Three abstract poems by Anwer Ghani
A Grey Winter
Winter is a cruel knife; cuts my joints with a cold blood. He isn’t smiling; he is grey just like my dream. This winter which I feel vigorously is not kind and you can see the sad tears in its pocket. His rain colors my soul with pale smiles and his hard whisper plants unforgettable tales in my deep memory.
The Son of Winter
The very faint bird doesn’t shiver because of love or coldness. He just shakes his feather enjoying the winter’s stories. Here, winter dresses a different color and a different cruelty and all what can I see these pale shadows. Here, winter isn’t tenderhearted; it is my grandfather’s gloomy field where the bean swings over its grass as a sad bride. I am the son of winter; my ancestry had left me alone in this frosted lake. Look at my face; it is colorless; feel my hands; they are short and dead.
Under the pressure of this nipping coldness, the river groans as a brassy joint. His frosted heart is empty from any warm story. That very white river has disappeared behind the trees and from there, he looks at me with a cold thrill. At that time I wasn’t a rose or a smile; I was just a silent windows where this coldness eats my memory, so you see my soul with a very dormant wish.
Anwer Ghani is an Iraqi poet and writer. He was born in 1973 in Hilla. His name has appeared in Otoliths, Adelaide, November Bees, Dodging, Zarf, Peacock, Eunioa, Rabbit and many others He is the author of “Narratopoet”; (Inventives Cloud 2017), “Antipoetic Poems”; (Creat Spacee 2017), “TRUMP”; a poetry collection, (Inner Child Press 2017) and “The Narratolyric Writing”; essays (Smashwords 2017).. Anwer had 40 books in literature and religious sciences in Arabic. He is the chief editor of Arcs prose poetry magazine.