poems by Ali Al-Hazmi

বাংলা English
POET : Ali Al-Hazmi
 A Road through the Walls
 To be agonized by a lady in your daydream;
 A lady made by your own conceit;
 A lady conceived from illusion and sentimental pangs; To sleep, happily, on the thorns of her laughs;
 To see her, with closed eyes, wandering on the prairies Of your defeats;
 To submit to the snares of her splendor, Weaved softly
 To grasp your soul;
 To feel her tender footsteps
 Moving leisurely towards your night room
 To watch her lightness ascending,
 Like butterflies,
 To the shore of your blazing bed;
 To follow her up to the remote borders of the skies, As she touches, with the feathers of her hands,
  The freckles covering the sighs of your chest;
 To embrace her, like a dove, Passionately, in your arms; To pour the cloud of her love, Drop by drop;
 To wrap the hems of her desires With your unmanageable horses Till sunrise
 A lady that recklessly split your life-dream Into two halves;
 A lady that opened a road through the walls Of your muddle,
 With a single glance;
 A lady that hammered the nails of her image, Forcibly,
 Into the head of your imagination;
 A lady that never leaves the fences of your illusion When you fall asleep.
  Her sole sin was that she smiled,
 On the sidewalk, to a passerby;
 You kept looking at her alluringcharms, Passionately,
 You had no idea that waiting there
 Has delayed an ample cuddle
 That would spread its hands
 To take her away
 In a few minutes...!
Tears Rolling down Her Salted Burning Lips
 Near the coast, we used to build sand homes. When he left for fishing, for the last time... We raced to return the trimmings of his net To his little canoe.
 With little hands
 We waved unceasingly to the last waves That snatched his boat away,
 Away from the times of our childhood.
 Behind the window bars, our little heads squeezed; With eyes fixed on the coast road;
 Mother's wings spread over our little shoulders
 As she injected her body among ours;
 Immensely worried about our budding innocent souls.
 I was scared that her long hair may submit to the winds, If she forward on the metal rail ;
 I drew her back towards the warmness of the timber room; Then I stared at the seashores dwelling in her eyes,
 And saw the sea travelling far beyond the sand homes.
  "Sure, he will return," she said,
 Before her tear floored upon my lips—   my salted burning lips.
 Twenty years did not avail to demolish the sand homes
 In our eyes.
 The dried out face of my father, laid upon the waves Became a window that looks at the silver years of our age; An age abandoned in muddy traps.
 Still, my beloved mother conceals her regrets behind her shadow. Still, on the mornings,
 She makes fresh bread with her dreams;
 And at midnights,
 She reheats what remains of her wishes on the stove of her soul. Still, we trust her and eat the bread of her lie,
 Just to live on
 A Corner in a Tavern
 She paid no attention to me,
 As she sat close to my table,
 In the oriental corner of the tavern.
 She paid no attention to my chaotic solitude, Reflected on my two palms holding a cigarette, That extended its flame to my blood.
 Smoke flew away like white poems
 Wiping off the spotlight that fell down,
 To uncover the cloud of stately passions Before my eyes.
 Forcibly, she started to hide
 The silver of silence that spilled over pulses,
 Framing us,
 To complete the portrait of passion in her palms.
 She, then, reassembled a lock of her hair that spontaneously fell Over her left eye,
 When she was absently looking at a bouquet of roses
 On a table separating us,
 Hiding half my face.
  How much I wished I would become a complete string
 In her eyes,
 To notice what painful yearning had raged on my last half. To see a wretched person inhabiting the bottom of my cup,
 Drowned in profound agonies.
 On threshold of the night,
 They await the last evening to pass.
 They eyes are filled with sorrow,
 They forget themselves in the pathways of sin.
 You think they are drunk because of the flames of estrangement From hopes they left behind;
 They are not.
 But the shock is so hard on a sprout emerging
 In the spring of their eyes.
