Candlestick Star


By Assma Garib ( Morocco)


In a sad room,
Dark and cold,
Gather around a rectangular table
A star and two kings…
From the land of Wales, Queen
From the Roman’s Empire, King
And from the Promised Land, awaiting-shooting star.

In the sad room,
Valleys of blood run from the Star’s tresses,
And from its eyes, valleys of tears explode
And the two Kings are warped in terrible silence.
They all gaze at strange Candlestick
It has three columns of copper
Instilled in them three extinguished candles….

Into the cold room,
A strange women enters silently.
She believes in Allah, The One,
And the religion of the prophet Ahmed.
She greets the flaming fire,
Wipes out its tear,
And touches the strange Candlestick.

In the dark room and between the hands of the strange woman,
The Candlestick turns to be Cross of Gold.
Its head is crowned with a luminous candle.
The shooting star smiles,
The Roman King’s heart breaks,
The Queen of Wales Cries.
Thus the room Glows with Divine and Glamour.
Laws
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By Bahija Masri Adalbi (Syria)


I am a woman
With distant dreams,
And in my soul
Stubborn laws.
Poetry melts
From the eyelashes of my spirit
And my revealing.

In love he disembarked his tides.
You are my distances,
And the ink of my voice,
And the secret
In the poem’s revealing.

My image made you
A mirror of myself .
If the range one day went astray
In its border,
I‘d carry you in my blood,
A Deep secret
So that my mortal heart would realize
Its immortality .

I kneaded from the mud
My awaiting,
And from my fire
I kneaded expelled visions.
I intruded water
In the exile of my tears
So that love might sum up its anthem
To my propinquity,
And throw around my secrets
An appeal,
and hide my secret prostration
In its range.
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Pouring


By Ali Zahrani (Saudi Arabia)

You pile in my lap
Like the pouring rain,
A dream after a lost dream.

O She-child of the rain,
Submerged in absenteeism,
Within me overabundance sensations
Aspiring to embrace you,
Within me an anguish of yearning
Breaking lover’s heart
Torn by distances.
So near and attached to me,
Far way like the distances of ocean,
I love you and it is something ought to be.
It is not my concern who chooses.

I handed to you my heart
And I loved death and sailing with you,
So take me
And do not send my heart back…
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Who are You…!

By Hadia El-Abdullah (Lebanon)


Who are you,
To make my little poem tremble whenever your name is mentioned…
Craving beaming
Carry you over the spirit’s glamour .

Who are you…!
Time takes you suddenly
From subsided absence,
Placing you in the boxes of my age
Provision of waiting.

Who are you…!
You come to me as a poke,
Gathering me from the remnant of my evening a morning
Where you are in it,
And instilling me over your gaps
A sip
And then you disappear.

Who are you…who!
To pulp in my blood
An amorphous pain,
Streamlining in the parting of vein
Vehemence,
Whenever the gleam of your eyes
Disappears from my time.

Who are you…!
Time without you is a chilly frost
While silence is howling in my volcano
And your departure
Is coldness and fire.
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Scenes

By Fatima Al-Himzawi (Tunisia)


The First Scene

The curtain is lifted up,
His face scintillates
In her palm hand,
Luscious as dream
Hot as her breaths.
Thus her eyes are washed with light
And cherry germinates
On the lips.
…..
She pulls the quilt of his voice to her shoulders
And dreams…


The Second Scene

The paces rupture
Slowly
On the asphalt,
The fragments injure
The flesh of vagueness.
Faraway, faraway she keeps on going.
She treads on the clamor of the sand
With her weary feet,
And feeds night
The crumbs of the tale,
And before the wave shows its jaws,
She dives in the Moon’s face
And keeps on dreaming….!

The Third Scene

On the other bank,
The arrogant fate sits brashly,
Listening to the whisper of the branches
And the gossip of the hopes…

He abrades his fingers,
Cracking them,
And then he goes quite
For awhile….

The Last Scene

Behind silence
Black Hodge is swinging.
…
Tonight,
Roses will be wedded
To seasons they do not like.
They leave their dreams
On the threshold of dawn,
And move ahead without any tears.
…
The curtain goes down
And after clapping,
She remembers
That she was dreaming…!
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A Galaxy for him in the chambers of heaven

By Hadia El-Abdullah (Lebanon)

To the Master of Voice ….If He Speaks

Your eyes are the abbreviation for a poem,
And your face is the likeness of golden dust,
Leaving with the thread of light to another sky
To weave from the backside a transparent tomorrow,
Where its dew blossoms on the temple of my sight,
And to inscribe on the walls of my features
The passion of my waiting…!

I am with your Attar …I abdicate my silence
And bloom from your breaths tresses of love and pain.

