Poems of Dr. Anwer Ghani (Iraq)

Anwer Ghani is an Iraqi physician and poet, an award-winning author, and a Pushcart Prize nominee. Born in Babylon in 1973, he is a religious scholar, consultant physician, and author of over four hundred books. His works include *The Peasant's Hymn* (Inner Child Press, 2019), *Warm Moments* (Just Fiction, 2020), and *Short Letters* (Writers Press, 2026). Ghani's theories span several humanities fields: in medicine, he embraces participatory medicine; in religion, he employs quantitative and categorical jurisprudence; in literature, he focuses on expressive and lyrical narrative; and in philosophy, he utilizes quantitative philosophy.




Our Days

Our days are mirrors of our souls and their smiles are the chants of the love, The night kisses are just echoes of the morning roses. They will be white if the birds of our hearts are cloudless, and will be gray if our images are hard. They may show you the laugh or the tears and you should remember that their flowers can't open their eyes in a hazy sky. Our days are warmhearted; if their coldness burned your cheek in the morning, their breeze will be amazing in the night.



Our Boat

Here is our white boat, where our dreams chanting their songs and our happy moments blossom. Its warm woods appease my heart, and draw on my pulse a butterfly searching your face. When you feel my husk in your hands, and when you see my soul flying dreamily in front of your eyes, at that moment you should remember our boat.




The Enchanting World

It was late when we reached Mumbai, but the streets were crowded and the noisy had filled the space. It was December when we had left the ice covering the ground in Tehran, but in Mumbai it was like summer. No winter in Mumbai, so no need for heavy coats. In fact, you don’t need any extra things in the enchanting world, where the souls had been filled with flowers and the minds had been colored with songs. The screamed lights had made the buildings shining as a colored bride filled with henna. I can't forget that road which was disappearing in the time of high tide and that skyscraper which had stood in the heart of that shore. 



The Mother Love

When the roads open their eyes, all the blue fish will come to my sea. The road is a smile exits its pinky ear from that window which sleeps on my mother hands. Without any end and without any delay, I am disappearing with happiness in the mothers' voices. My heart, like a bird on an icy bough, will immerse in that moment which come from their chants. At her will, I am rivulet water, and at her gaze, I am a motionless leaf. My love is that wind which can cross all clouds, and that grass which hug all world goats, but the mother love is a different world and impossible in its oneness.



Be Brown

When I saw him, he smiled.  I didn't expect this clarity from that brown urchin. You know the brown things are deep and expressionless. He was an adept fishmonger and he had inherited his silver net from old grandfathers. He told me that he didn't like fish, but he likes to color them with silver and casts them into the other riverbank where the sun reaches the river at her sunset and catches the fish as a bear. He has warmhearted family. They were smooth like the lemon leaves. They were bewitching. Firstly, they mock at me, and then they say: be brown.


Rocky Girl

The world has a heart exactly as ours. He is pulsatile and the bags are the pumping devices. I respect the globalization, not because she was the indulged daughter of our wide world but because she is beautiful. Yes, she has thousand songs, but the farmers know nothing about them.

The globalization is slim and bright but her heart is rigid like a rock. When she visits our city, our damask rose disappears quickly and without any explanation. There are no wedding in the neighborhood, nor any sounds from the youngsters' guns to expect that the hidden well may be filled with the blood.  She should have a big heart inherited from her grandmother Uruk, and a soft glance colored her souls because her ancestry the Skyshipers. I cannot imagine how this pleasant family can give birth to this rocky girl. In her hand no place for man dream, no warmth and no chants only spikes uncover their legs. Yes, she is bending in amazing position but in fact there is nothing in her head but the heavy air.