I Wish I Were A Mermaid

I remember the sun glistening on the waves going down to the sea. 

I hope to see whales coming up for air.

I think of the sea horse way down the sea.,

Sea dragons gliding across the sea floor.

Even the sea plants dance with the sea.

Oh! If I could go down the sea like a little mermaid dancing around 

the coral with swaying sea weeds.

As a little mermaid I ask the seahorse for a small ride.

Oh! What beauty I could see down into the sea.

MY TASK

I row, row my skiff in your valley of waters

to script virgins into lovers.

I ordain the past to scribe cowards into heroes

and rumor the future to make sinners prophets and preachers.

Contorted within this beggardom of rules, I try to pattern stammerers into orators,

and I torture my way to Heaven while swording into Hell.

ONCE AND THEN AND NOW

I lived my youth from tower to tower.

Imagined marble turned out to be clay.

Once my arbor was fulfilled by flowers.

Then my garden filled up with weeds and toads.

Today is tomorrow’s yesterday.

Circumstances change without endeavor;

conditions, with ease. Flux is forever,

and now my life is roads

and roads and

Roads. 

A SENTRY IS NOT A PARTY

When enlisted by you

I was flagged to make war

on volumes of rebels

though naked as a syllable.

While I waited for you

to wideopen your door

and join in your revels

I squatted by your vestibule

until my body became blue.

Your promise a rumor,

“You’re next, Sir” a never,

I fasted at your festival.

CAMBRIDGE, GOODBYE AGAIN 

I’ll leave in quietude,

as quietly as I came;

I wave silent far farewell

to clouds in the western sky.

Riverside’s gold willows

are young brides at twilight;

their reflections shimmer

but remain fixed in my heart.

The weeds that grow in sludge

sway sway just beneath the ripple

of the gentle waves of Cam.

O, if I could be one weed!

The pool in the elmtree shade

holds not water but a rainbow;

refracted in duckweed

is the dream sediment’s spectrum.

A dream? Just poling upstream

to where the grass is thicker;

boat full-loaded with starlight

and singing aloud with me.

But I cannot sing loudly,

a recessional must be muted.

My summer bugs stay silemt.

Cambridge is too quiet tonight!

I’ll leave in stillness,

as quietly as I came;

flapping my sleeves like flags

won’t drive my clouds away.

–after Xu Zhimo

NEWMAN

I saw him last week

in his baseball cap and dungarees,

sitting on his Jeep.

He had just come back from Hungary.

It was quite a bit

since we’d talked, and I was eager

to know if his trips

in Europe made him any bigger.

“Well, I learned,” he said,

“that some women call poison a gift,

regard pain as bread.

In some places to make love is ‘theft,’

‘kneading dough’ in Dutch,

in Greece, ‘like riding a horse,’ in Spain

cogere (to catch),

scopare (to sweep) — that’s Milan — Germans ‘roll around,’

the Russians ‘have contempt for someone,’

the old up-and-down,

the French ‘jump.’ Ah! Linguistics — such fun!”

…

PEACE AND A PERSON’S ONLINE SAFETY

In a world where many of us use our voices

to share messages of hope, kindness, and peace,

it’s important to remember something just as meaningful: 

OUR PERSONAL SAFETY.

Speaking about peace is a beautiful and powerful act. 

It connects people across cultures, beliefs, and perspectives. 

But no message—no matter how positive—is more important 

than the well-being of the person sharing it.

If a situation online begins to feel unsafe, 

it is always okay to step back.

Choosing safety is not a failure to stand 

for peace—it is a way of protecting yourself.

We can continue to share kindness and understanding 

while also setting healthy boundaries. 

Both can exist together.

Take care of yourselves and one another—online and offline.

SILENT NOISES

Emmanuel Chimezie (Nigeria) in conversation with Abdel Latif Moubarak (Egypt)

Nigerian poet Emmanuel Chimezie, founder of Poets’ Workshop (Global), speaks with Egyptian poet Abdel Latif Moubarak about the emotional and lived reality of Cairo. The discussion moves through darkness, disappearance, inequality, silence, exhaustion, and identity. It shows how the city shapes both everyday survival and poetic expression.

