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.

Egyptian Poet