A Weir

The fish is pure, and a real water lover, so it will promptly die without water. The fish, unlike me, knows nothing but the truth, and does anything to live with freedom. When the blindness puts weirs on the river’s chest, I heard a fish’s voice and I saw the blood. The weirs are a face of death, absence, and stealing, but when you look at my hands, you may know that I am a weir.

Anwer Ghani is an Iraqi poet and writer. He was born in 1973 in Al Hillah. His work has appeared in Adelaide, Peacock Journal, Otoliths, Algebra of Owls, and others. He has also featured in the Inner Child Press series, The Year of the Poet. Ghani is the founder of Expressive Narratives Group and the chief editor of Arcs, an expressive narratives magazine. He has written forty books of poetry, literature, and religious sciences in Arabic. His website: Anwer Ghani Writings

This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.