This is me, a prose poem, I flow between the features of time with complete freedom, and penetrate the body of dates like a magic ray. I strike the face of darkness, and shatter the glass of its imaginary eyes. And there on the hills of its chest I raise the banner of unforgettable love.

Yes, this is me, a prose poem; My breath is hot like Indian pepper, from above its hat a burning hymn flies. In my heart is a destructive storm, but my body is elegant and furnished, created by a wild stream whose water never stops.

Yes, this is me, a prose poem, my sandy dress shatters with complete freedom, and my magic is a flowing narrative, but you cannot hold me, my laughter is a distinguishing mark for the morning and a mad confession to a field full of butterflies. When I visit you, I visit you with all kindness, and when I melt in your cup, I become your enchanting voice and the legend that inhabits the non-place and walks in timelessness. Above my sleepy hands are the sun’s waterfalls, and from my eyes fairy tales begin, so the seasons and days gather around me so that I disappear into their depths with complete spontaneity.

I am very delicate; because I am a prose poem; I drown in a world of fog. How do you want to see me when I am that transparent shadow that tells everything? This is me, a prose poem, you feel strongly my warm touch but you will not see my elegant fingers.

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The writing and art by Anwer Ghani