I… My eyes exhaust you.
I overflow with esteem without diffusion on your delicate eyelashes
To read you on your high eyebrows …brightness canto,
Or a muse wherein Gabriel inspiring without simulation.

I am where your faraway voice is, drowning in hymens,
So that your bright appearance may bring me back a shadow,
Wetted by your veneration.

Glory to Him who makes you sprouted towards the sky.

You are the altitudes of unknown over the badges of Prophecy.
You are a beau ideal like the Message,
Carrying the light without a sound.
That heaps over our dark ends intensively
To wipe our paleness the err of colors.

Oh there is a possibility… For reaching you,
How could I sleep loaded with sun…. And I wonder, you do not breathe?!


Dedicated only to the master of humanity Mr. Hassan Nasrallah “Abu Hadi”
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The Mirror

By Munir Awald Al- Jilali (Morocco)

You sit lonely
Like silent roads on the night of war.
Without attention from you,
You are delivering the facing mirror to the Dawn.
Butterflies of an old man are a coffin of King who has finally reaches the river.
Horses set out in haste like the bleeding of an orange,
The beats of drums and dead,
injured men like the clouds and the bells like butterflies run inside the horses that run inside the coffin
that runs inside the bed that runs in the mirror.
The mirror once again,
The soldiers are firing at La Giaconda
Only the river
Smiles....
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Poems which aren’t very Sad…


By Izzet Al-Tiri (Egypt)

The sterile man
Beats his wife every day
while the wife cries every day
Like children…

A barren woman
Nourishes the husband her breast
And says to him:
Sleep, oh my baby, my darling…!

The sterile man
Fills the house
With dolls, and swings and candy
For his wife…!

The blind man got bored of his stick,
Dreaming of a woman
To lean on her every morning,
And to have other interests at night.

If my mother had rejected my father’s desire
Or given him excuses that night,
I would not have come…!

She sits at the library,
Drinking hot verses,
And I drink tea
So that I may read what she drinks…

He descended
to listen
To the music of the river
But it made him drown…!

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The Cup of Secret


By Nasr Badwan (Palestine)


The tune descends as a revelation.
O poet’s heart, how much could you bear?
O poet’s heart, how much do you beautify?
In this leeway of fugitive time,
The moment flows from your palm hand.
Thus, Go with the writhe of your grief
Till the depths of the Scene…!
Stand still and contemplate…!
O poet’s heart, how much do you beautify?
O the Cup of Secret,
Savor lusciously the secret…!
O the Cup of Secret, reveal what so ever you desire…!
O the Cup of Secret,
This is chatter’s thirst,
And your water is sweet and pure…
Thus pour from your spring
to wet the lips of the thirsty ones…
And play your tune
To shake the souls.
O Bulbul,
The chirper,
The dawn is near
And so it is time
For you to play your tune
On the strings of the Sun’s ray…!
Whisper,
O Secret of whispering,
And injure
The harp of this silence,
Injure
And let the tune go high…!
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Verse

By Hayat Al-Rayis

Then it comes out mad because of ecstasy

During the lightening,
There are tresses of rain.
Then it comes out
Mad
Because of the ecstasy.

Lightning escapes
From the rain
In every direction,
Fearing wetness.

Stars and the rain drops scatter
On the chest of the sky
To stud its lace
Whenever they are inflicted by awareness
And boredom.

The Moon leans
On the brink of its balcony
And requires:
How can
The needle of rain
Weave
All this ornaments
In the darkness...?

The water wakes up
As a stranger
In the sky.
Thus it pours down eagerly
Over the chest
Of the grass.

Rain
Rolls
High and drunk
As it returns back
To the womb…

Rain sheds
Runnels,
Engraving a tattoo
On a face
Of its female ….

Rain surprises
Earth
With its forgotten femininity ….

Only rain
Raises
The shiver
Of the earth…!

Because of the hardness of expatriate,
Rain escapes
From heaven
To the earth…!

Thunder is the cry of rain
When it leaves
The womb
Of a cloud…!

The grass got bored
Of laying
Under the sun.
It longs to be enfolded
In a could…!
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Love Between two Arrows

By Ayob al- Maliji (Morocco)


This evening,
Your hanging picture on the wall
Talked to me.
It revolted... cried.
I glanced on her cheek
A kiss that was your gift on valentine day.

Here I am saying
How many times you make out of your tresses
A blanket,
And how many times you pluck
For your eyelashes,
So that I may buy my daily food.
I associate with La Giaconda and her salty smile
how dizzy she makes me.
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Shorts Poems

By Adel hadi Al- Shihri (Saudi Arabia)


In awaiting the clouds

A Bee
Rests
Under its shade.


Method

She opens her mouth
To draw kohl
Over the eyelashes.

