glance; there are fogy seas of the blue voice, and you can feel their fingers touch your depth with calm astonishment. No, I am not a sorcerer, but I am just a passenger has drowned totally in the blue.

SLIVERY VOICE
I was not a chanter, but I could not sit on our tree bough when my grandfather had used to talk about the bright birds and the lucent horses of the sliver voice. There were cities of veiled winds their whispers touch our window with a delightful smile, penetrate our depth without delay and invade our souls with a deep salute. I was just a young child, and you can't expect to find in my pocket silvery fairies but our land is the daughter of the silver voice so you always find my daily chant; "oh the sliver voice, get my whishes on your wings and shelter my dream in the delicious midday. I am just a totally compliant and smooth southern child sits on that bough with sliver chants in his pocket."

PINK VOICE
I am not platonic, but I didn't smell the sleepy flowers of the pink voice. Do you see the colored vociferous wedding? Its naked soul is a fragrance of the coquette eyelids of the pink voice. When your eyes see the momentary waves of the pink voice, at that time, you will remember my words, and you will feel hardly the remote carnivalesque lands of my dispersed corners. Yes, I didn't smell the sleepy flowers of the pink voice, but I am a southern farmer knows everything about its dreamy smiles and hidden wishes.
"VOICES"
Tessellated poem ( poems in poem)
Expressive narrative prose poetry
By Anwar JaberMay 2018
217 · Aug 2019
UNUSUAL KISS
Anwer Ghani Aug 2019
Our days are full of surprise, as all the happy springs are overflowing from their amazing fingers. I am not water, and I cannot sleep in the hearts of these springs, but the freemen made houses of love for birds that know nothing but the morning songs. They are smooth creatures, and there is only light in their hearts so they are always shining and from their journeys, the beginnings have begun. Their hands are silver and you can see their golden chants lying safely on our land where the lovebirds stand under our smiling trees and give me an unusual kiss.
Anwer Ghani Aug 2020
When we left the icy land to drown in the scent of the bustling city, the streets were rippling with hearts stealing. There is no quiet in the bustling city nor winter, so there is no place for any cold word or heavy souls. Everything here smiles, the eyes are filled with incense and colors, and mouths have hymns. In the sweet moments here, you can't find anything but amazing moments and deep stories. Colorful lights paint the walls and cheeks and bloom with henna on the hands. I cannot forget that tree-covered road caressing our heads and the skyscraper that stands at the heart of an enchanting beach.
197 · Sep 2019
SUMAC
Anwer Ghani Sep 2019
Have you heard about Sumac? Yes, it is purple, but it is stinging because the beautiful southern nights kissed its lips. The fish love Sumac because the Euphrates carried it on its back for many years. Sumac is so Iraqi so its spirit is kneaded with war stories. Did you know that Sumac and despite its sadness, it indulges in the fragrance of celebration, just like our streets.It is the son of the desert and like our daughters; the daughters of the desert always dream of days without smoke. We inherited Sumac from our Babylonian ancestors who made it with smoky tears, so you need an Iraqi smile to see the splendor of its glory.
191 · Aug 2019
THE SEA IS OUR WAVY ESSENCE
Anwer Ghani Aug 2019
The sea has a legendary story that penetrates our depths with its stormy love. It paints our world with its unique flavor, and gives life its pungent taste. Its gaze steals the hearts that yearn for it, so they swing like the ships that the waves take away. The sea is our wavy essence, and its wind is a free woman with a charming blue robe. The sea is very soft, but it is violent and leaves no story for the trees, but as you see I sit behind these trees to see the glory of the sea, and melt in my wavy words: "Everything has a rebellious spirit, even you, even me."
183 · Jul 2020
Sons of Wars
Anwer Ghani Jul 2020
We sons of wars know it and know its sounds. It's a gray tale that wears a red cloak on cold nights. It steals every smiling piece, so you see nothing here but silence.  In the morning the children fill their eyes with clouds and in the evening, you can smell wailing. The cracks in our rooms' walls are like the torn souls and our wedding beds are red as the colors of our streets. Young people sit in the corners waiting for their foggy fate, and hands only know failure. Without any sin, we are sons of wars.
