A Note from the Editor:
I was very interested in Anwer’s work when I received his submission. One poem, in particular, Grey Souls, which was not submitted here, is about being a “child of war.” This poem caught my attention as I researched his work. His country has been war-torn for decades, and as we all know, has not seen freedom in the arts for half a century, to one degree or another. His first language is not English, but to the trained eyes and ears of those who love poetry, you can hear the interesting subtexts below the surface, and see the pictures his words paint. I hope you enjoy his poems.
Feature photo credit: www.architectural-review.com
We can’t continue to live underwater because our horses smell the perfume of remote land. This thing happened in the last days where I was driving my thought towards surrealistic freemen. Believe me, I know that this world has inspirational windows and our sky has awesome colors, but what can I do, if all the doors had been stolen and all my eyes were killed by unknown?
The Desert Man
I am living in a faceless desert, so you can’t see the carousels in my heart, and all what I can imagine is my gray stick. We should be good and laughing as exactly as my grandfather, but I am a desert’s man and know nothing about the grass. This earth, which I always love it, stands over my shoulder with cold extremities, so I can’t see her gloomy face, but I grope everything in her corners.
When I saw him, he smiled. I didn’t expect this clarity from that brown urchin. You know the brown things are deep and expressionless. He was an adept fishmonger and he had inherited his silver net from old grandfathers. He told me that he didn’t like fish, but he likes to color them with silver and casts them into the other riverbank where the sun reaches the river at her sunset and catches the fish as a bear. He has warm-hearted family. They were smooth like the lemon leaves. They were bewitching. Firstly, they mock at me, and then they say: be brown.
Have me discern the darkness. I don’t like all these lights; what the summer voice brought to my town. I am a man made from wood and I don’t know anything about lying. Have me stand in the heart of this waterfall. I mean your dark lightness.
The Blind Hotel
I saw him sitting quietly on that sofa. There was a big noise, but I could see the truth because my parents had made my skin from a fish legacy. There are no stairs in our small hotel because our crippling. When he whispered to me, I saw the sofa stole his coat, but you know I can’t say anything, because of the pure blood of the sofa. Now, I think you can imagine the size of windows in our small hotel. Yes, they are smaller than my eyes, and because of that, the people call our hotel “The Blind Hotel”.
My time is always alone, so that the river fish can’t speak loud, but I hear them. The ocean soul has been staying in my heart with her lovely coldness and because of this, my wife likes to call me “the ocean man”.
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