The Sad Iraqi Smile

Iraqis cannot live without war, and the morning breeze cannot flirt with their cheeks without its futile sound. I am an Iraqi man; my soul was kneaded by the acidity of sumac, and my dreams drowned in the sea of our sad tales. It is the death that we inherited from our Babylonian fathers, and that cannot be changed without a soft and patient hand. But despite all this bitter smoke, you need the sad Iraqi smile to see the glory of the sun.

Yasser Arafat Peace Award 2019

SMOKE GIRL

 You said "we will meet with smiles under a shining tree in the shining city where the sun songs swaying beams above your golden wrists, but the city has swallowed by smoke, so how can I see your smile? How can I come with two silver rivers and my eyes are filled with tears; amid all this smoke, how can I see you? My heart trembles, and the road is blind; amid the smoke, I cannot see your smile. I have become called Smoke boy and your name is Smoke Girl. My city has become called the city of smoke and my country is the country of smoke. Our days, our hours and our moments are smoked. Your smile, your face and my heart are smoked; nothing here- in our city- but smoke.

Pushcart Nomination

Iraqi poet Anwar Ghani has been nominated for the 2019 Pushcart Award, the world's most important poetry award by inner child press. Anwar Ghani is the first Iraqi poet to be nominated for this award.
After dedicating this nomination to my dear friends, and after more than 500 poems, I announced my retirement of literary writing and devoted myself to religious writing, but I will re-publish my poems on my blog and on social media. So All what I will publish are old poems.

ICMDR Meeting Award

Pushcart Award Nomination 2019

Iraqi poet Anwar Ghani has been nominated for the 2019 Pushcart Award, the world's most important poetry award by Inner Child Press. Anwar Ghani is the first Iraqi poet to be nominated for this award.
After dedicating this nomination to my dear friends, and after more than 500 poems, I announced my retirement of literary writing and devoted myself to religious writing, but I will re-publish my poems on my blog and on social media. So All what I will publish are old poems.

Smoke Girl

You said "we will meet with smiles under a shining tree in the shining city where the sun songs swaying beams above your golden wrists, but the city has swallowed by smoke, so how can I see your smile? How can I come with two silver rivers and my eyes are filled with tears; amid all this smoke, how can I see you? My heart trembles, and the road is blind; amid the smoke, I cannot see your smile. I have become called Smoke boy and your name is Smoke Girl. My city has become called the city of smoke and my country is the country of smoke. Our days, our hours and our moments are smoked. Your smile, your face and my heart are smoked; nothing here- in our city- but smoke.

Yasser Arafat Peace Award 2019

Let's Celebrate Asia

The sun touches our window every morning coming from the east, from Asia, so my mom calls it Bright Asia. The sun is old, the east is old, but Asia is new and young today. It is beautiful today and attractive. Very attractive, I feel it, I see it, I believe in it; it is a new Asia, beautiful Asia, its mouth is made in China and its eyes are made in India. The sun that shines from Asia is not yellow, but white like the skin of the Japanese and their cheeks are not pale; it is rosary like the Korean cheeks, and its sound is not harsh but rather very musical and soft like the voices of Arab women. Asia is very charming and amazing like Chinese arts and sports and she is very real like Indian girls. Here, I celebrate Asia because it is a soft and delicate river and every wonderful story can be planted in the heart of the world. Let's celebrate Asia and its new sun.

Serbian translation of my poem DAWN By Zaynab Milicevic - Nevenka

ZORA

od Anvera Ganija

Volim boju zore; dušu mi ispunjava dahom revolucionara i uzdiže moje snove iznad krila slobode.Iskrsavam izmedju njenih šiljaka kao zelena pesma, i letim iznad njenog cveća kao leptir koji kišom kvasi joj oči. Zora je boja koja ne zna za strah i ne zna lagati; kao daleka zemlja koju su videli predci. Njenim šaputanjem, ja se vraćam očaran kroz granje, ljubim lice vode i pevam pesme odavno voljene vremenom. U tom trenutku, neće biti mesta za blede reči na mojim usnama jer zora je život koji ne zna za smrt.