What follows is a simple reflection of Cairo through poetry, presented in clear language.

1. In Cairo, power cuts are now part of daily life. How do you show this darkness in your poetry as something real people live through?

Abdel Latif Moubarak

In my poetry, darkness is not just the absence of light; it is a heavy “material” you can almost touch. I write about the sound of light switches flipped in vain, the scent of candles dragging us back to previous centuries, and phone screens becoming “lonely lanterns” in living rooms. Darkness here is the space where time stops and a forced, quiet intimacy begins.

2. When street vendors are suddenly removed from the streets, how do you write about people who disappear from public life?

Abdel Latif Moubarak

I write about them through the “void” they leave behind. A street vendor is not just a seller; they are a vital part of the street’s geography. When they disappear, I describe the cold pavement and the phantom cries of their trade that still echo in the memory of passersby. Writing about them is an attempt to reclaim their presence in the “public soul” through words.

3. Cairo has rich new buildings and very poor old areas. How do you describe these two very different cities living side by side?

Abdel Latif Moubarak

I describe Cairo as a “patched body,” where the polished glass of modern administrative towers brushes against the rust of ancient balconies. I use visual contrast: the shimmer of a gated community behind high walls versus the dust of alleys where laundry is hung to dry. It is a city living in “parallel timelines” simultaneously.

Abdel Latif Moubarak

4. As rent keeps going up, do you think silence is becoming a way people cope? How does that silence appear in your poetry?

Abdel Latif Moubarak

Silence here isn’t peace; it is a “forced muteness.” In my poetry, it appears as broken sentences or doors closed slowly to avoid notice. This silence is the “stifled scream” within walls we no longer have the luxury of belonging to—it is the language of fearing tomorrow.

5. Cairo traffic takes so much time every day. How do you write about the stress and tiredness of daily travel?

Abdel Latif Moubarak

I write about “wasted time” as if it were a life leaking through one’s fingers. I describe faces reflected in bus windows, tired eyes staring into nothingness, and the roar of engines becoming the “soundtrack” to nervous tension. Daily travel in Cairo is a fishing expedition for hope in a sea of metal.

6. In crowded homes where people can hear each other through thin walls, how do you think privacy exists anymore?

Abdel Latif Moubarak

Privacy in Cairo has become strictly “internal.” We live in a “collective soundscape” where a neighbor’s crying child is part of your dinner table. I write about privacy as a secret whispered in an ear, or a fantasy one escapes to when closing their eyes in a crowd. Walls are no longer barriers; they are “pores” that breathe the lives of others into our own.

7. Cairo streets are loud, but many people are struggling. How do you show both joy and hardship at the same time in your poetry?

Abdel Latif Moubarak

This is the “magic of Cairo.” I write about the loud laugh that erupts from a chest heavy with debt; the wedding held in a narrow alley where people dance atop their sorrows. Joy in my poems is an “act of resistance,” and hardship is the “canvas” that gives that joy its brilliance and meaning.

8. Many young people escape into the internet. How does this change the way you write and express real life?

Abdel Latif Moubarak

The internet has created an “alternative Cairo.” I write about the fragmentation of reality; a young man sits in a crumbling traditional café while his mind wanders through New York or Paris. This disconnect changes my language—it becomes more fragmented and rapid, mirroring the “scrolling” motion on a smartphone screen.

9. In Cairo, people often change how they live just to survive. Do you think identity is stable or always changing?

Abdel Latif Moubarak

Identity in Cairo is “fluid.” We shed our skins every morning to meet the demands of survival. I don’t believe in a fixed identity in a city as turbulent as a hurricane. We are a collection of “compromises” and “small victories” that ultimately form a unique Cairene face unlike any other.

