by Anwer Ghani

The War ’s Son

The soldiers have returned but the capitals of my chants are still whizzing like a slim mosquito engulfing the noisy and the questions. Their joints groan like ice and their hats stray in the streets like virgins had been kissed by autumn. I will return with dry lips where the hills have slept on sidewalks the evening has changed their features. I will exit between the jungles like a bitter dawn gifting the galaxy stories well known to the immigrant birds. I am the war’s son; my worn-out mantle has dragged by arid gazes bringing down to the river like a cow loving the vows. Yes, it is me, a remote tent and an old rebel his voice has been vanished before the sunset. Yes, I am the war’s son sinking into the sand of the soldiers’ glorious stories and enjoying the legends which descend in the morning with drowned ships chanting in their ears and without any rose I typify a big enamored.

The Lost Mare

My grandfather had a compassionate mare with a brilliant heart. I didn’t see that mare, but my mother said that she was legendarily kind and brave. My family might have possessed a saddle; I don’t know and I didn’t ask about this, but I think if we had one, it will be uncompassionate like our desert. You know; I am an Arabian man and there is nothing here but deserted souls, so I decided to immerse in my grandfather’s well and stray in his old field looking for our lost compassionate mare.   

About the Author:

a ghani

Anwar Gheni. Jaber, the pen name “Anwer Ghani”, is an Iraqi poet and writer. He was born in 1973 in Alhilla city. His name was appeared in Peacock, Otoliths, “Algebra of Owls”, “The “Year of the Poet” and Tajdeed. Anwer Ghani is the founder of “Expressive Narrative’s Group” and the chief editor of “Arcs” an expressive narrative’s magazine.  He had, in Arabic, forty books in poetry, literature, and religious sciences.