Poems of Hamid NazarkhahAlisaraei ( Iran)

                                           Hamid NazarkhahAlisaraei- Iran

Hamid NazarkhahAlisaraei (Adonis Dodestani), poet, writer, storyteller, journalist, popular culture researcher, was born in 1978 in Kuchesfahan city. After obtaining a diploma in the field of cultural affairs management, he succeeded in obtaining a bachelor's degree.

Nazarkhah is currently studying for a master's degree in Iranology with a specialization in Iranology of people's culture, customs and cultural heritage as a student at Gilan University.

He was a member of the founding committee and responsible for Kochesfahan poetry and literature association from 2002 to 2007. He is also the founder and head of the "Kochesfahan" group from 2011 to the present day. Nazarkhah has officially started his press activity since 2005 with local newspapers in northern Iran, Gilan. During his student days, he printed and published the magazine “Bloom” in both Gilaki and persian languages as the license and responsible manager. He is now the head of Gil Kochesfahan Institute of Culture.

Nazarkhah published his first poetry book in 2018 in Gilaki language with Persian translation under the title “Wind Lullaby” by Gil and Dilam publishing houses.

In 2021, Nazarkhah was the organizer and secretary of the first edition of the National Short Story Festival (Alisaraei Award) in both free and special sections with the topic of Coronavirus (Covid 2019).

The head of the jury of the second international competition "Literary Asia" of Kazakhstan and Egypt in Iran in 2023

Winner of the "Lucius Aeneus Seneca" international contemporary literature prize from the Academy of Philosophical Arts and Sciences in Italy in 2023

Received the national award and certificate of honor from the "Tokyo Mengua Literary Ceremony" from the "Chinese Literature Magazine" in 2023

Honorary member of the International Academy of Ethics in India under the chairmanship of Dr. Jarnail Singh Anand in 2023

Receiving the diploma of honor and gold medal of Sultan Babyars in the international literary competition "Literary Asia 2023" in Kazakhstan by Bakhit Rostamov, the head of the second international competition of Literary Asia Kazakhstan

Member of BRICS Cultural Council (culture and tradition of BRICS countries) in 2024

The head of the jury (Persian and Gilaki language section) of the third international competition "Literary Asia 2024" Kazakhstan in Iran

Secretary of the Scientific Association of Iranian Studies of Gilan University ( 2024 )

Secretary of the Varna Iranian Studies Center, Jihad Daneshgahi, Guilan 2024

Member of the World Poetry Movement (WPM) 2025

Official membership in the International Chamber of Writers and Artists CIESART 2025

Head of the Jury (Iranian Languages Section) 5th International Competition "Literary Asia 2025" Kazakhstan in Iran

Member of the Jury (Arabic Languages of Arab Countries, headed by Ashraf Abu El Yazid - Egypt) 5th International Competition "Literary Asia 2025" Kazakhstan

Representative and Deputy Coordinator of the BRICS Writers’ Association in Iran _ 2025

Coordinator of the BRICS Literature Network in Iran - 2025

His poems and writings are printed and published in written and electronic publications in Iran and other countries in Gilaki, Persian, Albanian, Chinese, Korean, Italian, Spanish, Russian, Serbian,Arabic,Bengali, Armenian, Bosnian and English languages.

1

A Poet, Never Was I

Even so, she is one; the mother of mine

A poet, never was I

Even so, she shares a laugh or two with the clouds at night

Aches along with the fish in the sea and their blight

Lends a shoulder to cry on to the mountains upright

And cuddles the skies above so tight

She would kiss the wind with all its might

And caress my head, lest I fright

As she speaks the tongue of pomegranate blossoms in pain

That get squashed in my thoughts every night

Because a poet, never was I

Even so, she is one; the mother of mine

2

Sometimes I live in Beirut

Sometimes I live in Beirut

Sometimes beside your imagination...

Sometimes my poetry smells like gunpowder

Sometimes the taste of your kisses...

I think we are a thousand years apart

When in the middle of my poem

I comb your hair

Sometimes I make your laugh the color of wild raspberry

I fill my mouth with silver dew

with the accent of the sun

Sometimes I sigh for thousands of hidden sorrows

This is my greatest sorrow

my love!

3

Beautiful Gypsy Woman

Ah, you beautiful gypsy woman!

I decorated my poem with colored lights

to be the color of your eyes

I have attached all the lines of my poetry to my chest

To remember you in my heart forever

Ah, you beautiful gypsy woman!