10. If Cairo could talk like a person, what do you think it would say about its people today?

Abdel Latif Moubarak

If the stones of Cairo could speak, they would say: “I am weary from the weight of your broken dreams, yet I still breathe because of your stubbornness. You are harsh with me because you love me, and I am harsh with you because I no longer know how to protect you.”

Closing Remark

This conversation presents Cairo as a place full of contrasts—silent yet loud, broken yet alive. Through poetry, the city becomes both witness and voice, carrying the emotions of its people in every form of struggle and survival.

Meadows Peace 

In the meadow peace and sunlight glows

A quiet hush between what comes and grows, 

The soft grass sways in a calm release 

All the day feels wrapped in a peaceful peace, 

A gentle wind begins to stay

Whispering summers secrets through the sway,

Each petal glistens, calm and free

Moved by the cool breeze in harmony,

No hurried step, birds singing natures sound,

Stillness settling all around 

Where hearts can rest and thoughts cease,

Then life becomes a meadow’s peace.

The sea

Once upon a time..

The sea Once a sailor asked a dove, how is it to fly? and the dove answered, you ask me because you are every day at sea and with your strong boat you tear the waves in two. You have a brave crew and you are not afraid of storms.. Meanwhile I just fly, sometimes low, sometimes high, but I always meet clouds and planes, nothing exciting. You tell me about your adventures… So said the dove and the sailor, who was the captain of a boat, began to tell about the nights with the full moon and the mermaids crying on the reefs burnt with orange and red coral, to weep for their sisters or for the fortunes of travelers

and the stars twinkle merrily high up there in the firmament of heaven. Years ago there lived a dolphin in the waters of the Atlantic and sang and played with the other dolphins of his tribe, until one day he woke up and nothing was the same as before. Everything changed in his neighborhood, they were found to have plastic bottles and tons of tires in every coral cave, the algae got sick and the dolphins got stuck in the deepest caves. -But what’s going on? The sea became sick, the ocean became infected, the mullets answered him as they also passed by, looking for better and cleaner waters. – The sea got sick, but that doesn’t happen, the sea is a living organism

with the power of self-healing, it has iodine and phosphorus and salt, thought the dolphin… deciding to rise to the surface, to go and see up close what exactly happened. As soon as he climbed a little higher, he saw a terrifying sight, plastic bags and bottles were floating, and tires from cars and another pile of garbage. The dolphin started swimming back and forth restlessly and doing somersaults. It’s all true, he said over and over again. The sea became sick and filled with rashes and sores. I have to find a solution, but how can I? I’m small and ….. as he thinks he saw the careta careta  turtle carelessly swimming around, looking for food. I will ask about this careta careta  turtle..

she will be able to help me, since she often rises to the surface to give birth to her young, he thought and quickly made hasty movements with his tail, to reach her.. – What are you saying, did Thalassa get sick? the loggerhead turtle grimaced as he munched on a seaweed, Since when; Does he have a high fever? Let’s vacuum her, he replied and continued swimming towards a more fertile ground that also had plankton. – Suction cups, what is that again? These elders talk with incomprehensible words and never explain the inexplicable to us… all their philosophies and then… we , the new generations we are   lost  and we don’t know what we should do to find solutions!!!!

Lady Turtle Caretta – Caretta , I don’t want tips or suction cups, i need help….The Sea got sick and filled with rashes, and sores . We need to find a medical help, look around you, and  stop chewing.

..The loggerhead turtle stopped munching and looked around, facing a macabre sight, with plastic bags on every coral reef and plastic bottles lying on the bottom, and car tires blocking the entrance to  the main door of  homes of  the Smyrna , of the  

crabs and  the starfish and a  chaos was everywhere… .

Those aren’t viruses, the turtle said flatly and continued munching on her seaweed. – Isn’t it a virus? and how do you know that, wondered the dolphin – I just know it, and I also know who is responsible for this downfall… Probably the people are responsible!!! 

– People?

what is this, swamp fish? asked the dolphin in wonder – No, they are not swamp fish, 

people are people.

