.. You ask......... Written by.. Fidaa Hanna. Syria تسأل........ بقلم.. فداء حنا. سوريا.

تسأل.....

تسأل ماذا أقصد... أقصد أبوابا باليأس تصنع دربا مقفل

 لا تسأل عن بوحٍ أخفيه وخلفه قلب معتل

دع نار براكيني نائمة والأحلام على شرفاتها هائمة على قيد الأمل

فكلامي سهامٌ في النحر صائبةٌ

وتسألني ماذا أقصد....

لا تسأل........

   دع حلمي يعاتب عتبات البيت المقفل 

والنبض في شرياني يسري كشلال يروي روابٍ تختال رغم الألم ولا تمل

فصمتي يحكي ويثرثر يجعل من بوحي أصم يشكي ويتغزل 

يا غيم السماء أمطر عليا عشقا

 لأتغنى بمناقبه وأبتهل

جفت تربة قلبي وتشقق شريان الحنين بعد التعب غادرني دون أن يفرح أو  يتهلل

لن أغضب.... لن أعتب...لن أكتب شعرا

لن اذهب......

فأنا غدوت صفراء كسنابل تغتاب الشمس كي تذبل

 أتقبلني بلا نبضٍ أو روحٍ تألفك وللأوهام تقبل

لن تقبل .....لن تعشقني....لن ترسمني بين أمواج الحلم والعقل

فيكون جفائي خطوطك الحمر

بقلمي فداء حنا

سوريا

You ask... You ask what I mean... I mean doors of despair that create a closed path. Do not ask about a revelation that I hide and behind it is a sick heart. Leave the fire of my volcanoes sleeping while the dreams on their balconies roam alive in hope. For my words are arrows in the slaughter, and you ask me what I mean.... No. You ask........ Let my dream blame the thresholds of the closed house and the pulse in my artery runs like a waterfall irrigating hills that struts despite the pain and does not tire. My silence speaks and chatters. It makes my deaf revelation complain and flirt. O cloud of the sky, rain love upon me so that I may sing of its qualities and pray. The soil of my heart has dried up and an artery has cracked. Nostalgia after fatigue left me without being happy or rejoicing. I will not get angry.... I will not blame... I will not write poetry. I will not go...... I have become yellow like ears of corn. The sun is angry so that it withers. Accept me without a pulse or a soul that familiarizes you, and for illusions. Accept. You will not accept. ...You will not love me....You will not draw me between the waves of dream and mind, so that I will be dry with your red lines. Written by Fidaa Hanna Syria 

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.. With the remembrance of the Chosen One, my heart finds rest.. Written by.. Ferjani Kahat.. بذكر المصطفى قلبي يستريح.. بقلم.. فرجاني ڜحات

بذكر المصطفي قلبي يستريح 

وحبك يا نبى بمضى لنفسي تصريح

اموت في شوارع الذاكرين شهيد 

بحب محمد افوز فوزا عظيما 

هو الذي ترجى شفاعته والعشق له دليل 

بين العزف والانشاد يقترب الخليل خليله 

يوم الحشر الحمد تحت عرش الرحمن مقصود

فذاك اليوم الحب للمحب جليل 

العيون لشوق رؤياك تسيل 

والصلاه عليك محمد تزيدنى نشريفا 

تعاليت بهديك فصرت بالعلى مذكرا

واسمك بالرحمن موصول وذكري لك مفروض 

تفردك بالشفاعه دليل مكتوب وبالكون اسمك مكتوب والأرض اسمك مذكور 

لا أقول اشهدا الا واسمك مقرون 

العيش دون هديك سجن بالنار صمت لا يحول 

يا سيدي اسمك بالعرش مكتوب 

محيت ذنوب أدام حين ذكرك للرحمن مستعينا 

كفي بالاله لك ذاكرا 

ان الله وملائكته يصلون علي النبى ياايها الذين آمنوا صلوا عليه وسلموا تسليمابذكر المصطفي قلبي يستريح 