When you shouted my name from the highest clock tower in the city

I was thinking about your dreams

Ah, you beautiful gypsy woman!

I love you like all the words of my poem

And I hold my poem in my arms and kiss her lips.

Ah, you beautiful gypsy woman!

Let the whole world know how much I love you

Sell me some of your laugh and half of your look

And this time I shout from the city clock tower:

This beautiful gypsy woman loves me.

4

Fishes

Fantastic autumn nights

Under the electvic posts of the city

In the thick fog of the evening

Celebrate.

Street pavements

They breathe the footsteps of passers-by

The longest night of the year

with red seeds of words

they decorate

But I share the my dream of watermelon dream among the poor people

to have a happy Yalda.

5

Poems Have  Blossomed

Poems have blossomed

in May

I became the translator of the wind smile

Friend of the calm waves of the sea...

Friend of the sunshine behind the mountain –

who still prostrates and does omen.

Poems has not flourished

in May

you writed

In the story of the wind's smile

on the pieces of the black cloud

the cherry of words

Have stolen from the lips of the sea's brides

and the imaginary kisses that tasted like death

you selled it to me secretly

The poems have put shrouded

in May

for May's bloodlust

This is the beginning of the uprising of poems.

6

The Clouds

The clouds, like mares sneeze antumnal

 Among the lightning...

Sometimes they come to my dreams

They interpret my white dream as black.

Sometimes they leave me among the red cawing of bearded crows

For that they will blaze everyone

To make me look sinister

Sometimes they wear devotee clothes

And they march on the floor of sky

To dont leave nothing of me.

To paint the smile of winter in the absurd fantasy of autumn in their own name.

7

I Have Deecorated the Poem 

I have decorated the poem with colored lamps

to match the color of your eyes

I have pinned all the stanzas

So that I never miss you.

The pavements of the city became the color of your steps

When archaeologists discovered your Tora's shoelaces in a sewer pipe

*

When my name was hanged from the highest clock tower in the city

I was thinking about your dreams.

*

The Life was a beautiful dream

Before I say hello to the world

He hugged my father.

8

Scarecrow of the Farm

I am the scarecrow of the farm!

I know there is nothing I can do.

I know that the crows

These ominous crows

Under the dim light of fireflies

with a wild onslaught

What they will do with the farm?

I know they will leave me nothing.

I know that tomorrow

during rooster crowing

the Farmer

He puts the rope around my neck.

And he will ignite a fire in among field

And shouts loudly and lauldiy

He shouts and say

This is my motto.

9

Home Country

home country

It is white paper

in which words are free

And they hug each other.

home country

It is somewhere near sunset

that the canaries are free to sing for the passersby in love

And the fishes are free to dance in front of the customer.

home country

I am

Away from the hustle and bustle of the world

I write love poems

10

Small Fishes 

Let the small fishes

so much in the commotional sea of my heart

Watch

The moments of my being with you

***

Let them rest a little

The waves of your Fiction

 In mind of The shore of my poetry.

***

Let it rise

from the black heart

 September sun

***

 let me grow old

With the great sadness of winter’s beliefs

In the mind of orange trees.

11

No Nights Understand My Pain

No nights understand my pain

Nine days underestand my restlessness...

The red color of children's cheeks

people said: It is the fault of winter!

I asked the wind passing by the schools:

Why every night do children

dream of rainbows?!

Why have the moan of the streets

become earrings

To the ears of my mother?!

When children

close their eyes

to their dreams...

Rain of black stones

collapse

From the corner of my mother's eyes.

12

The Clouds of the Mare

The clouds of the mare are drawing an autumnal sheehe

Among the lightning...

Sometimes they come to my dreams

They interpret my white dream as black.

Sometimes they leave me among the crows with beards

And they tell everyone that I am a bad person.

Sometimes they wear death clothes

And in the sky on the clouds they are marching

To leave nothing of me.

And paint the smile of winter in their own name in the absurd fantasy of autumn.

13

A Poet

A poet with high heels and pointed shoes

On the edge of life history

walks...

Maybe her poem is pregnant

Row after row of city streets

Under the light of Hafez's sonnets

In the ears of passers-by

long long

From the top of Lujank, the old houses of Rasht

from behind worn and rusty speakers

scream...

Then slowly write on the asphalt:

I am the poet of the king of the poems of the world.

Hamid Nazarkhah Alisaraei

Hamid Nazarkhah Alisaraei