172 · Jan 2020
COLD HANDS
Anwer Ghani Jan 2020
Here, on my earth you see no rose; there is nothing but pale and rhyming faces of pain. You see no eyes but the empty sea, and here you can feel the cold hands of the world as it knocks on our door in a frightening night. O cold world, I can't see your heart or your eyes. I remember when you told me about colored trees but when I put my head on the pillow your red hand knock in the cold nights so I see our lost children and their sad morning shed in the waterwheel.
163 · Dec 2019
IN A DREAM
Anwer Ghani Dec 2019
I met an old friend in the dream and his hand was warm, not because of fever but because of his love. You cannot imagine the effect of flowers and friend in a dream. You may not know that our dream is the only place where we can see white birds and trees smiling because it is rare to see a smile in my city where the souls are dark like deformed wood, but our dream always smiles to us as a mother.
162 · Jul 2020
Something Yearns for Fade
Anwer Ghani Jul 2020
I have a salty bird; it never tires of trying to fly because it has been without wings since its birth. It is antique, deep and subtle, and in the afternoon, it knocks on the windows of the village as if it were an old tale. You know that I'm not a rebellious man and I always try to walk beside the wall but my bird has a zealous spirit and soon fades in the love of freedom. How I wish I were like my bird; something yearns for fade in the truth.
160 · Sep 2019
THE TORN CLOAK
Anwer Ghani Sep 2019
My heart is very shining, not because of its soft whiteness but because of all those young dreams which have been melted in my stony chest. I tried, like any shaded tale, to hide my dead flowers with a torn cloak, so they can't see any picture of a living fragrance; I mean the fragrance of the remote lands. Here, in my heart, you find all the naked wishes that cover her nakedness with a cloak; I mean the worn cloak. Yes, I am a scarf man; my water is dark and all these cloaks cannot hide my grief. Yes, I am the naked man, and it is not strange to see my feet immersed in every futile story. I am the mantle of sorrow; my land is only a legendary face of crying and my women are nothing but faint boats.
155 · Feb 2018
Wishes
Anwer Ghani Feb 2018
When we saw these colored shadows, the magic whispers penetrate us very fast, and when I kissed the lips of a strange voice, the sun lights slept in my dreams as a butterfly. Can you touch these colored shadows? Can you hear their wishes?
144 · Sep 2019
DO YOU REMEMBER THEM
Anwer Ghani Sep 2019
They are pure spirits; they are pure spirits. We encountered them at the fields. Do you remember them? They are pure like light. They are innocent spirits. They are innocent spirits. We saw them streaming gently. Do you remember them? They are as innocent as the river. At that time, they were loving; light and river. Uh, the light and the river were lovers, at that time.
It's morning. It's morning. It's the beautiful morning sun. Do you remember it? When the light and the river were two lovers. It was painting her whispers on our cheeks; O purity; O innocence; when the river and light were in love.
143 · Jan 2020
A FARMER FROM THE SOUTH
Anwer Ghani Jan 2020
I am a farmer from the south with nothing in my pocket other than oranges. Look at my face, it is brown and look at my hands, it is white. I am from here from the south; an oriental man with a dreamy soul. Yes, I am a dreamer from the south. My heart bears only simple love and my mouth is always smiling.
140 · Aug 2019
THE CHEESECLOTH
Anwer Ghani Aug 2019
I remember the white cheesecloth of my grandmother by which she was making cheese from milk. In fact, I liked that barrier, cheesecloth, because I didn't like milk and I was liking cheese, and because it's real and white, but you see the barriers these days; it's red and dark. Yes, they are, like my heart, bitter, dark and full of lies.
138 · Jan 2020
THE MAN OF THE OCEAN
Anwer Ghani Jan 2020
Our times are always alone and our birds are pale, so all our nights tremble and all our flowers cannot speak loudly, but in the midst of this coolness, I can hear the ocean, and its soul color my heart with the beauty of blue warmth and because of this; fish love to call me "the man of the ocean."
