Dima Mahmud (1972) is an Egyptian poet of present time. Bachelor’s degree in Computer Science and Statistics in 1993
He has worked as an assistant professor for many years in the Department of Computer Science, Mathematics and Statistics of Teachers Training College and Health Sciences in Ava, Saudi Arabia.
He also has a reputation as an audio speaker, storyteller and anchor.
His notable book of poetry published from Egypt:
1. Braids of Spirit (2015);
২. I Pick Quarrels with the Horizon over a Violin (২০১৭)।
Her poems have been translated into English, French, Spanish and Portuguese. He has attended many international literary festivals.
is a butterfly
I’m like a little butterfly, floating at home while cooking
Outside the screen there’s a glimpse of poetry
No one knows poetry is sprinkled from inside me
Where the dishes are washed
Sound storms flood me while cooking okra
I sometimes, can’t explain what a feeling that covers me while frying fish
Like a pendulum, the poetry paragraphs keep beating in my head
I want to pick them up in a simple and pure graceful way,
Where there is no smell of fish fry steam and clean detergent
I want to hug the stabs with towels, so that they don’t get wet in the moisture while cooling in the fridge
Secretly, I’m too quick to write my letters down
What evolved from the kitchen on my mobile phone note pad
At the end of the day when my homework is done I look in the mirror
From the flexible touch of my eyes, eyes, and roses touching lips I get bliss
Poetry statues that tempt me in the kitchen,
Hides in my voice and don’t want to go out at all
I try to remember the moments but vain, let it spread on my husband’s soup plate
And the gentleman says to taste it:
Well does that explain to me why some of your food tastes more than others
She me in front of the mirror in my eyes
Poetry from my gypsy hair
Pulling it up gently
Makes my lips print the touch of his music
Then, I get down to finish the poem!
This jelly fish after a night of love and sleep
High makes it.
Touching the full wave of wine and fish
They wake up.
The mountain of question comes out of their tents.
Do bullet casing contain lipstick?
Do gun ants turn into lamp post?
Does bomb become milk bottle?
Can military suits be sewed as ballet skirt?
Will explosive belts be used as bandages and splints?
Napoleon, McDoni and Hajaz will melt on the fish body in the concentration of cubic liquid.
Sneak peek at the gambling table in the united voice
The scream comes;
And their cutting machines right and left
Dule Dule says:
No no, no,
Don’t trust us, we are liars.
Transformation: Masudul Haque