By: Anwer Ghani
Notes about the poem from Anwer Ghani
This is a long poem with two important deep features; the first is the consciousness interchange where the author travels between different minds and different persons freely and the second feature is the mosaicked basis of the poem where the text has been written in a mirror style what gives it a deep musical base.
MOSAICKED ARABIAN MAN DREAMS
You can’t imagine the water’s red cheek in winter nights. I remember when my mother had made a nice hat for him. Coldness had fiercely slapped my face, so you are seeing the redness on my cheek every morning.
You know, the winter grass is not green and the white horses are attractive, but who will love my small rabbit? Because of this, I will die alone in a dark soul away from your high fences.
I will live in the horse’s forehead, behind the lovely fences. I mean behind any heartiness.
As you see; I am sitting behind trees to see the wind glory and dissolving in my absent dreams. Here, in my destroyed dream, there is no glory, nor poems, and all what can you see is a smoky tales.
If you don’t agree, I will leave the fire for you. I will leave all the walls and the closed doors for you.
These souls, which you may see them in my old mirrors, can’t say anything but shivering and can’t know anything about love
Do you see all the amazing colors in a beautiful sky? They are merely a pretty smile of killed love.
When the tales of the mountains ended at their cold knees, you will find me in her smoky corners with my dreadful shivering.
Here, in my crying dream, there is no rose, and you can’t see anything here but a sad river. Here, in my city, you find the coarse moon, which is the son of our caudex.
I am a shadowed tale trying to hide the dead flowers by a worn-out mantle, so you can’t see any picture of the revived fragrance.
Do you see these fissures on our mantles? They are our girls’ heart; they need some water. My mantle was red; I am the son of wars, and all what you can see is my crippled remnants.
In our sleepy eyes, you can see the river’s secrets and from their loud whispers, you may know the silent wishes. You may live her summer, but you need a butterfly’s heart to see her shining face.
This is my farmery love, which sits behind my eyes. Can you see it? Can you hear its muteness?
I can’t see your heart and I remember very well when you told me about your colored trees, but when you put your head on the pillow, you should remember our children and their bloods in your rivulets.
You told me about the magic amazement of winds, but believe me I can’t see but a blind wind destroying my dreams.
Please look at our faces; when you see our eyes, you will find our secrets totally non-secret, and all that strange tales will reach your heart before the morning paean.
If you touch my heart you will see the streaming secrets and if you open my treasure you will find the colored stones.
I will tell you a secret; don’t love a farmer, because his feelings are inchoate and his passion is volcanic all the time.
I can tell you about the huge wings and its wide coasts. The air in its balcony is silvery exactly as the color of our oil’s soul.
Now you can image the size of my killed dream and the color of my absence.
You may think that I was a man from the middle ages, and all these events happened in that time, but believe me I am from the 21th century.
If you want to change the fate of something, you can do that by changing your words about it.
I am sure that you know everything about fairies even what they dress in the morning.
You can feel my pulse with its violet water and great tales of blind sand where the echo groans as a yellow bird exhausted by rain.
I am not happy and can’t tell you my fiery passion, but you should remember that yellow bird and his grey blood.
I still like the sky color, and its wide space which makes you feel that you are a light paper over the winds.
The colors of our trees tell you the story. This earth is our heritage and without any delay, we disappeared in her fragrance.
Our earth has lucent wings and her birds wear white coat, so you can imagine her beauty.
When you feel my husk in your hands, and when you see my soul flying dreamily in front of your eyes, at that moment you may remember our boat.
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.
Now I will tell you a secret; we are farmers and feel such delight when we vanish in our coffee’s flavor so you may see brown veils cover our trees.
I feel your soul and I can grasp all the romantic night stars, but I can’t love you because I am a sand man know nothing but dryness.
Believe me, I have immersed in every awesome strange moment and I can smell perfume of the sea flowers but I can’t love you because I am just a war remnant who has no heart.
In the morning our children fill their eyes with hazy clouds and in the evening you can smell the odor of hungry souls.
Despite all the palms which he had planted around our river, you can’t recognize its colorless face from my life.
You can see my rowdy trees, my bitter coffee and the loneliness of my words, but when we return to our deep, we will find the shining universal perfume
You can’t feel the days’ pulses without her perfume and the riverbanks’ flowers can’t find their chants, but in the eyes of a dreamy woman.
Now, you should know that I am in a thirsty time and my heart is faint like a dry illusion.
Here, you can’t see but dry flowers and in our hidden corners, you will find a pale moon with coarse cheeks.
You may feel the soft breeze playing with their eyes and you may sense their beatings when they disappear in the river’s smiles.
Now, you can see my shadowed soul which sits on the blue chair with her silky veil.
Outside our souls, the bags bring colored butterflies, but on the faces of our trees, you can’t see but black sadness.
I wish to fall in a deep love, but you see my smashed trees and my lonely streets.
If your old trees had taught you the antique aloofness, you should discover your babyish spring’s warmness.
In the warm space, you can touch infinite warmth’s essence with worried eyes.
You sit there, on that bough with my dream, but I can’t see your beauty because my eyes were drowning in the winter redness.
Our trees have deep moaning so you see a red voice coming from their astonishing remnants.
Can you hear my warm muteness? Can you touch all that warmness? You are there, on that remote bough seeing my cold veil. It covers my ardent yearning with frigid smile and colored my torrid wings with cold feathers. Can you see?
Now, I think you know the causes of quiescence of our mute lips and coolness of our faceless corner.
In our windy boat, you can see all blue colors, and the deep lands of dreams.
Bio: Anwer Ghani
Anwer Ghani is an Iraqi poet and writer. He was born in 1973 in Babylon.
His name has appeared in many literary magazines and anthologies and he has won many prizes; one of them is the “World Laureate-Best Poet in 2017 from WNWU”.
Tessellated (poems in one poem) narrative prose poetry is the peculiar style of Anwer. He is the author of:
“Antipoetic Poems” ( 2017)
“Tessellation” (2018) and 60 other books.
Two Drops of Ink: The Literary Home for Collaborative Writing