Biography:
Raed Anis Al-JISHI (international awarded poet and a translator from Qateef – Saudi Arabia) has an honorary fellowship in writing from Iowa university-USA, he is a member of advisory committee of exquisite Teacher training plan of national Changua University of Education-Taiwan and an editor in (modern dialogs- Northern Macedonia ) some of his books were translated into several languages and win international awards.
The Arrival of Seagulls
I have seen gulls,
in holy visions,
hover and invent
the sound of horses.
I have seen them
give alms to rats
hungry for crumbs of bread,
crucified on the altar.
I have seen them
flap their wings and swallow
common rules of fish.
Reinvent the physics
of a silver talisman’s dance
on the sea’s curve.
I have seen rats
feast at the fall of dusk.
They claim to be the genesis of light.
Boundless
No borders for bounty,
with a thousand parties and factions,
and woes crown kings of passion.
I’m all & nothing
for the great & worthy belong
only to the free word.
Leave me then.
I chose mirrors
as a mode of reflection
and will –
a compass for my path.
The Genesis of Clay
I wear clay masks
made out of sapless soil.
Call on the storm cloud
chained by the bleak cold
to join the thrill of the newborn wind
on a pearl
muffled with pride.
Final Act
In the theatre of time I stand crucified on the cross of my tongue
watching birds as they fall on my song
And steal breadcrumbs and wine
that grow from my soulful melody.
What could meaning hide for me
if the bars of its rhythms are rooted in the rhyme’s soul?
I see nails pierce through my hands,
and yet my dreams hammer back.
I am a stranger carving out the meaning of home,
recollected from memories my footsteps have known.
This home that lends its marks on my skin
and prints thorns on branches of my veins.
A cooing carved, while clouds witness
the towering dance in my lungs.
Water escaped the land to pour upon me
and drench the cracks of my murmur.
Some words can’t grow without a body
unless slain in the temple of description.
What if I didn’t listen to my heart?
My cross is all I carry with me
This heart I bear on my back bent
serene with my songs into the woods.
My verse metrics sound the storm in my blood
against this world of dust that dulls the spirit.
I hear string echoes calling for the uprising
within the confines of my time and space.
I’m a free soul, and my soul tortures me,
likely to stitch my lips into silence.
Yet my word will take me among
the scented stream of flowers gilding my guillotine.
Only poems soothe my wanderlust
in one poised moment.
Two raptors surround me: my mind & my faith.
A whispering angel with broken wings
Walked seven times around my remains
ringing my hums in every round.
I will break the pink stone inside my chest
if she leaves me in a valley with no direction.
And I will cut the oxygen of love,
if she tries to break my illusions.
The Beholder’s Secret
In your eyes a lethal little secret
The universe itself would shrivel
As if they spoke of Life
scattered from a dancing lady’s hands
on the milky trail
shattered
by your songs as they ruled over borders
out of love’s excess
For your authentic smile
the tribe within me gathers (a choir)
between your lips and eyelids
the split of a blink
Swirling heads retreat
like coffee cups
of lovers on a sweet date
at the call of a wind
in Nineveh