138 · Aug 2019
SOFT TOUCHES
Anwer Ghani Aug 2019
Do you see all these amazing colors in the beautiful sky? They are just unique smiles of our love. There, I saw my soul delighted near a bank of a colored river on its head a very green hat, above which was a loving nest. Yes, our love is a green treasure, I have seen it before the sunrise and before the wedding of the trees, so all our affectionate glances are Valentine's moments. From our timid whispers, the birds learned their songs and from our soft touches, the sunsets took their silk clothes. And from our secrets — which I am not told — the evenings have learned every intimate and warm story.
137 · Feb 2020
A CEDAR TREE
Anwer Ghani Feb 2020
Oh, Cedar, how many aspirants loved you and the immortal Gilgamesh knew how to write you a poem. I am from the distant cities, where the sun is without robe and no eyes, only a story of waiting and something of an ancient fragrant. I am an old traveler, I learned the trip by accident. I also tell you that I am a small sailor and inherited the sea song from my grandparents. The hard wave I will know its desire. I will know it, and I will keep a little silent, so I may remember something. Yes, I will wait as a cedar tree overflows with returnees.
132 · Dec 2018
FARMERS
Anwer Ghani Dec 2018
A Southern Farmer
I am a farmer from the south bring nothing in my pocket but oranges. Look at my face, it is brown and look at my hands, they are white. I am from here, from the south; an Eastern man with a dreamy soul. Yes, I am a dreamer from the south; my heart bears nothing but simple love and my mouth smiles without cause.


An Old Farmer
I'm an old farmer, know the amazing colors of the flowers’ hearts where the blue dreams wear their shiny dresses and the whispers make a sunny cake for the morning’s birds. When the squirrel travels through the green songs, all the flavors take their pink veils and when the rivers chant their daring stories, every girl immerse in her blue dreams. They fill the times with a stormy passion and plant smiles in our dry deserts. In their sleepy eyes, you can see the river’s secrets and from their loud whispers, you may know the silent wishes.

A Mute Farmer
When that southern bird has seen our dreams, he opened his book. He knows our farmery hearts and his hand, which had come from the remote valley, colors the moon face with a laugh. O dreamy bird, this is my farmery love sits behind my eyes. Can you see it? Can you hear its muteness? Here is my pretend; a colored veil covers my fire and a shy smile bears my coldness over warm wings.It is me; the mute farmer.
A mosaicked poem.
131 · Aug 2019
LITTLE BY LITTLE
Anwer Ghani Aug 2019
Little by little, the water is getting warmer, and the fish have dreams of flying. Do you see these birds? Just look at their eyes; they little by little became more affectionate. Little by little, I began to walk towards you as if you are this broad horizon to fade in you with love. Look at the sand; it is no longer dry; it becomes a story of amazing greening. Little by little, everything becomes different; little by little, I began to get warmer and little by little, you become warmer.
128 · Feb 2020
A TEAR ON THE ROAD
Anwer Ghani Feb 2020
I am not very good at telling stories; I mean the beginnings and whatever you wish. I am never good to be a love or a butterfly, I am just a tear on the road. When the sun hears my chants, it will stain the streets with yellow tears, and when I love you violently, I will fade away like the summer nights. It's me, with all the power, with all the violence, but don't expect that I'm going to tell stories because I'm just a whisper and a tear on the road.
126 · Jan 2020
Every Year I Love You More
Anwer Ghani Jan 2020
I asked every rose in our garden and every tree near our house to tell you frankly: Every year I love you more. Today, in this charming morning I spoke seriously with the sun, and we decided to tell you one fact: Every year I love you more. It is the last night of December and this year has passed with a great memory, but what I really remember are our moments where I love you more. Now, on this silent night, near our little fireplace, specifically in this intimate winter moment, I listen well to my coffee and remember every word of it and how it tells me to give you a big hug and tell you strongly: Every year I love you more and more.  When I sit next to you, I love you more, and when I travel across faraway lands, I deeply feel that I love you more.  When I talk to you, I love you more, and when I remember your words, I love you more and more. In fact, every day I love you more, and every year I love you more.
