Shurouk Hammoud “born in 1982 “, a Syrian poetess, literary translator who lives in Sweden. She has BA of arts graduate and a master degree graduate of text translation, Damascus University.
She has four published poetry collections in Arabic language and two published poetry collection in English titled: (the night papers), (Blind time), in addition; excerpts of her poetry that have been published in many poetry anthologies in France, Serbia, Netherlands and India,
A member of Swedish writers’ 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 and 2023.
Excellence in literature award, Sahitto award in Bangladesh, 2023.
Diwan Alarab prize for prose poetry, 2024.
A certificate of excellence and creativity from Abdul Razzaq Abdul Wahed Arabic Poetry Competition, 2024.
She has been appointed as ambassador of the word by the Spanish foundation Cesar Egido Serrano, 2016
Life cycle of war
War lives long, but it does not grow old
It develops New baby teeth, taking their shape from the stones of the houses it passes through
War has long, sharp nails as lust passing glance
And shiny black hair like snake skin
Its bones are restored with salt sprinkled from spring water on the cheeks of the earth
Its eyes sparkle with the reflection of the dead in her mirrors
It flaunts her virility in front of the delicate body of peace
War lives long like a myth about a god who masturbates
so that the mountains rest on the bed of the earth.
Like the Gilgamesh grass, the wind dances with it on the carpet of poets’ longing
Like a Trojan horse that gives birth to nothingness from the womb of the wilderness
War lives for a long time, just as the alphabet lives on the tongues of stones in the mouths of caves
Its breath digs a tunnel that leads to a light that illuminates her eyes as the paths disappear
It dances like a whirlwind on the ashes of a dream, then scatters us all as extinguished stars in the mirrors of existence.