 They are different from us because they can stand and walk with their feet and move outside the water, they breathe and live by eating each other.. but also us , the fishes and other animals, but they don’t know how to hide their garbage, to recycle it, like we do , and  they just through their carbage into the sea. They did that.

I have a bad experience with them, I see how they treat me and my children when I go to the surface to give birth. They are monsters!!!- The dolphin was scared but said determinedly, monsters or dragons, I will go fight them and send them back their garbage. The dolphin  said  and swam angrily towards an unknown direction.

after months it was heard in the dolphin family that a small gray dolphin was caught in a fisherman’s net and died like a hero. They said it was found, swimming on the surface and very close to coasts and cities.

They said that every night he carried plastic bottles with his snout and left them on the beach, in the morning the people who went to the beach found mountains of plastic bottles and plastic bags waiting for them and they frowned and shouted and made faces and were very annoyed because they couldn’t bathe or sunbathe and they went to the beginning and asked the Municipality to clean up the waste, because some unconscious people threw it on the shore, and it prevents them from sitting comfortably or drinking their coffee, they couldn’t from the stench .

The municipality called the garbage trucks and collected 3 truckloads of plastic, and he didn’t know where to take it, since he himself knew that plastic doesn’t dissolve easily and takes thousands of years to decompose, but wherever he throws it or buries it , it will be harmful to the environment.. .However the whole story was, he ordered the trucks of waste to be taken to the dump and melted down. . Every night the dolphin continued to carry whatever plastic bag or other plastic he found thrown on the bottom and in the yard of the dolphin’ s house.

He also carried bottles and tin cans of soft drinks, he had also found friends, and the caretta-caretta turtle, and a couple of octopuses were coming to help him in this whole business. But no matter how much they emptied the bottom and how much they tried, the next day, they still found empty plastic bottles buried in the sand and mixed with their food. Yesterday, the Whale almost swallowed a soft drink cap and a small plastic spoon, they didn’t know where all this dirt was coming from, until one day, the loggerhead turtle, who was around the world, explained to them that this was garbage of the human and throw all   into all the seas.

All the fish have moved out of their caves and gone to other coral caves to stay. The loggerhead turtle said that the seas have no more plankton and much of the algae has been poisoned. – But we can’t live like this, in uncertainty and misery, said the dolphin angrily. We have to show them, that we are down here living with our families and the sea is getting sicker day by day. – And what should we do? Asked the turtle,

 they have destroyed everything  the forests and the air. They will never  stop …now they will destroy the sea.

– Should we act, should we send a message to these people? – But how; The turtle once said. There are many of them and they don’t speak the same language as us. They don’t understand us. – They understand us, insisted the dolphin. There are some of them, the little people who understand us. I feel it. We need to alert the little people to help us. To stop throwing their garbage into our sea. We will find a way. We have to if we want to stay alive and with clean seas. – How are you so sure? Caretta-caretta turtle replied. – Some time ago I traveled with my family to see distant relatives,

– our dolphin cousins, who live on a piece of land that is washed by the sea. There I had a strange encounter with a small man, I guess, I didn’t know what kind of animal it was, because I didn’t understand his speech and he didn’t come to the sea, only I was approaching the shore… – You’re still alive, you were lucky. People usually kill dolphins and all other fish, either for food or to make fertilizers for their skin. Monsters I tell you, I know them well, who am forced to wait long nights for them to leave, so that I can go lay my eggs and then I quickly run away and leave the unfortunates to their fate… They are all monsters, continued the Caretta turtle

– -I believe in this little man, he didn’t hurt me, nor did he try to imprison me. We played very often and he taught me many tricks too, I will try to find him and give him a message, the dolphin continued his thoughts optimistically.