123 · Jan 2019
THE SOUL OF LIGHT
Anwer Ghani Jan 2019
When the roads open their eyes, all the blue fish come to my sea. The road is a smile exits its pink  ear from that window which sleeps on my mother hand. Without any delay, I am disappearing in its  light where the warmness wears its whit coat. My heart, like a bird on an icy bough, will immerse in that moment comes from her chant; the soul of light. My love is that wind which can bring all the sky clouds, and that grass which hugs all the world goats, but the mother love is a different world and impossible in its oneness.
When the morning’s happiness poured, and the foggy shadow secluded, at that moment I knew that the sun had a pure splendid face and the wings of light went to laugh with their full days. When the mask of darkness falls, I will see all the towers and the glorious rain chants on your hands, where the secret springs of the universe have been immersed in the dust of clayish towns and misted by their brown breeze. I saw your azure trees smiled at the waterfalls and your carnelian submerged in ice tobacco of Mashu Mountain. The white wings of your blooming spirit told the earth the tales of light which had been colored by a shawl of a girl gathering the date from her grandfather orchard. So, the mightiness of earth bends with astonishment at your old glitter and flies as spatial vehicle had seen a new face of the moon.
116 · Dec 2018
LIGHTISH
Anwer Ghani Dec 2018
The Soul of Light
When the roads open their eyes, all the blue fish will come to my sea. The road is a smile exits its pink  ear from that window which sleeps on my mother hands. Without any delay, I am disappearing in the mother's light. My heart, like a bird on an icy bough, will immerse in that moment comes from her chant;the soul of light. My love is that wind which can cross all clouds, and that grass which hug all world goats, but the mother light is a different world and impossible in its oneness.


The Wings of Light
When the morning’s happiness poured, and the foggy shadow secluded, at that moment I knew that the sun had a pure splendid face and the wings of light went to laugh with their full days. When the mask of darkness falls, I will see all the towers and the glorious rain chants on your hands. O great Mary, from your heart corners all the dreams of white rivers come.I watch your light wings and see your words on the lake’s face: “The man of peace will defeat darkness by every loved word." .

The Tales of Light
Where the secret springs of the universe have been immersed in the dust of clayish towns and misted by their brown breeze, I saw your azure trees smiled at the waterfalls and your carnelian submerged in ice tobacco of Mashu Mountain. The white wings of your blooming spirit told the earth the tales of light, that had been colored by a shawl of a girl gathering the date from her grandfather garden. So, the mightiness of earth bends with astonishment at your old glitter and as a long distance which was crossed by bare feet, it flies as spatial vehicle had seen a new face of moon.
Mosaicked poem
115 · Jan 2020
THE LOVE OF THE MOTHER
Anwer Ghani Jan 2020
When the roads open their eyes, all the sympathetic fish will come to the sea. You can't imagine the way of the smile comes with pink flowers tweeting near that window which sleeps on my mom hands. Without any end, I feel hidden happiness in the light of my mother.  My heart, like a bird on an ice branch, and in my opinion, I am a leaf without movement. But my love is that wind that can cross all the clouds, and the grass that hugged all the goats in the world, but the love of the mother is a different and impossible world in a unique way.
114 · Sep 2019
ORANGE
Anwer Ghani Sep 2019
The ancestors used to say that life was a moment and imagine how it would be if its color is orange; the eyes are orange, the lips are orange and the dresses are orange. The orange color has been so burning. so the Asian tribes often raise them over their mountains. It is warm but dewy like the spirit of the sunset which grabs our hearts with its soft passion, so you can not see here only dewy flowers. Yes, the sunset is an inspiring visitor; its glorious breeze knocking on our doors every day, but as you know I am a peasant from the south; my heart is very thin, but it knows nothing about the amazing orange color.
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