Anwer Ghani Biography

Isn't it nice to live in a time that fills you with love? So, I became more transparent and smiled. Don't you feel that many of those stars have come together? There is little left to shine love. Yes, I know, and I know it is a matter of love, and it told me about the deep gaze. So, extend your hand to shake hands with the depths and overcome the strange absence. Yes, I will and we will celebrate. Imagine if I were sitting on the hill and not talking to you, what would be the fate of love? Yes, the fate of love; It is a matter of love.
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The thorns are multiplying in our courtyard in a strange way. And my voice has become very faint like a child's doll kidnapped by wars. It is very easy to find here the bitter echo and the blind walk towards no return. It is also easy to stumble upon the stones of the path and the great ones and saints who do not leave you room to speak under the pretext that they are shepherds of nature and flowers in public gardens. I am not a shadow to admire their long fingers, and I am not a pale echo that knows nothing about the tales of the sun. This is my hand; do you see it? It is brown and very rough, and in it is a hidden legacy of endless smiles.
How excited I am to find a life that hears and sees in the midst of all this death and strange blindness. How eager I am to shake hands with a bright day that knows nothing about frost and this captivating darkness. Everyone here sings cold songs and wears clothes that big mouths do not accept to be colored with a free color. This is how I am endlessly shattered; I meet my picture in the streets in ragged clothes, I tell it my beautiful disappointment and count what they stole from my little
heart. I smile like a child drowning in candy and repeat like the rest of them words I don't understand. What happiness.
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A Winter Whisper I am; shining in a rare moment for a bird escaping from my grandmother's tales. I embrace the winds and the frozen longing in my lungs like a great lover and go out with the dawn intoxicated because I entered the depths of a wheat spike. I chase the nostalgia of butterflies because I was present with the dew at sunset. This is how I live this love; walking in a galaxy of joy that surrounds me with amazement because my knees are a forest of reeds to which the wind carried a legendary farmer who watered it with his innocent tears. When I wake up in the morning like a lie with sleepy eyelids, mirrors made of wheat embrace me with their hats and decorated clothes. We are farmers from the south, we smell the greenery and streams of water because we smelled winter before. We own the capitals of beauty because our fingers embrace the heart of the earth like the voices of the buckthorn tree in our old home. I alone know that voice because I heard the whispers of winter and touched its face warmly. His coldness slapped the forehead of love inside me like an old lover who came down in a velvet basket with the rain.
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Art by Anwer Ghani
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I asked every rose in our garden and every tree near our house to tell you frankly: Every year I love you more. Today, in this charming morning I spoke seriously with the sun, and we decided to tell you one fact: Every year I love you more. It is the last night of December and what I really remember are our moments where I love you more. Now, on this night, specifically in this intimate winter moment, I listen well to you and how Every year I love you more. When I sit next to you, I love you more, and when I talk to you, I love you more. In fact, every moment I love you more, and every year I love you more.
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Art by Anwer Ghani
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Oh SUN
I will smile this morning with all my strength, its silky threads remind me of your wonderful radiance, and its colorful birds remind me of your delicate tales that plant everything unforgettable inside me. Oh sun, isn't it strange that we meet in a boat of wishes and fleeing dreams? Where your golden hand weaves paths that know no calm. Back then, I was a free wild bird carrying in its heart every story that knew nothing about volcanoes. Isn't it strange that you have all this dew? Like a kiss that dyes my soul with the colors of the rainbow, so I take out in the midst of astonishment a delicate ear of wheat that overflows with happiness from your eyes, its beginning.
This is me, oh sun, a pile of undulating outpourings; I sail towards your glowing magic that knows no night or sleep. There; longing fills the very warm streams and embraces the very warm trees, so I vanish like a tale that knows no distances. Oh sun, come, come towards. Listen to my pulse, it is not as bright as it should be, but it is bright and does not know lies.
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