What should that night do

On the cheek
Of this pillow,
He spills out his dreams
For an hour or two.
Thus he descends
Into the unawareness of sleeping.
Then he weaves them
For an hour or two
And wakes up,
Smiling to the morn.
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Short Poems

By Hussein bin Qurayn Alderm Shaky (Libya)

Mirror:
All the mirrors are concave
Except the mirror’s face of my beloved.

Alienation:

He retuned from exile, burdened with worries,
And found every one waiting him
But, soon he felt alienation…!

Grief

He came out of his grief,
Dancing in joy.
Suddenly he remembered
That day was the birthday of his beloved.
Thus his grief became harder..!

Repentance

To god I repent
For what I have done,
And plea for a mercy.
But I disbelieve in love
And err over my repentance …

Sin

In all my prayers,
I plea to god to forgive all my sins
Except the sin of loving you…!

Cuddle

When ever he caresses her loosening hair,
Their souls intermingle …

In Solitude

In the sanctuary of your love,
I seek refuge,
Pealing for charity from your lips...!

Accolade

All the sparrows of the world fly
Except my sparrows.
They crawl in honor and esteem for you.

Impossibility

My freedom, madam, is to meet you in time when meeting was impossible...

Torment

I am tormented and my breaths stop with every sunset that I do not see you…

Farewell

He dreamt of her
And left her in Farwell before they had the chance to meet…

Embracing

He stretched his hands to embrace her.
She came closer to him with her arms opened.
When her breaths got closer,
She faded and disappeared.
Thus he started embracing her spectrum and kissing her footsteps.

Intaglio

Oh you who resides in the endosperm of memory,
Write me a poem,
And hang me on your bosom,
So that my love might be engraved on time wall...!

Wholesomeness

Baptize me and by love purify me...!
If you were goddess,
I would worship you…
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Imbibe Myself

By Dalia al-Saleh (Syria)

I imbibe myself.
I feel I am deserted
Like shores inhabited by seclusion.
I never soar.
I only walked on the threads of illusion
to wed my nihility to golden bars..,

Expatriate is freedom,
Mellowed by suffocation in unknown areas of the soul.

O homeland is yearning..!
The waste of idiotic paper is
Wiggling before me.
The old expatriate lurking is
Between my ribs.

My falling breaths yearn,
Hoping illusion would pour
The seeds of rain…

I fall like pieces.
I quench my thirst from a wailing land.
Strange, I am.
I imbibe myself.
My heart is on the window‘s edge,
Fear sagging from it.
I see my other body hallucinating.
My homeland is my first face.
My homeland is a cradle I inhale it.
================================================== ==============

I Flee from You to You

By Majida Abdel Nabi (Egypt)

In the falling threads of night,
Over my sleepy eyelashes,
I hid my memories,
And slumber over their pouring murmur
Like a river never stops flowing.

There
I sail within myself,
Burning again
With every pulse glowing in the wall of fire,
And die again
With every letter which not born yet,

O you who robs me,
Steals me from my memory.
How can you be within me and form me
Even in the threads of night,
Which I flee from you to them.
I always see you there
Curling and wrapping them over my neck… My Memories.
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The Arrows of Secrets


By Liyla Ibrahim (Saudi Arabia)


Our secrets are
Pearls hidden in the heart’s shell,
Tunes inhabiting between the strings of voice,
Milk hiding in the recesses of twigs of memory,
Recycled water droplets at the bottom of the hotbeds of spirit…

Our secrets are arrows,
Jailed in the lobby of silence,
Slumbering in the eye’s jar
Stuck in the intentions of talk .

Our secrets are
Sparrows living in our ribs.
When we weave for them the wing of voice,
They provoke the wind’s fury,
And fly away…!
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Dreams Thieves

By Youssef Al-Harbi


Threads of dreams,
And two creeks,
And an age is swinging
Between
The Colleague of memory
And echo of words that knows not how to cheat.
The circle of loneliness
Whose center beats with longing
Is extracted by the misery of silence
And crowd of tears..

O princess of hearts,
Life becomes so constricted with its yearning
As life is fraught with
Boundaries and handcuffs,
In space hopes glow,
And in the heart
A gasp rages
With past Interactions
Upon the burning of the eyelashes of remembering…

Princess of hearts
Lifts up the side of her fear,
Reveals her hopes,
And engages in the swarm of thinking,
Reeling
Seeking refuge in the banks of visions,
Filing life’s emptiness with dreams.

