Muhammad Mahdi Al-Jawahiri his life and poetry

Oh memories, you muster teams, radiate imagination and fill the horizon / And prepare groups that equip me with pure sorrow, panic and anxiety / Shake the bolts on me so I can tighten them, and storm the door that has been rattled / Pour the night into its depths, from the loneliness that frightens the wicked / And let the wind, if it is small, in the house, frightening those in it / Leave the little ones from sorrow, frightened, wondering: Who knocked? / And let the adults see a chimney in it and find no one burning / And sleep from the terror of “visions” return dryness, or drown in its blood / To return from what you “disgust” with, generous, neither sleep nor sleeplessness / And the morning return it to its smile eastward and choked with tears / Then look from every corner, that forehead and his cheerful face / Until when the afternoon is noon, then curl up in his loins in compassion / Then Pour the blood that has been shed into it, then send forth a fragrant scent from its spread/ And tear into pieces, sucking out its tangles/ As if the back is closed in it… With its wounds, and the chest is pierced/ O memories, embody a body… Fresh youth, and perfume your nature/ Naked: No deceit, nor arrogance… Sacrificed: No oath, nor flattery/ You did not leave out of every stray… A cover, nor a complete arrangement/ O memories, all of them are burning… Treading on redemption, and inflaming the eyes/ Who will give me poetry that creates sorrow… For people who are unable to create it/ It is a picture of a desert from my sorrow… Calling the pen and terrifying the paper, So that those who ignored it may see… Asyan: How does he suffer the burning/ You came to me with spectres that circle me… With worries, accompanying and immersed/ Series whenever I found… in it a void, I emptied it out/ Gathering every glorious thought from the past and the past/ What was hidden like a star… You reveal it like a rising star.