Faleeha Hassan.

• Cesspool Your Name is War As they opened the gates of war, My father’d have to take off his youth To go in stripped of hope of return, And mom’d lie in the bed of tears Covered with her agony. Only me was there, Foolishly, watching the silent clock on the wall As it strikes my disappointments, one by one. Two wars had later passed, or more, When father returned but as a flag, Mother flapped, and both vanished high into the sky. Since then, our home has turned into a soldier’s boot. Whenever I try to dust it off, A burnt memory would fall off a day That’d been lost in the cesspool of war.

 By: Faleeha Hassan.

Translated By Hussein Nasser Jabr

Faleeha Hassan Pulitzer Prize and Pushcart Prize Nomination. Member of IWA and Whos’ Who in America, Cultural Ambassador Iraq, USA, winner of the Women Excellence award, winner of the Grand Jury Award of the SAHITTO, one of the Excellence selection committees, winner of women arts award. SAHITTO AWARD.

Emad Al-Haydary

Worthy To Be Dreamt Of

By Emad Al-Haydary

With two dewy eyes

And two eyelids like the wings of a butterfly

I pick up the color of the dawn.

Stealthily, away from the night’s eyes

Doing the ceremonies of my single dream

Here is the map of innocence.

That is a field replete with the spring.

I wonder where I am

Apparently, (my kingdom is not here in this world( Searching I am for a mystery hidden in the ports At which they’ll return to their dancing waves, Cutting short an age that doesn’t respond

to warmth at a moment of ecstasy.

A desire in me may have trodden my bones

Or it might be a wish to kiss the waves of the sea.

Or it could be my body travelling through an old mountain love.

Water is a nymph that does not know what desertion is.

Meadows are verses recited by heaven.

That is my beloved’s face

I wonder where I am And you who’s sitting in the distance of a cloud from me With love coming between us At a gate with no smell of bullets. How to get to you my sparrow Resting on the road of love

Don’t make of me, where the stars meet,

An erotic tale talked to the infatuated lovers.

This is the echo of my questions saying:

It’s your nest that you’re dreaming of.

Then I cry, (my kingdom is not here in this world) Water has colored the poem Meadows make a colour chanted for the world. That is my beloved’s face. There’s an echo there: It’s your nest you’re dreaming of Nothing is worthy being dreamt of but you O, charming peace. Translated into English By Hussein Nasser Jabr

Emad Al-Haidari -(P.h.D. in Arabic Literature)

Born (1970) in the historical city of Hira in modern Najaf

MEMBER OF THE Union of Iraqi Writers, His literary works:-Shades that do not like Ash (1999)–

Prayers of Remission (2007)

-Talking to her on her Passing Away to Heaven (2008)

-Somewhat Worried (2017)

Splashes of Phantom

Yahya Al Samawi

The Tale of a Martyr

By Yahya Al Samawi

To my friend and brother-in-law, Martyr Ibrahim al-Hassani, who disappeared in the prisons of the dictatorial regime with no corpse left.

His only sin is that he hasn’t committed a sin In a country ruled by criminals.

He took from Samawa, his home town, and its Palm trees

Persistence and urge to die while standing – not even slowing down his head-

He took endurance of its thirsty sand. And, as he was as staunch and firm as a hammer, Sharp and shiny like a scythe,

Pure like the sweat of toiling men,

His gleams of light were arrested So that the dark ‘d get dimmed. His sons dug all massive graves In search for his remains

or just a piece left of his clothes. But, in vain.

So, I buried his shirt in my heart and wrote on the grave’s stone: Here rests the shirt of the striving martyr, Ibrahim al-Hassani.

Translated into English

By Hussein Nasser Jabr

Yahya Al-Samawi is an Iraqi poet. He was born on March 16, 1949 in the city of Samawah, Iraq. He holds a Bachelor of Arts degree in Arabic Literature from Al- Mustansiriya University in Iraq in 1974. He worked in teaching, journalism, and media in both Iraq and Saudi Arabia, and immigrated to Australia in 1997. He wrote more than 22 poetry collections, among which are:

•A Wound as Big as a Homeland

• Your eyes for Me are a Homeland and Exile

• Wild Lilies

•Inscriptions on a Date Palm Tree

Let Me Search for Me in You.

Trees of Hope

 By. Shallal ‘Anouz

He once told me:

Don’t curb joy crowned with tears, Don’t block the windows of dreams.

Open the doors of happiness to the down,

Offer the warm antidote of hearts to those passing through hardship.

Wear the robe of those running towards the sun, Hold on to the necklace of light that leads you to the peak of the day, To be able to see the destinies in their nakediness.

So don’t think of going back,

Cling to the tree of hope at the height of your wound.

Set off from the wail of pain and disappointment, Cross the obstacles of setback.

Start running towards the end even if your legs fail you,

For the fast and deliberate steps Always lead to the destination shore.

Why, whenever we say we have arrived, does the noise scold us?

And our roads are burdened with the rags of those who did not cross the river naked.

They left behind only the hooves of their horses. And dead donkeys

That were carrying the luggage of consolation to the other side of the dream.

I saw him again at the edge of perdition, The space was vast, Stretching out empty of the homeland’s cries. But the winds were pointing to the ends, And the trees were rustling, provoking the birds. And a hundred journeys away, There was a wedding procession coming…

Translated into English

 By. Hussein Nasser Jabr

 Shallal ‘Anouz

Born: 1950

Occupation: Poet and novelist

•Member: Union of Writers and Authors

•Publications:

oMirrors of Flowers (Poetry)

oThe Poet and the Stranger’s Journey (Poetry) 

oAnd the Water Wept (Poetry)

oThe Sky Is Still Blue (Poetry)

oGrant Me, My Mistress, the Rain of Warmth (Poetry)

oo You Who Are Protected by Sleeplessness (Poetry)

oThe Salman Den (Novel)

•Translations: Some of his works have been translated into English, Kurdish, French, and Italian.

•Criticism: around 25 books, letters, and dissertations have been written about his literary and creative career.

Hussein Nasser Jabr

Under the Rain

By. Hussein Nasser Jabr

We shall meet there in Winter, At the rail station in Baghdad:

Two stranger sparrows

Wet and shivering

Under the rain Migrated from the farthest south, To be left there, nestless: We’ve lost our home

And all the addresses of our friends.

There remained alone, Known to no one but the rain.

Hussein Nasser Jabr

-Born 1964 in Nasiriya (South of Iraq- near the Old city of Ur). And moved to Najaf early in the 1990s.

A poet, translator and Academic (PhD. in English and Translation).

-Published a collection of poetry, “Mada’in min Juman”, (English: Cities of Pearl) in 2001.

Translated for a number of Iraqi poets and published his translations in periodicals in Iraq and abroad, and in books in the US.

– Translated a number of books in history, philosophy, art, and sociology.

Ediet And Published By. Md Sadiqur Rahman Rumen Editor In Chief-PEN CRAFT And International Editor In literature The Daily Global Nation Dhaka Bangladesh.