Princess of dream
Fixes her eyelashes on
The features of the place.
Thus her depths are fraught with light.
By it, she buries the torment of dreams.
Her ghost appears as a spectrum
Waving…disappearing
Like the Sun in winter,
Tampering with daylight,
As it awaits it for long
Till the awaiting become gray
Like glittering stream,
And sparrows plea for it in their nests,
Glide over it,
And depart with ecstasy of love,
Passing the veneer of grief,
And the fence tears.
They draw near
With arms wild open
To the gift of fate and its grace.
The hand of days stretches
To extinguish the dream candle,
Lifts up,
Bringing it back again to the streets of life.
It was a dream…. Just a dream…!
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The mermaid of all Ages

By Professor Subhi Niall (Syria)

O my darling, if you possessed
Remnant of my madness
And some of my arts,
History would change the painting of sorrows,
And build palaces of coral stones for me.
You, my darling,
Are the mermaid of all ages,
A jewel of rubies
In the shore of oblivion.

If you build palaces,
If you bestrew flowers,
You will always, my love, be
Openhanded
Like water to the thirsty.

As you, my darling,
Are the mermaid of all ages.
And you, my love,
Are the anthem of time.
And you, my life,
The remnant from dreams,
And human’s vision.
Your fragrance will remain.
My companion regardless to what happened…
And your eyes, my love,
The muse of Melodies..!
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Loaded with Lust I Come to You


By Aziz Al- Wali (Morocco)


Replete with lust I come to you, O wind…
I hang my doubts and the water of my glass,
Reciting in your attendance my Shamelessness …

The Gum that paints the back of wind has little suspicion ... and absenteeism.
The Iris that is in the mob’s hat
Looks like the absences of wrinkle at the dusk of sunset...

Here I am, o blue ink,
Hanging the necklace of blueness on the chest debauchery...
I know not that the Blue chair is about to fall…

This faint light looks like me when I am extremely high…

The Water
The Lilies
The Chrysanthemum
The Kindergarten
The Insomnia
The Burrow
The Butterflies…

As if you were in the depth of the whiteness whitening the ugliness...
Reeling and raining the pasture a smoke..

O fugitive who fled at dawn from the language of dawn..!
O fugitive who inadvertently omitted from memory ...!
…
This is me.
Woe unto you, god, from my smudginess.

O you who resides in the lung of blackness,
It is my eyes that rain black coffee over you.
Tomorrow you will pee in the arteries of Exotic Chantoli.
A witness to the Page of profanity I come to you.
My comfort is fraught with whiteness,
And this night is dishonoring of the Sunset,
And tomorrow is the meeting with Garcia,
And the day after I will pee in the alphabet’s hats and meet with the mirage.
O shore, loosen the buttons of your shirt
For I will come to you shrinking from lust
So that I may dissolve my ink in you,
And keep you a witness to my wound...my ugliness…and the god’s virtue.

Oh river
This is me…so place your toast near mine,
And dink your anthem in my glassy basement...!

Tomorrow I will bring to you a teeth brush to wash the back of time from the panic of Hulagu.

Oh Omission,
This is me…who is Isis while Scheherazade is residing in my balcony
Selling me a blind date with the breasts of water
Thus water me, O thirsty garden, so that I may fixate some details of the meeting.

O thirst let me vomit my gap over the breasts of joy,
And sell my smudginess to a night,
And let me suck the foam of Satirist form Garcia Marquez’s mouth,
Let me break the oars of Language and ride the Omission to cross the ocean, leaning on the characters of harangue.

Sorry ... I’m just affluence whose nectar dried out…!
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The Young Guerrilla

By Muhammad Ali Hani (Tunisia)


Good morning, Zeinab, I don’t pay attention to playing.
I am a guerrilla child with children I don’t Play.
I am a Palestinian child and my people are the sons of Arabs.
My father was hanged and I didn’t weep nor mourn,
And my mother was touched with hurt and she died while giving birth.
My house is in Haifa’s soil, collapsed before it was pillaged.
I am a guerrilla cub and my weapon is Tusk and claw.
I am a guerrilla, walking on my wound, never getting weary.
I am a guerrilla, and my heart is in my palm hand blooming in foliage
O Zeinab, come here and give aid to the wounded heroes,
Come, our dawn is coming tomorrow. thus we will thrive and play.
================================================== =======================

The Sweetest Poems

By Muhammad Ali Hani (Tunisia)


This is my Blood
Extracting a sword
Of flame
And Shouting
At the face of poems
And speeches:
Only the child with stones in his hand
Who wrote the sweetest Poems…!
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The Marty’s Wedding


By Mohammed Amari (Morocco)


From the heart of Java,
A tale a bout a woman
Was born
Who adores the rocks,
Embellishing them with
The inability of Arabs Clans.
The oppression of the Clans of the west
Presenting them
To the child of boldness
To the child of martyrdom
Bat adaptations cloud
Carrying a Grin
For the crosses border
Ridding
The neigh of the night
Drawing
The Marty’s wedding
Fading
Pulsing
Between the Graves…