Anwer Ghani is an Iraqi poet and writer. He was born in 1973 in Hilla. His work has appeared in Otoliths, Adelaide, November Bees, Zarf, Peacock, Eunioa, Rabbit and many others. He is the author of several books, including "Narratopoet" (Inventives Cloud 2017), "Antipoetic Poems" (Create Space 2017), "TRUMP; a poetry collection" (Inner Child Press 2017) and "The Narratolyric Writing" (Smashwords 20170). Visit his blog at: https://anwerghaniwriting.blogspot.com/p/blog-page.html.
My Grandfather’s Flowers
I remember very well my grandfather’s flowers. They were silent and colorless like my life. They had been filled with a fugacious blossom, and incessantly hid behind gray veils. Those colorless flowers had seen my failed face on the rivulet and as a woman’s heart; they had colored my life with their bitter passion. They had dressed me in sadness since I saw my earth’s tears and as a legendary waterfall they had filled my streamlets with blood.
My Grandmother’s Whispers
I love the moon because its smile is shining like my grandmother’s tales. She was whispering in my dreams’ear and telling me the story of colorful land. I saw its ocean and sat beside its shore in a warm moment. I told it about the story of my shivering years. I told it that I don’t like to cry but those bloody souls had stolen my life and colored my streets with red sadness. But my grandmother said: the love of the moon doesn't need blood.
Anwer Ghani
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| Art by DH Allen |
My Grandfather’s Flowers
I remember very well my grandfather’s flowers. They were silent and colorless like my life. They had been filled with a fugacious blossom, and incessantly hid behind gray veils. Those colorless flowers had seen my failed face on the rivulet and as a woman’s heart; they had colored my life with their bitter passion. They had dressed me in sadness since I saw my earth’s tears and as a legendary waterfall they had filled my streamlets with blood.
My Grandmother’s Whispers
I love the moon because its smile is shining like my grandmother’s tales. She was whispering in my dreams’ear and telling me the story of colorful land. I saw its ocean and sat beside its shore in a warm moment. I told it about the story of my shivering years. I told it that I don’t like to cry but those bloody souls had stolen my life and colored my streets with red sadness. But my grandmother said: the love of the moon doesn't need blood.
Anwer Ghani
