Hassane Yarti (poem)
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HASSANE YARTI - MOROCCO / SPAIN
Is a Moroccan writer, poet, editor, translator and graphic designer based in Barcelona, Spain. He holds an honorary doctorate in linguistics and translation, serves as an honorary advisor to the Women’s Chair Association under the auspices of the United Nations, and is the global ambassador for the World Union of Arts and Literature (UN-IFAL), affiliated with the United Nations. renowned for his significant contributions to literature and culture. He holds memberships in esteemed organizations such as the Union of Arab Writers and Arab Elite Union for Poetry and Literature, reflecting his influential presence in the literary community.
The impact of Yarti's writing extends globally, with his works translated into multiple languages, including English, French, Italian, Spanish, German, Portuguese, Korean, Chinese, Albanian, Hindi, Bengali, Hebrew, Greek, Uzbek and Turkish.
THE SCENT OF CLOUDS
Where is the rain?
I can no longer endure,
The scent of white clouds drifts to my ribs,
I try to outpace the distance toward her,
But she recedes a thousand arms away,
And two shadows from the burning horizon.
They told me...
Wrap yourself in clouds and forget the rain.
The light rained down,
Washing away the pain that filled each morning,
Your departure comes...
In the hundredth minute without feeling,
It glances back,
Then retreats behind murmurs of longing.
She passed by,
Like a traveller through my smiles,
And discovered the secrets of fear within me,
I unveiled to her every veil of my soul,
And in that critical moment,
She changed the ending,
The laughter wept,
And from the eyes flowed blood.
How amazed she was... the knife in her hand,
She brushed the dream off the blade,
Her pulse whispered to silence mine,
She ignited the bare soul,
And recorded the incident,
Filling the words,
With ice, idols, and winds.
With quiet grace, she crafted a miracle,
She killed the heart, armoured with endless tales of love,
And remnants that do not pass by the hour,
Except to grant me some death...
Like the remnants of old memories.
O MY GRACE ONE
O my grace one,
You’ve swayed my heart
and blooms that shone.
The bird replaced its tune,
The winds transformed that very noon
To match the rhythm of your gentle stride,
All of nature joined the theme
The people, grasses, branches in gleam,
The delicate wings of butterflies,
The toy vendor, children with sparkling eyes.
Then you departed, that gentle muse.
I cannot tell, was it minutes I lose,
Or seconds fleeting, a moment to choose?
O my grace one, so sweet and fair,
When you passed, you left a festive air.
All who were present became a band,
Playing your melody, grandly planned.
I stood among them, with my task clear,
To capture your beauty, to hold it near.
I filmed you conducting your team in delight,
A scene of wonder, a magical sight.
Though minutes I filmed, your charm I recall,
My mind replays the scene for hours, enthralled.
MY DESIRE
Your moon glows bright, a radiant flame,
You are the essence, prose untouched by time's claim.
A river of passion smiles upon your face,
Love is yours, an overflowing grace.
To you belongs the strike that rends apart,
To you, the solace, the balm for the heart.
From you, I drink the purest streams,
Of nectar sweet, fulfilling my dreams.
I speak these words from a soul in bliss,
Crowned by shadows of fragile tenderness.
I have sipped the wine of your affection,
And found its sweetness a pure perfection.
Yet you, with kindness unrelenting,
Dispel all doubts with love unending.
Indeed!
Your mystery weaves hymns profound,
Unfading, though no blossoms are found.
By God, you've stolen the heart of one steeled,
A warrior tamed, his secrets revealed.
You are of me...
In vows we rise, united anew,
A bond exalted, eternal, and true.
