On screens
Like a paper in a hungry fireplace
I see the world burning
I smell the smell of time and what waiting
...
The ones who do not love you,
Grow night in your skies' carpet
So, get it on as if it was a step you are waiting for
To flirt lilac
...
Shurouk Hammod " born in 1982 " , a Syrian poetess, literary translator, BA of arts graduate and a master degree graduate of text translation, Damascus University. She has three published poetry collections in Arabic language and one published poetry collection in English titled: (the night papers) , in addition to excerpts of her poetry that have been published in many poetry anthologies in France, Serbia, Netherlands and india, A member of Palestinian writers and journalists union. An honorary member at NAJI Naaman international library of honorary culture. Award winner of many local and international poetry awards: Charles Baudelaire first prize for poetry creativity,2018 Sylvia Plath medal for writing poetry 2017 Jack Kerouac poetry merit award 2016 Arthur Rimbaud merit diploma for writing poetry,2015 Nazik al Malieka literary prize for writing poetry 2012 Alexandria public library prize for writing poetry 2012 Naji Namman international literary prize for writing poetry 2014 I have been appointed as ambassador of the word by the Spanish foundation Cesar Egido Serrano,2016 She has been appointed as the ambassador of word by the Spanish cultural institution Cesar Egido Serrano in 2016 and appointed as the ambassador of Spanish language by the institution in 2017. Her poetry has been translated into French, Finnish, Mandarin, German, Mandarin, Italian and English.)
The World Is Burning
On screens
Like a paper in a hungry fireplace
I see the world burning
I smell the smell of time and what waiting
Of its consonant characters
Has filled.
I see the children whose features were aged
As Dolls nobody paid attention to.
On screens
I see the clergy pay their dignities to their guardians
For fear for beards which rusted of commandments saliva.
On screens
I smell the coldness's smell
Like a gunpowder which mastered all languages,
Until I become dumb
And my maternity sleeps on its tombstones.
On screens
I see the colored flags as coffins and barefoot dreams,
Their moons got paled,
So, the path stammered.
On screens
I see the world burning
Thus, I sprinkle my ashes
The stars Are The dawn's least worries
Love Is Pain pseudonym
Writing is wearing unused perfume Writing is solitude glasses It is god's voice In our songs Writing is an orphan tears On heavens shoulder