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Best Poems Written by Anwer Ghani

Below are the all-time best Anwer Ghani poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Sumerian Recipes

OUR MASGOUF

The fishes have high wings, but they can feel our deep pain like sisters. Yes, we are the fishes’ brothers and any halo you may see in the dark night is a birthday of this brotherhood. Come here and see the seeds of this earth in an ancient Sumerian tablet, which its recipes were shining as the sun. In that Iraqi mud, you can see the smoke of our Masgouf and you may smell its exciting flavor. It is residing in our dreams like the moon, and we delightedly disappear in its perfume with the butterflies. The face of our Masgouf is pure, and I will be so happy if you can see its chants dancing as fairies at their small riverbanks.

THE MAGIC DOLMA

The small girls in our gardens knew nothing about the flowers or their breathtaking colors, but they are so efficient in making of magic Dolma. In the morning they meet a green dove, and listen to her chants. They are soft and pure exactly as our Dolma’s smiles. She teaches our girls the art of Dolma and the secret of grape’s leaves with a smooth voice and gentle hands. This Dolma’s master is so soft and deep, and she can color the girls’ hearts with the wedding dresses.

THE KEBAB GLORY

The Iraqis can’t live without war or Kebab, and can’t smell the morning breeze without their deep voices. Our souls were kneaded with the sad Kebab’s Sumac and the tears of war. Our dreams had immersed in the Kebab’s perfume and straggled in the desert of sad Sumac. Yes, you need the Iraqi sad smiles to find the Kebab’s sublime glory.

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The Soul of Light

When the roads open their eyes, all the blue fish come to my sea. The road is a smile exits its pink  ear from that window which sleeps on my mother hand. Without any delay, I am disappearing in its  light where the warmness wears its whit coat. My heart, like a bird on an icy bough, will immerse in that moment comes from her chant; the soul of light. My love is that wind which can bring all the sky clouds, and that grass which hugs all the world goats, but the mother love is a different world and impossible in its oneness.
When the morning’s happiness poured, and the foggy shadow secluded, at that moment I knew that the sun had a pure splendid face and the wings of light went to laugh with their full days. When the mask of darkness falls, I will see all the towers and the glorious rain chants on your hands, where the secret springs of the universe have been immersed in the dust of clayish towns and misted by their brown breeze. I saw your azure trees smiled at the waterfalls and your carnelian submerged in ice tobacco of Mashu Mountain. The white wings of your blooming spirit told the earth the tales of light which had been colored by a shawl of a girl gathering the date from her grandfather orchard. So, the mightiness of earth bends with astonishment at your old glitter and flies as spatial vehicle had seen a new face of the moon.

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I Write To You With Sadness

I am just a sad rock on the road, but when I remember your voice, I feel the strange green and dewy touch of my skin, so I smile. I am alone, like this bitter time, and I am only good at sadness. I write to you with sadness because I am from the sad land. The roads here are sad, the stories are sad, the hearts are sad, even the smiles are sad. We are here when we write, we write with sadness, when we read, we read with sadness, when we love we love with sadness, and when we laugh, we laugh with sadness. They stole our door and stole our windows, so the sadness entered our homes with air. We have become fish that breathe sadness, and when we are born, we are born with sadness because we know that behind our stolen doors and behind our stolen windows, nothing awaits us but sadness.

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Every Year I Love You More

31st 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.

31st 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.

1st 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 1st January, 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.

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It Is Nice To Be An Arabia Man

We are from the East, where the desert grows in our heart as flowers and the eagles live in our minds like the canaries. We are not primitive as you think, but I think we don’t know how to play. Yes, our wells aren’t pink but at least they can hug our beautiful fish, and our children don’t know how to kiss but at least they have high kites. Yes, our Arabian scarf is so tall because our ancestors knew that we had fragile hearts, and we cry easily. You shouldn’t think that we are so sensitive or overpassionate but in fact our souls have made from chants and our ordinary speech is poetry. In fact, we are the sons of poetry, and our internal is watery like the watermelon, but in spite the pink water we have melodic sweet and when you open our hearts you will see the lyric rivers and fairies. Yes, we are brown, and our farmery hands are coarse but these hands have smooth, firing and magic touchings and our forefathers knew that we are exceptionally infatuated with beauty so they have colored us brown and not white. Here, on our Arabian skin you may see the impressions of our old lightening candles and the scratches of the long years of the hard hope. It will be so nice if you are an Arabian man, because all the melodic birds will find their ways to your stormy trees and all the farms will emerge from your deserted hand. We are from here, the stormy lands where the brook can’t be dry and the streets’ eyes are shy and attractive. It will be nice to be an Arabian man where your mouth is hidden by a grey veil, and your voice is so marginal. This world will know you very will and the pictures of your camels will appear daily in the magazines but in a silent manner and without opinion. Yes, it is very nice to be an Arabic man, because all what you can do is watching and all what your women know is silence.