وحبك يا نبى بمضى لنفسي تصريح

اموت في شوارع الذاكرين شهيد 

بحب محمد افوز فوزا عظيما 

هو الذي ترجى شفاعته والعشق له دليل 

بين العزف والانشاد يقترب الخليل خليله 

يوم الحشر الحمد تحت عرش الرحمن مقصود

فذاك اليوم الحب للمحب جليل 

العيون لشوق رؤياك تسيل 

والصلاه عليك محمد تزيدنى نشريفا 

تعاليت بهديك فصرت بالعلى مذكرا

واسمك بالرحمن موصول وذكري لك مفروض 

تفردك بالشفاعه دليل مكتوب وبالكون اسمك مكتوب والأرض اسمك مذكور 

لا أقول اشهدا الا واسمك مقرون 

العيش دون هديك سجن بالنار صمت لا يحول 

يا سيدي اسمك بالعرش مكتوب 

محيت ذنوب أدام حين ذكرك للرحمن مستعينا 

كفي بالاله لك ذاكرا 

ان الله وملائكته يصلون علي النبى ياايها الذين آمنوا صلوا عليه وسلموا تسليما

بقلم. فرجاني شحات

With the remembrance of the Chosen One, my heart rests, and your love, O Prophet, has passed to my soul as a statement. I die in the streets of those who remember. I am a martyr. With the love of Muhammad, I win a great victory. He is the one whose intercession is hoped for. Love is his guide. Between playing and chanting, the Hebron approaches his friend on the Day of Judgment. Praise is under the throne of the Most Merciful. It is intended. For on that day, love is for the lover. Eyes are glorified for the longing of seeing you and praying. Upon you, Muhammad, you make me honorable. You have come with your guidance, and I have become a reminder of the Most High, and your name is connected to the Most Merciful, and my remembrance of you is supposed to make you unique through intercession. Written evidence. By the universe, your name is written and the earth is your name mentioned. I do not say I bear witness except with your name linked. Living without your guidance is a prison with fire. Silence does not prevent, O my Lord, your name on the throne is written. Adam’s sins were erased when he mentioned you to the Most Merciful. We seek our help, God is enough for you, remembering that God and His angels pray upon the Prophet. O you who have believed, pray upon him and give salutations. With the remembrance of the Chosen One, my heart rests, and your love, O Prophet, has gone to my soul as a declaration. I die in the streets of those who remember. I am a martyr. With the love of Muhammad, I win a great victory. He is the one whose intercession is hoped for. Love is his guide. Between playing and chanting, the friend is approaching. On the Day of Judgment, praise under the Throne of the Most Gracious is intended. That day, love is for the lover, majestic is the eyes for the longing of seeing you flowing, and prayers be upon you, Muhammad, make me honorable. You have come with your guidance, and I have become a reminder of the Most High, and your name is connected to the Most Merciful, and my remembrance of you is supposed to single you out through intercession, written evidence, and the universe is your name written and the earth your name is mentioned. I do not say bear witness except with your name associated with living without. This is a prison with fire, silence that does not deviate, O my lord, your name on the throne is written. The sins of Adam were erased when he mentioned you to the Most Merciful, seeking help. God is sufficient for you, remembering that God and His angels send blessings upon the Prophet. O you who have believed, pray for him and grant him peace. 

.. Enough blame.. Written by.. Howaida Muhammad Al-Hassan Othman Al-Kamalabi.. كفي ملامة. بقلم. هويدا محمد الحسن عثمان الكاملابى.

كفى ملامة

فالنفس تتوق للهدوء والسلام

كفانا ضجيجا وكلاما

ما عاد تكفى الملامة

كان حبنا هدوء ورقة كلاما

ثم أصبح حربا

وطارت عنا حمامة السلام

ترى من فينا الملام؟!!

كنت أراك فى المنام

كان صوتك كهديل حمام

والآن أراك كابوسا لايهدأ ولاينام

أصبح صوتك ك نعيق غراب

يهوى الفراق والدمار

يهوى ان يهد مابيننا من عمار

كيف حدث مابيننا وسار؟!!

وحمام السلام كيف طار؟!!

وكأن مابيننا أصبح حربا وثارا

نهدأ حينا ونثور تارة

وكيف لانخجل من الحب وقد كسيناه عارا؟!!

وكيف بعدما حدث نلتمس لأنفسنا أعذارا؟!!

كان حبا وانتهى وأصبح عقوقا

ك عقوق ابن لأبيه كان من المفترض ان يصبح بارا

وأصبح باردا بعدما كانت اشواقنا حارة

وتناقلت الألسن شائعات فراقنا

من حارة ل حارة

ووشوشت كل جارة فى اذن جارة

ان حبنا هد كيانه وأصبح خائرا

وتبلبلت افكارنا واصبحت حائرة

واصبحنا حديث كل مارة

وهرب السلام من دارنا

وطار الحمام وماعاد زار

وتعبت من ملامتك مرارا

واصبحت بيننا عداوة جهارا

وماعادت قصتنا بها اخبار سارة

بل اصبحت وباء ومرض ضار

وشنت بيننا للحرب غارة

وشبت بيننا للفراق نار

وماعدت تجدى الملامة

بعدما اصابنا شك وظن وملل وغيرة وقلة فى الكرامة

بقلمى...

