Mohmmad Alaksar




Mohmmad Alaksar, a poet from Yemen, was born in 1970. He received his bachelor’s degree in education from Sanaa University in 1997. Then he pursued graduate studies in Ein Shams University in Cairo, where he received his PhD in Language Studies in 2011. He is currently an assistant professor in Linguistics in Amran university, Yemen. Hasan made his debut in 2009 with a poetry collection titled A Two-Lengths Distance. Two poetry collections, The Map of Inaccessible Directions and The Pains of Memory are under way. Many of his poems were published in both print and electronic publications in different countries of the Arab region. Hasan is a member of numerous literary associations including International League of Islamic Literature, Modern Literature Association in Cairo, Egyptian Poets Association, Heritage Club in UAE, The Knights of Dawn, and World Poetry Association.

Mohmmad Alaksar’s poems are translated from the original Arabic into English by poet and translator Nizar Sartawi.

Salty Poems

The singing nightingale wished to be embraced by the poem
He drank enchantment
He sipped the glow of meadows
His lungs were filled with air
He practiced roaming and intoning
And he went chanting on and on:
“Here I am
The king of green thrones
The first master to possess treasures “
But they toppled him down
And so he slept in the lap of silence
With eyes abandoned by the dream
The meadow turned into an old hag

The salty taste of all poems rips out throats
Poems all
in our stone age
Of their innocence are thus deprived
depressed, the wretched nightingale
disavowed his belonging.

My City

Scorched by the darkness of congestions
Like a rose
Like celibacy crucified
On the coasts of corruption
Like a gaze
In the eyes of an honorable knight
Whom time
Had crushed
So he withdrew
To be restrained by the yoke

The Farewell Symphony

He did not bathe himself
When he took the glance at her
He never thought
He needed to say goodbye
He went wandering
within his visions
Looking for himself
In the tumult of conflict
But he drew back
To a homeland
Trodden by the hoofs of diaspora
To pair of eyes
Playing the tunes of the last tears
In the season of loss
He searched for someone to purchase his misery
But he found no one save himself
So he bought from himself
And to it he sold



Comments are closed