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When You Have a Family

When you go deep in your silence, there is nothing can break you but the faint sound of your days and when you read my poetry you will know that I am a farmer from the south my father has planted me with our ambergris. Yes, I am a simple farmer from the south around me a small tree, a small river and a small family. My morning is kneaded with my small daughter’s smiles, my evening is colored by my big son’s tales and my night is the glory of the soft hand warmness. When you have a family, at that time, you will see the secrets of twilight, the delicious taste of the backache and the very wide world of a small family in the south. Yes, I have a small family in a small house with a small window, but my eyes can see the beautiful night stars and my heart can touch the charming morning smiles. When you have a family, your smile will have pink lips and your work will wear a crown. Yes, my friend, when you have a family all the days will be valentine and all the times have meaning. Yes, when you have a family, there will be sadness and happiness, crying and laugh, pain and pleasure, but believe me this is the meaning of life.

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Remote Perfume

She showed me the soul of pink flowers and the hidden colors of life, so the angels who know everything add nothing and the sorcerers who do everything do nothing. From her perfume, the world takes his meaning and the candles have no souls in the absence of her soft hand. You can’t feel the days’ pulses without her perfume and the riverbanks’ flowers can’t find their chants but in her eyes. In fact I can't continue to live in this empty desert because my horses smell her remote perfume. This remote perfume has reached me last days where I was driving my thought towards surrealistic free world. Believe me, I know that it has inspirational windows and its sky has awesome colors, but what can I do, if all my doors were stolen and all my eyes were closed by unknown?

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Stormy December

No windows in my small house where the birds had been made of faint shadow and the rivers are laughing with tears. Our windy December has destroyed everything even my soul so I am now just a soulless apparition. Look at our trees; they are kneeling; the wind has stolen their dreams. I am a man from the south where everything is soft and bland, but the rigid hands of this windy December have scattered our girls’ woolgathering.
Here the streets are so raging, do you know why? I think you won’t know the story. These streets have been made by the rough fingers of our December where the nights are weepy, and the moons are colorless. You can’t see anything here in December just violent and shameless faces. Yes, our December has a veil but its stormy soul destroying our dreams. Our stormy December is strange and reckless, but we love it because we are strange and reckless like it. 
Yes, December is not my friend, but I see its footprints and follow them. It fills my lung with wild air; yes, our December is crazy and has so attractive eastern eyes. You may see that bough, that leaf and that very small bird; you may see them but you wont know anything about their wild souls. Our wild December is unbelievable, and it can make amazing fairies from our vanished tales.

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Soul Transplantation

I am a son of a farmer, not a son of a queen. What will happen if we exchange our destiny? But frankly, I cannot imagine myself being a son of a queen, nor can I imagine you as a farm son. So, I will rely on another way to achieve our transformation. I will go to a spiritualist friend and ask him to perform a soul transplant; by giving my body your soul, and giving your body my soul. I think after that, we'll all understand the true story.

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The Eyes of Corona

I will stay alone here, behind the windows and behind the curtain. Yes, I will stay alone without you because I finally knew how pain is? And how love is? I finally knew how fatal it is the moment of the last separation? This is not my eyes that cry, but my heart, and these tears are the story of longing and fear. No, I don't cry, I just say goodbye to you. This is not my tears, and these are not my eyes, but the eyes of Corona. It's a great Corona; kills me slowly and robs my soul coldly. It reminds me of the cold hands; the very cold that stole my fields and our young people who fell on the sidewalk like the rest of the dream. No, I don't cry; I just say goodbye to my smiling spirit.