GIỚI THIỆU TÁC GIẢ MỚI: Peshawa Kakayi, đến từ Iraq

Ninh thẩm định

Nhà thơ Peshawa Kakayi, sinh ngày 19 tháng 4 năm 1984 tại vùng Qaladze/Kurdistan của Iraq. Ông đã tốt nghiệp Khoa Khoa học Chính trị của Đại học Sulaimaniyah. Ông viết trong nhiều phụ lục văn học ở Kurdistan. Ông đã xuất bản trên 10 tập thơ bằng ngôn ngữ của người Kurd. Thơ của ông đã được sang nhiều thứ tiếng, trong đó có tiếng Anh. Sau đây là những tác phẩm của ông đã được xuất bản bằng tiếng Anh. Bạn đọc có thể tự dịch sang tiếng Anh hoặc vào các trang của trang Web này để đọc bằng các ngôn ngữ khác và gặt hái được những giá trị đặc sắc của thơ Peshawa Kakayi.


Nhà thơ Peshawa Kakayi.

INTRODUCTION NEW AUTHOR: Peshwa Kakayi, from Iraq

The poet Peshwa Kakayi, was born in 19/4/1984 in Qaladze/ Kurdistan region of Iraq. He has graduated from the Political Science Department of the University of Sulaimaniyah. He writes in many literary appendixes in Kurdistan. He owns over 10 books of poetry. He writes poems in Kurdish. His Poems has translated into several languages as English. This is the published products:

1. Residue of Breaths, Poetry Collection, 2008.

2. I am, I guard flowers, poems, 2011.

3- Garden- Your Love, Poetry, 2015.

4. From the house of aunt Khunche house, I went to Saeed's son-in-law. Open text. 2017

5. American letter with the flavor of poetry, Novel poem, 2018.

6. Africa and the earth with the flavor of poetry, poetry, prose, narration. 2018.

7. Cosmology, Poetry, 2019.

8. Rebuilding the light on the return of Zoroastrian Ahmed Mala. Investigation. 2020

9. Immortal path. Poem-Book. 2021

10. Poetic thought and language imagination, about poetry, 2021.

11. Ocean and Antarctica with the flavor of poetry, Open text-Novel poem, 2022

12. Through the Window, I Look at Nali’s Donkey), Poem-prose, 2022.

13. Shiraz letter for Fatana Khadmfars, Literature

14, Return of Africa, cover 1, 11 books, Novel poem

Here are some poems written by him that translated into English. Readers can translate themselves into English or access the pages of this website to read in other languages and reap the unique values from poems created by Poet Peshwa Kakayi:

1. You are not present, yet here and there we are two wet, soaked lovers

Peshawa kakayi

Translated by: Daliya Rauf


You are not here, yet; in pigeons cooing you sing your blues for me.

I am not there, yet; under the thin wings of bats

I sing melancholic melodies for you.

You are not here, yet; in the garden you harvest flowers

And whisper to the pigeons to carry them to me!

I am not there, yet; together with bat in a poem,

I have come to roost under your house eaves,

to listen to your laments.

You are not here, I am not there,

Yet; we are two grieving lovers,

Two inseparable wet wings,

That cannot fly without each other.


2. Garden and Gardeners

Peshawa kakayi

Translated by: Daliya Raouf


Unless the flower was awake at the break of day

The gardener didn't open the rendezvous doors for lovers.

The flower began to bloom, but soon it sneezed and did fade away.

The gardener was not able to secern petals from tears.

In the mornings the gardener cleans

The dust out of the flower petals face,

When they're dustless,

Delicately the flower manifests its grace.


While the gardener was laying

In the shade of a tree to doze,

The flower withered and

The garden put on a yellow cloth.


When the gardener is asleep,

The grass calls something to play flute in hiding.

When the gardener is awake,

He is stunned by the flower, to the grass it is chanting.


Oh please!

Flowers! Grass! Trees!


The gardener reads Zarathustra's quote "good words, good deeds, and good thoughts"

To the garden,

Thus, you realize how you will be born again,

After departing!


It seems like God

cleaned the dust on the flower petals minutely.

With few of his dewdrops

He formed clay delicately

With a breath, it became a living soul,

So the dust on the flower petals is the origin of mankind whole.