هويدا محمدالحسن عثمان الكاملابى

Enough of the blame, for the soul yearns for calm and peace. Enough of the noise and talk. Blame is no longer enough. Our love was calm and gentle in words, then it became war and the dove of peace flew from us. Do you see who among us is to blame?!! I used to see you in a dream, your voice was like the cooing of doves, and now I see you as a nightmare that does not calm down or sleep. Your voice has become like the croaking of a crow that loves separation and destruction, that wants to destroy the people between us. How did what happen between us happen?!! How did the doves of peace fly?!! It is as if what is between us has become a war and revolt. Sometimes we calm down and sometimes we revolt. How can we not be ashamed of love when we have covered it with shame?!! How, after this happened, do we make excuses for ourselves?!! It was love, and it ended and became disobedient, like disobedience, a son to his father. He was supposed to become righteous and became cold after our longings were hot, and rumors of our separation spread from one neighborhood to another, and every neighbor whispered in her neighbor’s ear, that our love destroyed his being and he became timid, and our thoughts were confused and confused, and we became the talk of every passerby and he fled. Peace has come from our home, and the pigeons have flown and no longer visit. I am tired of blaming you over and over again. There has become an open enmity between us, and our story has no longer brought good news. Rather, it has become an epidemic and a harmful disease. A war has been waged between us and a fire has broken out between us for separation. Blame no longer works after we have been afflicted by doubt, suspicion, boredom, jealousy, and a lack of dignity. With my pen... Huwayda. Muhammad Al-Hassan Othman Al-Kamelabi 

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.. The madness of love.. Written by the poet of love and sadness.. Shatouh Othman.. جنون الحب بقلم شاعر الحب والحزن.. شتوح عثمان..

**جنون الحب**

تَجَنَّيْتُ فِي الْحُبِّ حَتَّى الْجُنُونِ  

وَمَا أَنْتَهِي مِنْ هَوَاهُ الْمَكِينِ  

تَغَنَّيْتُ فِي الْلَيْلِ وَالْحُزْنِ يُبْكِي  

نُجُومَ السَّمَاءِ وَذَاكَ السُّكُونِ  

أَرَى كُلَّ دَرْبٍ يَؤَدِّي إِلَيْهِ  

وَكُلَّ الْكَوَاكِبِ فِي كَفِّهِ تَكُونِ  

أَرَى وَجْهَهُ فِي الْغُمُوضِ ضِيَاءً  

وَفِي كُلِّ مَا فِي الْوُجُودِ يَبِينِ  

فَهَذَا جُنُونِي بِحُبٍّ عَذَابٍ  

وَلَوْ كَانَ يَقْتُلُنِي فِي السُّكُونِ  

سَأَبْقَى أُحِبُّهُ بِكُلِّ جَنُونٍ  

فَهَذَا الْغَرَامُ هُوَ دَاءُ الْمَجُونِ  

تَغَلْغَلَ فِي قَلْبِي فَصَارَ نَبَضًا  

وَمَا مِنْ سَبِيلٍ لِنُورِ الْعُيُونِ  

إِذَا مَا نَأَى طَيْفُهُ فِي الْبُعَادِ  

أَرَانِي عَلَى الْجُرْحِ أَبْنِي الْحُصُونِ  

فَإِنْ مِتُّ فِي حُبِّهِ فِي سَبِيلٍ  

إِلَى الْقَلْبِ لَا مَرْجِعٌ مِنْ سُجُونِ  

فَدَعْنِي أَعِشْ فِي جُنُونِي سَعِيدًا  

فَمَا طَعْمُ حُبِّي بِغَيْرِ الْجُنُونِ  

بقلمي :الكاتب شتوح عثمان

**Madness of love** I have gone mad in love, and I have no end of its abject desire. I have sung in the night, and sadness makes the stars of the sky cry, and in that stillness I see every path I will go to him, and all the stars will be in his palm. I will see his face as a light in the darkness, and in everything in existence it will be revealed. This is my madness with tormenting love. And if he would kill me in the tranquility, I will love him with all years of time So what we have seen in dimensions, I showed me the honesty of the fortresses, so if I died in his love in a way to the heart, there is no one who is happy. My madness is happy, my love does not taste like anything other than madness. Written by: Writer Shatouh Othman 

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.. Friend of Poetry.. Written by the poet.. Salah Haider. Syria.. فرند الشعر.. بقلم الشاعر.. صلاح حيدر. سورية.