prevela na srpski jezik

Zaynab Milicevic-Nevenka

DAWN

by Anwer Ghani

I love the color of dawn; it fills my soul with the breaths of the revolutionaries and holds my dreams above the wings of freedom. I emerge among its spikes as a green song, and fly over its flowers as a butterfly that the rain has wet her eyes. Dawn is the color that does not know fear and does not know lying; like the remote land has been seen by the ancestors. By its whispers, I return fascinated between the branches, kiss the face of the water and sing songs that have long loved by time. At that moment, there will be no space for pale words on my lips because the dawn is a life that doesn’t know death.

Russian translation of my poems by Rahim Karimove

Wisdom Is Here

It is a story that spans hundreds of years. The story of a unique man who knew the earth and saw everything, sing in his name, my country. Wisdom is here; in his heart, in his words, in his sorrow. Yes, the wisdom is here, it is the witness and the martyr; the gift of heaven to Iraq, Ali Al-Sistani; the voice of wisdom and its pure flag. The man who saw the truth and said it in the time of wandering. When the voice of Iraq was almost lost, his words illuminated the way. When enemies invaded my land, it was released with his call. Do not be afraid, Euphrates from fire, there are always loyal men extinguishing its bitter flames. Now, when Iraq began to raise a beautiful voice, he was scattering roses on the heads of free people. He is truly honest, sincere and loving. He is truly a nation in man.

- the art-photo is my work.

It's His Voice

It is his voice; the precious voice, pouring over the sidewalk to tomorrow's smile. Only, he and his voice and Iraq, so there is no place here for the yellow laugh or the strange story. When he calls, he preaches the palm trees, and when he smiles, he smiles to the beautiful Iraqi eyes. It is the brown sparrow born from a high southern palm. It is not a shadow so his voice is golden and his dream is great kneaded with the blood of the martyrs and the tears of women. Here; in his heart live the cane of Iraq, and here; in his eyes, its beautiful future shines. His eyelid is a safe ship, a flapping wing and a beautiful dream. Yes, it is his voice; the future of the new Iraq.

The artphoto is my work

ICMDR Meeting Award

I am speechless to thank this honor and this generosity of ICMDR meeting.

Lost Dresses

My name is red because I am the son of war, and all you see is my paralyzed remnants. I do not remember anything about the white clothes because the brides of our city were killed before their weddings, and the face of our land smashed anonymously. Now, we are without love and know nothing about moon tales. Now we are always looking for short and lost dresses in this very wide world. We cannot see our hands because they are disappearing in the mouth of war, and we cannot hear our voices because they have sunk in the oceans of war.

Arcs Prose Poetry Anthology 2016

Arcs Prose Poetry Anthology 2016

Arcs Prose Poetry : YOU ARE MORE BEAUTIFUL by ANWER GHANI

Arcs Prose Poetry : YOU ARE MORE BEAUTIFUL by ANWER GHANI: YOU ARE MORE BEAUTIFUL ANWER GHANI Y es, nature is beautiful but you are more beautiful than nature. Yes, the city is spectacular b...

The Fake Land

 There are no eyes, no lips and no flowers in the fake land. I mean there are no real souls, no real lips and no real flowers in the fake land. Everything is fake in the fake land even me; the fake tale from the fake land. This poem; these words; these letters are fake because they are the shadows of a fake man from the fake land. No poetry in the fake land because the thief had stolen it in a sunny day. Oh, sorry, I forget, no thief here in the fake land, no sun and no days. Nothing here in the fake land just fake images; I mean very fake images. Yes, it is me; the son of the fake land; our dresses are fake, our faces are fake, our love is fake and our souls  are fake. Everything is fake here; in the fake land.

