April


I will end up at the sky gates, as a thirsty spike, roving around in valleys, looking for a crippled dream.
I am an almond tree, a stolen joy for a feast of phantoms.
I bend to the mornings’ face, as a snowy voice, and prepare the sacrifices out of my innocent village’s souls.
Thus I turn to be a yellow tree, very coldly whispering at April’s ear.
In April, children fly kites from above roofs, whereas children of my village stretch down as grey corpses,
their blood watering the infidel land.
Oh days, oh echoes, come close, here is a wound as large as the songs of the Galaxy.
I wish I were a deaf rock, at the banks of Euphrates, knowing but the breeze

Rate the poem
1 Star2 Stars3 Stars4 Stars5 Stars (1 votes, average: 3.00 out of 5)
We are posting your rating...

Have something to say about the poem?

Anwer Ghani

Signup / Login to follow the poet.
• Anwer Ghani; an Iraqi poet and literary theorist, born in 1973 in Hila city, and he lives in Iraq now and worked in a hospital as consultant physician. He had collections in Arabic in e-book form (Language 1) 2014, (Language 2) 2015, (Language 3) 2016, and many books in poetry criticism in Arabic and in e-book form with unique ideas and post-stylistic criticism .He is the chief editor of a literary magazine (Tajdeed) deals with Arabic prose poems, and he is the chief editor of a literary magazine in English (International prose poem journal). He writes the polyphonic (multi-voices poems), mosaic (mirror language poems), abstract poems and expressional narrative poems. Email: anweralmosewi1@gmail.com Facebook : Anwer Ghani Almosewi
Poems you will love

Give your feedback / review for the poem

Be the First to Comment & Review poem!

Notify of
avatar
wpDiscuz

Ford’s Theater, April 15th, 1865,

Fords Theater, April 15th, 1865, ode

Petersen House, Washington, D.C. (i admit to own a passion for the Civil War in general, and the life and death of the sixteenth president in particular). between a hard spot of whiskey and draughts of arrack nonetheless (without doubt),

Commentaries — From April 4, 2014

Commentaries     From April 4, 2014 prose poem

though moo cho yars older, i (bovine cuddly name = hay4four at aol dot com), could feign 2b a frat house bro by undergoing a facial augmentation – despite lacking dough unlike the multimillionaires here in lower merion, where a

Your Lie In April

Your Lie In April prose poem

They say that when you fall in love, your world turns brighter. I never thought it would be true… At least, not until I met you. From the crest of the hill, I could see you looking off in the

A Beautiful April Morning

A Beautiful April Morning short poem

Whenever, I feel tired and exhausted, From life’s monotonous routine, I go to my courtyard Theatre, On the enormous screen, Watching the free natural movie scenes, Projected by The Almighty Producer. The scenes change there with the passage, Of the

April First

April First short poem

The thief helped the blind man up his front steps caressed his elbow and asked about lucky numbers and did he dream about more than one thing – was there smell and touch and sound, how could he tell if