{{  فِرِندُ الشِّعر  }} ...بقلمي صلاح حيدر / سورية

☆ مَا أنَا عَنِ الجَهلِ وَلَا عَن أَهلِهِ رَاضِيا

                   فَلَولَا العِلمُ والأَدَبُ لَصِرتُ عَلى دَربِهِم مَاضِيا

☆ كَم سَعَى الجُهَّالُ لِإِغوَائِي خِلسَةً

                                     فَأبَيتُ أَن أَبقَى عَنِ العِلمِ سَاهِيا

☆ لَعَمرِي لَقَد رَأَيتُ الشِّعرَ تِريَاقاً شَافِيا               

                                           لِكُلِّ شَاكٍ مِنَ الطَّيشِ مُعَانِيا

☆ فَغَدا بَلسَماً لِكُلِّ قَرحٍ حِينَاً                            

                            وتَارَةً يروِي الظَّمآى كَعَذبِ مَاءٍ صَافِيا

☆ وَما كَانَ أَوَّلُ الفَضلِ إِلَّا لِرَبِّي

                                        فَلَهُ حَمدٌ وَلِفَيضِهِ بَقَيتُ رَاجِيا

☆ مَالِي أَكتُمُ شِعرِي عَنِ الوَرَى                         

                                   فَلِلَّهِ دَرُّكَ وَإِن قَلَّ مَن أَراهُ مُجَازِيا

☆ فَصِرتُ أَنسِجُ الحُرُوفَ مُسَطِّراً

                             عَلَى القِرطَاسِ مُصَوِّغاً أَسمَى المَعانِيا

☆ وَتَجذِبُني فِيهِ المَعانِي بِسِحرِها                          

                                     والأَدَبُ والحِكمَةُ وَنَظمُ القَوافِيا

☆ وَبِهِ عَزَمتُ نِزالَ كُلِّ ذِي جَهلٍ                      

                                      حَتَّىَ أَرَاهُ فِي كُلِّ مُعتَركٍ خَافِيا

☆ فَمَن قَصَدَ اليَراعَ وَبَحرَ العُلومِ

                                  نَأَى عَن مُستَنقَعِ الجَهلِ والسَّواقِيا

☆ وَمَن عَبَرَ البَيداءَ عَلَى سَرجِ سَابِحٍ                  

                                        مَا هَمَّهُ عَجاجٌ وَلَا رِياحٌ عَاتِيا

☆ العِلمُ نُورٌ والشَّعرُ فَصاحَةٌ

                                 وَفَيصَلٌ لِمَن اِبتَغى المَجدَ والأَعَالِيا

☆ والجَهلُ ظَلامٌ وَضَلالٌ وَهاويَة                      

                                  فَيَا أَسَفِي عَلَى مَن فِي قَاعِهِ بَاقِيا

☆ خَلِيلَيَّ عُذراً وَإِن بَالَغتُ فِي وَصفِي             

  /7/6/2021/                 فَالجَهلُ أَقتَلُ مِن سُمِّ الأَفَاعِيا

{{Frend of Poetry}} ...written by Salah Haider / Syria ☆ I am not satisfied with ignorance nor with its people. If it were not for knowledge and literature, I would have followed their path. ☆ How often the ignorant people sought to seduce me secretly, but I refuse I would like to stay away from knowledge, forgetful ☆ For all my life, I have seen poetry as a cure for everything Suffering from recklessness ☆ It became a balm for every sore at times and at times quenching the thirsty like fresh, clear water ☆ And the first credit was none other than to my Lord, to Him is praise, and for His abundance I remain I come ☆ I don't hide my poetry from behind, for God has mercy, even if there are few who see it metaphorically ☆ So I began to weave the letters, lining the parchment, creating a sublime form Meanings ☆ And meanings attract me with their magic, literature, wisdom, and rhymes ☆ And with it I am determined to fight every ignorant person until I see him hidden in every battle ☆ So who is aiming at me? He is a shepherd and the sea of ​​knowledge is far from the swamp of ignorance and the swamps. ☆ And whoever crosses the desert on a saddle, swimming, his concern is neither turbid nor strong winds. ☆ Knowledge is light. Poetry is eloquence and an opportunity for those who seek glory and heights. Ignorance is darkness, misguidance, and an abyss. My sorrow for those at its bottom will remain. My friend, pardon me even if I exaggerate in my description. /7 /6/2021/ Ignorance is more deadly than snake venom. 