 They did not wish for their wounds to leave their footsteps, Stolen at the very beginning of the path,
 Where they stayed away from the blossoms of their days;
 They rested in an exhausting exile that leafed out in their chests.
 That’s what losers do with their time,
 At the end,
 When the last path heads nowhere in the face of night; For they gave everything,
 And no words are left for them
 From the wine of speech to make a judgment. Therefore, they no more care about the screams Coming from their memories
 Locked behind the door of life.
 Oh, how noble it would have been of their dreams
 To stay on paper,
 In the closet.
Born in Damadd, Saudi Arabia, in 1970.
 Obtained a degree in Arabic language and Literature at Umm Al-Qura University - Faculty of Arabic Language,1992.
 As early as the year 1985, the poet started publishing poems in a variety of local and Arabic cultural Periodicals such as The Seventh Day (Paris), Creativity (Cairo),
 Nazoa (Amman) and The New Text.
 The poet participated in a number of recital sessions of poetry inside and
 outside of Saudi Arabia:
 · International Poetry Festival, Costa Rica 2013.
 · International Poetry Festival, VoixVives in Toledo, Spain 2014. · International Poetry Festival, Punta del Este, Uruguay 2015. · Madrid Voice life Poetry Festival, Spain 2016.
 · International Poetry Festival, Havana, Cuba 2016.
 · International Poetry Festival, Medellín, Colombia 2016.
 · Istanbul Poetry Festival, Turkey, 2016.
 · International Poetry Festival, Roma 2017.
 · International Academy Orient – Occident, Romania 2017.
 · International Poetry Festival, Madrid, Spain 2017.
 · International Poetry Festival, Malaga, Spain 2018.
 · International Poetry Festival February, Madrid. Spain 2018. 82
 · A Gate for the Body, Dar Almadina- Jeddah- 1993.
 · Loss, Sharqiyat- Sharqueyat Pub. House, Cairo 2000.
 · Deer Drink Its Own Image, Arab Cultural Center, Beirut 2004.
 · Comfortable on the Edge, Riad-Al Rayes - Beirut 2009.
 · Now in the Past, Arab Cultural Center-Beirut, 2018.
 · Selected Poems (Audio CD Anthology) - Hail Literary Club, 2010.
 Books Translated to Different Foreign Languages:
 Trees of Absence, Translated into French-Lil-Dision - France 2016.
 Comfortable on the Edge, Translated into Spanish by University of Costa Rica
 Editorial 2013, House of Poetry Foundation.
 Comfortable on the Edge, Translated into French- Larmatin - Paris 2016.
 A Fragmented Life, Translated into Turkish - Art Shop Pub. House, Istanbul -Turkey 2017.
 A definite Road in the Mist, Translated into English and Romanian language - Academy Orient - Occident - Romania 2017.
 Take Me to My Body, Selected Poems Translated into Serbian Language, Alma Publishing House, Belgrade, Serbia 2018.
 A Road into the Wall, Translated into Macedonian Language, AkademskiPečat Publishing House, Macedonia, 2019.
  Comfortable on the Edge, Translated to Spanish, University of Costa Rica in Collaboration with The House of Poetry in Costa Rica, 2013.
 Comfortable on the Edge, Translated to French, La Martin Publishing House, 2016. *Al Hazmi participated in more than 20 Anthologies in different parts of  the world:
 Colombia, Spain, Dominican, Germany, China, Turkey, Romania, Cuba and Serbia.
 The poet has recently signed a contract with Google to have thebprevilege of publishing some of his poems on Google Assistance Site.
  Medal of Poetry, Urugway, 2015.
 The World Grand Prize for Poetry, The International Academy Orient - Occident in Romania 2017.
 His Poem “A Road into the Wall” won Verbumlandi Prize in Italy, 2017.
 The Prize of the Best International Poet in 2018, The International Center for Translation and Poetry Research, China.
 Global Icon Award 2020 - Italy

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