Hassan Al-Dhafiri (Prepared Angela Kosta)
Moderator 
Story by HASSAN AL-DHAFIRI (IRAQ)
Literary title: Short story writer and literary critic
Born in Basra: 1950
Bachelor of Arts in Arabic Language
Modern Literature, University of Basra
Honorary Doctorate in Arabic Language from the University of Havana
Member of the Union of Writers and Writers in Basra
Member of the Union and Writers of the General Curriculum, Baghdad
Member of the University and Arab Writers
Publications
Three collections of short stories and one critical book
RED ROSE
HASSAN AL-DHAFIRI
Her face appeared round and her eyes were burning with enthusiasm and her eyebrows took the color of her hair that stole the sun to steal it away from her lips A smile, reckless, you would think she was a painting by Picasso in all her expressions The calm, spontaneous, childish look The delicate feeling between them However, she loves the red color and it is distinctive to her until I do not know I entered from the door of the internal department and my eyes met her eyes So she smiled and tied her smile so that it would not escape from her With her right hand a different rose for me And she quickly climbed the stairs Leading to her room to catch up with her colleague
He entered my cell and I was about to continue in a small cup after I filtered it with water
She felt thirsty after a while and opened it and there was a semi-life in it
She said: What interests you about this?
I said: Admired!
She said: Who am I or her?
I said: Both together
She said: Can you explain that to me?
I said: What do you mean?
She said: I am a withered flower that has lost life since her fingers picked me
I said: But she gave you
She said: This did not last long, and as soon as you arrived, she threw me away. However, I admit that her fingers that picked me were merciful to your oppressor, who embraced me and hastened to put me in the place because we are a group of luxurious specializations, pampered completely, caressed by the breeze, and danced with the sun, and the smile almost never leaves us, even in the event of our death, others love us
We love beauty, calmness, and smiling, and we always send them to lovers
We have what we have of beautiful brushes and beautiful trinkets that complain to us about the condition of others, so we give them our nectar, honey, so that life can continue
But you did not answer a question!
I said: I was dazzled by your beauty, the outside was more beautiful, then I lost it, but despite that, you are a fresh young woman who gives life to others without compensation.
Her tired hearts thought of her spontaneous smile escaping from her lips to draw hope from fate.
So give me the chance to return the favor to her through, O virgin.
She gathered her club papers quietly.
Because her lips are filled with poetry and security, while she struggles with the throes of death.
She was overcome by overwhelming joy and drowsiness because she departed life in the right place.
And her fragrance and color remain, filling every corner of the cell.
Prepared Angela Kosta Executive Director of MIRIADE Magazine, Academic, journalist, writer, poet, essayist, literary critic, editor, translator, promoter
