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.