.If I manage to get to shore again, there will be a way to send him a message. So I’ll tell you, people spend hours at the sea, on days when it’s always sunny. They sit lying down, and sometimes they turn to the right, sometimes to the left, on huge quilts, I often see them, said the turtle-caretta-caretta. It will be your only chance to send them a message, but only to the little people. I will tell you what you will do, you will find a glass bottle, it will surely be there near the coral reefs, you will bring it here and tell the seahorses and the cuttlefish to come to my house. –

. – But for what reason? He asked the surprised dolphin.-I have an idea, the turtle said meaningfully and continued to chew her seaweed. So it happened, when the sun’s rays were no longer visible, they all gathered in the coral cave of the caretta-caretta turtle. She opened her desk and took two feathers and a piece of paper, she told the cuttlefish to put as much force as she could and blow her ink over the feathers, she began to write and write on this paper and when she had finished folded and put them in the glass bottle that the dolphin holds for them. He turned to the seahorses and told them in a determined voice, now you know what to do.

The sea-horses galloped away with the bottle fastened between them, they swam for some time, until it was daylight when they reached a shore. With an acrobatic figure, they threw the glass bottle towards the shore and it went and got stuck, between some deckchairs, where a family was. A child who was carelessly playing with his buckets a little further, went to collect stones and shells and found the glass bottle. He took it and took it to his grandfather, look what I found, grandfather, a glass bottle with a message inside, it must be a treasure. Grandfather took the bottle, opened the cap and carefully took out the note and read aloud:

Here in this blue land that we inhabit, and you call the sea, we live before you are even born, before you even learn to walk, before you even know what you are?   We not disturb you ,you  not care. 

We demand

Stop throwing your trash here, 

stop throwing your plastic waste in our yard and poisoning our food. Stop right now!»

Signature 

The creatures of the sea

 Dolphins – whales – sharks

 Corals and algae 

Iraqi poet Kareem Abdullah

1- In the breath of destiny

I felt you in the wind that caresses the sea,

in every wave that bows to the sky to touch your name.

My veins are rivers seeking your shore,

and my breath—a white horse—runs toward your dreams.

Among the stars, I have built a bridge of silence,

to walk toward you with steps of desire.

Do not fear the distance, nor the wait:

I am already on the horizon where you call me.

And when time casts its cloak over the evening,

you will find me there—

in the heartbeat you recognize as yours,

in the embrace that knows no bounds.

2- A hesitant laugh, its charm bottled in a jar.

She bowed her heart, heavy with memories, burying its sharp pains.

She buried the makeup of her life behind a bridge destined for an untimely death, and said goodbye to what fate had shattered in the pockets of caprices. It continues, in its sky,

the leaves of salvation hover, adorned with the stumps of tears.

And among its flowers, a hesitant laugh hides, amazed by the crowd of wrinkles.

A cacophony of yellow spreads through the joints of its thresholds, its moans suffocating it.

Who tied the wings of its tentacled dawn?

She shakes off the legacy of isolation and the air that suffocates her every time a dream caresses her hair, a dream that has abandoned her waking conversation.

And that cold touch, timidly hastening,

repeats itself in its distant circles.

A crack in her heart widens. 

Like a faceless fetus,

shattering everything else,

a warm whisper lingers beneath his dream-soaked clothes,

trembling with mourning. 

Throats of lament spill over his winter bed, tracing his bewilderment. He curls up under the tattered blanket of a time that sweeps away his tender flowers. 

His strings murmur of piercing ghosts escaped from his window. Many promises, like arrows, struggle impossibly among the branches of memory. 

The strings of calls grow hoarse, and the unconsciousness of estrangement devours his pain-stricken day. Grief wallows in the shards of his mirror, practicing anguish, burying his smiling yesterday in a thick crypt that dismantles the rebirth of the future. 

He entrusts his secrets, prodigal of disappointment, to the pillows of absence. 

Without permission, he refines the hammer of displacement. 

Her sleepy waterwheels, from the windows of her days, escape the tranquility of her imprisoned curtains, her enchantments locked in a bottle of suffocating expectation in unknown ports. In her voice, the exhausting distances are shortened in the neigh of femininity, while the topography intertwines in a mirror that has smuggled the collapse of flowers, thus a torpor creeps in, floating,

covering the skin of hope.

Kareem Abdullah – Irak