ANWER GHANI: The Law of Beauty

ANWER GHANI: The Law of Beauty: https://anwerghani2.wordpress.com/2019/01/27/the-law-of-beauty/

ANWER GHANI: ROCK PEBBLES PRIZE FOR LITERATURE 2019

ANWER GHANI: ROCK PEBBLES PRIZE FOR LITERATURE 2019:   rock-pebbles-prize-for-literature-2019/

ANWER GHANI: Prizes 217

ANWER GHANI: Prizes 217

ANWER GHANI: ANWER GHANI; SHORT CV

ANWER GHANI: ANWER GHANI; SHORT CV: ANWER GHANI; SHORT CV

THE FLOOD OF ETERNITY

The grand flood was a teacher who learnt his student the secrets of eternity. Utnapishtim knew all the secrets when  the mightiness of water transfigured in front of his eyes. There are no fairies or witches on the flood but Utnapishtim realized the listen and knew the essence of life.  In front of the wide eyes of the flood, Utnapishtim built his big ship to save our life and all these smiles. Gilgamesh crossed the great sea to meet Utnapishtim, the man of the flood who told him about the plant of immortality which resides peacefully behind the wide sea.  Gilgamesh traversed the wide sea and found the eternity plant but when he entered the cold pond to swim, a snake of destiny stole the timelessness from our hands. Yes, Utnapishtim grasped the eternity because he had built a big ship while Gilgamesh lost his immortality plant because he just made a small boat. The flood has a heart, so it learned Utnapishtim the wisdom and the secrets of life while Gilgamesh’s plant has a sleepy eyes, so it chose the snake instead of us.

COLD PASSION

It has stolen any possible warmth from the bag of my days, so I was delightedly standing under that tree as a damp bird. This lovely coldness intentionally cuts my skin with her hidden knife, and destroying my face like a frozen lake’s water. She had fiercely slapped my face, so you are seeing the redness on my cheek every morning.

I am a man of the twenty-first century and my legs had dipped in the soul of the earth as an old cow. I don’t like the darkness, or its cold voice, but my hand was frosted as a woman’s coat and my friends’ hearts were hung on the absent trees of our coldness.

Our sun has a thick veil and many daughters with hard hearts; they are lightless and cold. Everything under our cold sun is icy and soundless even our evenings which they were travelling between the ambergris as a blind grasshopper. They are as an eternal hero eating all the beauty and building on our back all the glory. Please don’t ask me about their skirts or hair, because in addition to my blindness they have cloudy faces and we know that they had arrived from their cold winds.

 

EVERY YEAR I LOVE YOU MORE

EVERY YEAR I LOVE YOU MORE

A mosaicked poem

To my dear wife with happy new year

1\1\2019

Anwer Ghani

31^st December 2018, 8:00 AM

I ask every rose in our garden and every tree near our home to tell you frankly that every year I love you more. Today, in the morning I talked with the sun seriously and we decided to tell you just one fact that every year I love you more. It is December and this year has passed with big memory but what I want to remember is that every moment I love you more. Yes, it is so enough for me from this year and its memory to remember that I love you more and more.

  *

31^st December 2018, midnight 12:59 PM

Now, in this silent night, near our small heater, and precisely in this wintry warm moment, I listen carefully to my coffee and I remember every word from it and how it tells me to give you a big hug and tell you strongly that every year I love you more and more. When I sit beside you, I love you more and when I travel through the far lands I fell deeply that I love you more. When I talk with you, I love you more and when I remember your words, I love you more and more. In fact every day I love you more and more.

*

 1^st January 2019, 8:00 AM

At this unusual morning and at the beginning of this new year, I feel deeply that I love you more. At this wintry morning and precisely in this early hour of 1^stJanuary I am really immersed in my passion and vanished totally in my yearning. You see these minutes, these hours and these days; all of them say with big truth that every year I love you more. Yes, sure, I am so happy that every year I love you more.

ANWER GHANI: أشرف الإيمان أن تأمنك الناس و أشرف الإسلام أن تسلم...

ANWER GHANI: أشرف الإيمان أن تأمنك الناس و أشرف الإسلام أن تسلم...: أشرف الإيمان أن تأمنك الناس و أشرف الإسلام أن تسلم الناس من لسانك ويدك وأشرف الهجرة أن تهجر السباب.   The best faith is t...