The chariot of the dead drawn by a thousand swallows


my eyes are a mirror
after them
I build warehouses
fresh for memory.


I take the north wind seriously
Remove my skin
Sail leather.


at dawn
It’s my red fault
Make friends with live foxes.
in noon
I grow black feathers
To sit with the crows.
My legs grow back
To join dancers and dancers.

of secondment

Three birds quickly crossed the sky
This is a monotony that is dear to me.


Things lined up inside a fancy tragedy
The baby in his mother’s breast is breastfeeding
The bird in the tree sings
Someone tramples a corpse.


The old man cuts down the trees and sings a soft melody
The green space behind him now resembles him.
Is God the cutter of trees?


He woke up and hindered the advance of the tanks
Touching the air with your hands knowing this
He will never go back to sleep.


The boys are dressed in white
They carry guns that make hysterical laughter
And pluck the mint.


A man tells his daughter that she is his daughter
for the first time.


It was for the boys to secretly come after us
And they fired guns at everything
At Wagner’s house, for example
In the blind who crosses the road
On the epic front
Ali, Iranian wine producer
Above blonde tourists.

Please do not applaud!


The observer went in and counted the number of holes in the wall
The boys are tired and have fallen asleep
Will this be mentioned in the report?
Will he lie about the number of holes?

Please do not applaud!


what is this man
There is a jar of brown sugar in it
Have you liked something like this before?
I replied: Yes!


Has the distributor of hope lost his way?
Or is there any better novel!


For example, a friend gave me a present
The city is still stuck in the box.


ne ulemi
On separate edges.


I will remind you of glass chewers
Which of you remembers the glass chewers?
And the art collection appeared
Under the heading Stolen from the joy booklet
Love will tear us apart.


Set an advanced model for humanity downtown
No one has seen it yet!


A herd of rabbits washed in silver water
The amount of colors has a bitter taste
Hej biri im
What you want is to be filled with life like a statue piercing the place
without permission.


A bright light fell in the middle of the forest
I went with my dog ​​to find him
He was just a star.


I get up early in the morning
I cut down the tree in the middle of the garden
It would have hindered the final scene
In the evening, friends gather around him in the garden
But nothing happened!


A camera made from a shoe box
but also
Nothing happened.


The heart explodes a little early in the spring
just a moment
The phone rings
Maybe tomorrow.


Hartan in intimate contact
An old man swims naked on the balcony
Someone shakes my hand coldly
My beautiful Nigerian neighbor is crying
Your face that passed here
My hat is in my hand
The voices flee
And a turtle!


I heard the sunrise
There is fresh air
like baby cheese
The morning mist leaves messages
Not to anyone.
If you inhale it
Learn some next names.

I heard the sunrise
To pedal
It has to be done today
Come on bundles of blood!
They gather in the branches of the fingers.

I heard the sunrise
With an appetite for meat
I get the fruits of the scene
From the edge of the beads and the circle of madness
From the clash of two dreams and what hangs
From the planets and everything that is realized at once
of love.

I heard the sunrise
Or is it an extension of your silence?
Oh you last
You are the lonely breakfast
Did you hear the sunrise?


stuck in the head
Despite you
Covered with mixed oils
and you think
if she was
You are not all tempted
I want you
in this world.
He knits a bracelet inside your mouth
Your words come out like a bubble
be a waste generator
I am writing here for the first time about what I found for the first time
Because he
do not take me
do not give me
The thing and its dish and big shit
Things and I saved it, and the numbers that divide by three
Filled on the head and covered with mixed oils.


A child spins on its own and then climbs to do skates
no no me
A man was standing looking for something he had lost
no no me.


Let’s imagine the lost thing!
Box as big as a fist
It has an aromatic smell
has skills
He floats in the air for a while
If you do not see it
It contains the souls of four birds
Chapters of four secrets and corners
Made by a convicted elder
To date.


Feast of the purchase of the lilac bouquet
Before we set off on the Silver Bullet
Towards a premium bar space.


The world is in chaos
My room is tidy
Comfortable as a smile.


From the station of Magdalene Church, the patron saint of Joseph Issawi

Then he said:
I saw the head of a horse
He floats like a hat on water.

Then he said:
The carriage of the dead is being pulled
A thousand swallows
And two transparent girls.

Then he said:
Then he said goodbye to the waitress
With one leg and his black kitten.

Then he said:
Yesterday was Pasolini’s centenary
Let’s have a toast, dear Ernesto
Populist wine.

Then he said:
glass eaters
extinct elites.

Then he said:
You will not find a comfortable place here!
Comfortable places are questionable for a loved one like me.

Then he said:
Let’s play all the songs
Al-Farah Brigade now
Before we parted, what united us again.

Then he said:
We were in front of the statue of Marx today
We pulled the unfortunate man out of the grave
To see the sun for the last time.

Then he said:
I wasted ten hours at the bus stops
Just to write what I wrote
Just to come back safe.


nicotine veil
Spring bothers you
what are you looking
When the search stops
Where should you wait?
When it bothers you to wait.


Live dogs follow me
Every day in a beautiful way
I cut a bone from his hand
We ate with very secret appetite
We were not interested in the earth that flew out of our sight.


cool evenings
We exchange smiles, me and the neighborhood dogs
Winter leaves no room for anyone on the edge
And smokers are numerous.


the war is:
Spring returns as an enemy to the scorched earth
green grass and crow
And because the undertaker was killed yesterday
Each corpse remains like a flower bed.

the war is:
visible things
She likes to repeat herself
you have ten fingers
You are hit by twelve bullets.

the war is:
My bike
stolen by a soldier
He gave it to his son
On my birthday.

I’m still this guy looking for a bike to donate to myself
Or steal it whenever my birthday comes
Or war broke out.


land that
we do not have
not you
not me
this gift
The taste of exile.


that noise
As if something kicked
deliberately thrown
Large bed with broken tile
threw the coat
Next to someone pretending to be asleep
The cloak also took the form of a missing person.

Syrian-Lebanese poet and plastic artist, born in 1974 in Damascus. He has published two collections of poetry: “The Kingdom of the Cockroaches” (2003) and “The Clown’s Guide” (2021). The themes of his works and poems are inspired by the life of the city where he lives. His works illuminate the contradictions in politics, social justice and lack of love and culture. He currently lives and works in London. The poems published here are from a new collection of poems entitled “Memories of a man who never leaves his room.”

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