History of Love | Ahmed Sawrka
Issue 1 | 1 Oct 2018

A Palm from the unseen
Two long seas and a sun
I came into the door of God
A cropped year
And a desert with two halves
The surplus is flowing
The sign gets up, and the absent comes
No one with me save trees and road
They are elongated over and above
Advanced space on the linking duration between me and the opposite crowd.
They are having children in the walls of war, in order to feel history of love that bring them stars, clouds, clear and new days.
At night, the night came, celestial book, old women, prophetic throne, and a market for selling life and spiritual devices.
There happened whatever happened
And remained what remained
Cart of names and mothers
Journey spanning West to North
I passed through the remainder
A shadow and a road
I would say nothing to the land
I will not be coming near of the blocked names
And the leaning on minor exorcism.
The girlfriend: fire of distances and loneliness
Cart of speaking with the people
Issues of herb and hope
Initially I did not hesitate to put pressure on a thing that starts from here
Not poised to carry several and cut days in this way
I'm standing in the middle of the earth
I pass the evening on my idea
I lead the exiles to mild coldness
Perhaps me
Or this sea does not exist
Or that year.
***
Eyes with this look, evenings come slowly, and night guests coincide the high sand. No noise.
Death is silent, visiting the opposite dreams on children of coldness, calmness and nothingness
To East: a spirit stretched out in a long song, space, valleys, habits of the darkness and men coming from the building on a longitudinal imagination.
But, in a near place of a dying tree is earth appeased and gave me what is sufficient to dream or contemplation of the wind. It is driving mothers and fathers toward the doors and fear.
Sorry, ancient sun
Sorry, O memories
Not land for me nor the name of the place
Witch with many facilities, working night and day to conjure up magic that would appease me
I love the moon and the sky fascinates me
Thus I feel happy when I'm playing with sand in my hand like the prophets, backpackers and poets.