Poems from Saudi Arabia by Raed Anis Al-Jishi

06 September 2019
Author :  

Raed Anis Al-Jishi born in Qatif, Saudi Arabia. He has an honorary fellowship in writing from Iowa university-USA . A member of advisory committee of exquisite Teacher training plan of national Changua University of Education-Taiwan . He has translated 5 books. And published one novel, nine volumes of poetry in Arabic( last one was translated into French) and one Bleeding Gull: Look, Feel, Fly, in English( this book was translated into Serbian,Vietnamese and Italian languages and win the best translated book in Italy in different occasions. A lot of his single poems were translated to many languages.



A selection of poems from Raed Anis Al-Jishi’s 

Genesis of Dignity: The Impact of the Arab Spring ] 

Translated by Amira Rammah 


The Arrival of Seagulls


I have seen gulls,

in holy visions,

hover and invent

the sound of horses.


I have seen them

give alms to rats

hungry for crumbs of bread,

crucified on the altar.


I have seen them

flap their wings and swallow

common rules of fish.

Reinvent the physics

of a silver talisman’s dance

on the sea’s curve.


I have seen rats

feast at the fall of dusk.

They claim to be the genesis of light.




A Dance of Bullets


If out of passion I strained my heart,

it doesn’t matter.

You crossed each alley

of my inner streets -

mirrored the dream

running through my veins,

and from my garden,


the love grown

from a pear tree.


If I offer you roses

distilled from my blood

and if, in your honor

I play the anthem of salvation

with my heart’s beats,

it doesn’t matter.



it doesn’t matter.

It doesn’t matter if

all you could offer me is

a dance of bullets.





No borders for bounty,

with a thousand parties and factions,

and woes crown kings of passion.


I’m all & nothing

for the great & worthy belong

only to the free word.


Leave me then.

I chose mirrors

as a mode of reflection

and will -

a compass for my path.



The Genesis of Clay


I wear clay masks

made out of sapless soil.

Call on the storm cloud

chained by the bleak cold

to join the thrill of the newborn wind

on a pearl

muffled with pride.





Baffled Gunpowder



Baffled, the gunpowder disparages you

With what pride did God mold your hands?


Each time, you called on Death

upon their divine revelations,

Death prostrated itself and prayed

like the heavens for your sake.




On Love & Death



I’ll surrender to Love

if that’s her wish

My hand reaches out

to stroke her shadow

resting by twilight's woes

As I doze, I open one eye

trace in my memory

the shape of her little smile.

I saw her eyelids frozen to a prayer.

I could love,

I could love and die her way.

Literary Editor

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