Category: poetry

The taxi becomes a hearse; Balloons blow up like bombs;  Hospital is where the dead congregate; A cemetery vanishes (they want to erase our past-too); Tent turns into a house;  The icecream truck is cold to be a morgue;  Flour shines red;  And flowers bloom as little angels raised to heaven. Only the Sea stays… Continue reading Metamorphosis

When spring gave its third notice in June, already. When days became certainly blue and the sweet light expanded indefinitely like the daisies in the garden that splashed the clean dress of the lawn with its yellow and white stains. When the spring came to stay and the mountains undressed in the distance she was… Continue reading Translation of Ángeles Mora: Ironing the Winter Shirts

What’s the difference between a saint and a boy who throws rocks? The first inspires, and the second carries out. A slingshot released:                                             Amin   امين   amin

Your verdant dress  its lush layers caress the sun rays lurking through my window. Juicy with water, your engorged leaves,  more like petals, surround you like a sufi whirling  the center of the universe.  Your luscious limbs twirl,  slowly,  like a paper-thin dough thrown in the air  and landing on coals and stones become a… Continue reading In the praise of the succulent

I hope I have stability in my heart and my mind.  I pray that my friends stay close. I hope I will stop using social media so much, And I hope I don’t worry about the food I eat Nor the daily news. I pray that I’m taking advantage of my day, but I also… Continue reading A prayer for my generation

                                                                 ten days  Now, I notice that it’s been this long Since I last folded my arms around another’s. Holding them tight, absorbing their radiating heat  like a black hole that dilates into time, storing the memories for many times to come.  At the beginning, I think it is not a big deal Because i’m… Continue reading Withdrawals

As he got older, he started to wake up early.  His morning ritual is sacred: Prepares a cup of mint tea, puts 3% fat milk in the kettle on low fire And until it boils, He smokes his cigarette, and sips his tea under the vine arbor in the backyard. His gaze is distant and… Continue reading MORNING after the war