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.. Bashwish.. written by the poet. D. Hamdi Tawfiq. بشويش بقلم الشاعر. د. حمدي توفيق

∆  بشويش  ∆

~~~~~~~~~

 ملناش

 غير بعض

علشان خاطري متزعلنيش

ومتقهرنيش

ومتكسرنيش

وإن جيت بعتاب بالراحة 

علي

 قلبي

وطبطب كدا بشويش

غير  حبي

 اليك فية 

بينا يا عمري ملح وعيش

فمتكسرنيش

وخليني

 في قلبك زي ماخليتك وبلاش

تهميش

أنا ذادي وذوادي حنانك

وأنا منة 

 بعيش

فمتقهرنيش

ملناش غير ..... بعض 

فابراحة

طبطب 

على قلبي كدا بشويش

أحزاننا 

هتمشي

 وهمومنا .... هترحل 

والهجر

يسيبنا

 يروح ميجيش فمتقهرنيش

وطبطب

على 

قلبي كدا ..... بشويش 

مخلوقة 

في الدنيا

 عشانك.... فمتكسرنيش 

وبيتعب

قلبي

أحزانك .. معرفش أعيش 

تتألم 

أتألم 

بردوا ونفسي ملاقيش

ومع

إنك

نفسي ونور ... عيني 

متصورليش

إنك 

ممكن  لحظة تنساني

عارفك

من صغرك

بِعت الكل .... علشاني

ونَفَسك

اللي بيحيك

من فرط حبي وحناني

فبلاها

كَر وفَر 

وطبطب على .. قلبي 

كدا

بشويش .!

∆∆∆

بقلمي 

الشاعر 

د. حمدي توفيق

∆ A little bit ∆ ~~~~~~~~~ I have nothing but each other for my sake, don’t make me upset, don’t oppress me, don’t break me, and if you come to reproach me with comfort in my heart and feel like this with a little bit other than my love for you, there is between us, my life, salt and live, so don’t break me and keep me in your heart as I left you and don’t marginalize me, I’m here and I’m here with your tenderness While I am living, so you oppress me, I have nothing but each other. So I am relieved. My heart is like this. Our sorrows will go away, and our worries.... will leave. And abandonment will leave us. He will not come. So you oppress me and make my heart feel like this.... I was created in this world for you.... so you can break me. And my heart is tired of your sorrows.. I don't know how to live in pain. I'm in pain. I'm cold and I can't find my soul. And even though you are my soul and light... my eyes can't imagine that you can forget me for a moment. I know you. Since you were young, you sold everything.... for me and your soul, which protects you from the abundance of my love and tenderness, so it has become abundant and plump to my.. heart. That's a bit of a hassle! ∆∆∆ With my pen, the poet Dr. Hamdi Tawfiq 

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.. Child of the Moment... by the poet... Muammar Al-Sufyani... طفلة اللحظة للشاعر. معمر السفياني

(طفلة اللحظة)

ولَما وُلِدت بها  اللحظه على قلبي.

تركتها ..

بين أحاسيسي..

ثم مضت 

ولم تعد تلك الأم

حتى الآن..

لترى طفلتها.

كم سَهِرتُ عليها 

بين صدري.

أدللها ..

ليالٍ

حتى الصباح.

وكم بللتني ..

شقاوة

على سطري.

أمتلئ بها الحب

كل يوم وأنا

أنشر لها حقيبة كلمات.

على حبل صوتي..

يا أمها متى تأتي 

لقد كبرت طفلتك بين يدي

وتود أن تخطو على مشاعري..

بقلم /معمر السفياني

(The child of the moment) And when she was born, that moment was on my heart. I left her...among my feelings...then she went away and that mother has not yet returned...to see her child. How long I kept her in my chest. Pamper her...nights until morning. How much you have made me feel miserable...on my line. I fill her with love every day as I share a bag of words for her. On my vocal cord.. Oh mother, when will she come? Your child has grown up in my hands and wants to step on my feelings.. Written by Muammar Al-Sufyani 

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