Muhammad Hesham Poems

Other passers-by
come,
from where we used to come,
and go into the night.
...

In my morning this morning
Who looks at me, in surprise,
From the mirror?
...

Nothing else is here but remains.
Nothing else.

Remains of a dialogue
...

A night is searching its night:
It is not this darkness
Nor the sombreness of the sea
It is not the slumber of plants
...

Not only hands
Words fail the poet too.
From the hidden depths of the soul
...

There is always a little flame
In the darkest of all nights.
...

Butterflies
Are not to be captured
In a net or in a poem.
...

(To: Gaisha Syzdykova, Kazakhstan)


Many are the ships
...

The cities of the north
...

Snips of dried petals,
Scraps of faded papers,
Echoes of scattered words,
And an endless waiting for miracles –
...