When the garden senses the melodies,

The grass dances and

For them, the gardener chants!


The garden has green blues,

At the end, its beard turns yellowy,

Besides, the flower is the garden's offspring,

At the end, it will be a wild offspring likely.


Infectious Human, Infected Earth

"Dedicated to the greediness and ignorance of man and the silence of earth."

Peshawa Kakayi

Translated by: Daliya Raouf


In Wuhan, they spat, it didn't become a cotton candy

Melting in a mouth;

It fixed itself to the ground,

They sent us on a vacation

Like a dead guest.

The mind became the mouse,

A cough, from the tunnel of the throat

Races to the blood, brings out the inner peace to the face

Can't you see, the winter snuffles,


And coughs

Behold! The floccus clouds come out from his chest.

Can’t you see the man has become gaunt?

And the spring has become deaf as well,

It doesn't care, if the greenery,

Or the green forest...

Rise to the sky,

Man likes collusion, he sends his brother to death just for producing and spreading drugs.

Can't you see the summer's dry and sore throat?

It sweats like a sinner in the church;

With a raging fever

It loses its temper and doesn't know how to think of itself.

Can't you see the autumn is swollen?

It makes a mask from a leaf,

To keep itself away from the human pandemic and the earth doesn't become infected.


Can't you see?

The earth puts on an oxygen mask

Mercury and others

Keep the distance, not to catch the human pandemic;

In front of the sun, they pray for

The earth, to get out of the situation and

Leave the hospital.


Is holding a seven mm bladder stone that can't pass on its own.

It suffers,

And doesn't know how to get out of the Milky Way.


In Asia, coughing! of earth

Tears up the chest of the sky,

It makes the clouds

Have sputum;

The shooting star streaks across the sky like a pandemic:

It pretends that

The sun has fever and

The moon is showing symptoms on the night of the full moon.

What I have to do with the U.S-China dialogue, damn it!

A cop comes out from nowhere

And asks me to wear a mask, why I don't wear one

My penalty is the amount of money;

I tell him, to remove his inner mask,

Show your true color.

This pandemic became a tradition

Can’t you see its roots grow deep into the ground,

We will die, without immortality

We ought to change things for the better

So you will appear more distinctly on the earth.


In Africa, everything is about to stop smiling and

Every big lip is about to wilt

It holds your legs and doesn't let you move.

It makes place lost and

Makes time go astray,

It has no idea how to make you squirm.

On the other side, God is racing on lips

Just like a word he wants to come out,

You make way for it in the language

So that your fear crouches inside the thoughts.

Prayer becomes a woodpecker

Contemplation loses patience

What a pandemic! It can hide a thousand words in the tongue,

The idea, has a surge then paralysis

The crow vomits.

The black, goes darker.

It is the era of worms' famine.

It doesn't even make time for decomposition;

Death is so crowded that it can't search for its solitude.


In Europe,

Fear lays in the hearts as if an aggressive rooster attacked it.

Whiteness, turns into blue and purple

An elder says Alas!

Just in four verses, the future is silenced.

An old woman, is the last memory of a sparrow

To narrate its tale on a kernel of wheat.

Just for once,

Make greedy man loses the sense of smell and taste.

Nature spontaneously changes itself,

So the greediness of humans comes to an end,

It brings the nits out of the long hair of rivers,

Gets rid of dandruff in the air,

And kills lice in the mustache of the husky man,

Agilely, the flea in the stockyard of capitalists jumps and throws itself:

So they lose consciousness and can't escape

While the fleas track their way.

Look at those plains, mountains, and hills...

At the Vienna heights

The sun, appears on the horizon

Like an old man with low vision eyes

Holding the shoulder of a mountain,

To climb crags.

A shepherd dreams about Nietzsche,

And says: wake up Nietzsche! Wake up!

It had been too long since human was a living machine.

When he wakes up,

He didn't care about dreams and the epidemic of this world

Surrounded by sheep,

He makes a mask from his flute and plays a melody.


In America

It's a day of the wind, it eats grass

It’s the day of the soul, it throws the wind

It’s massaging the stone, in the entity

It’s cultivating the entity, in the water

This pandemic is a soul catcher globe thistle;

How in our small home (earth),

It pierces darkness and lighting

It is dull, it consumes water and fire.


In the ocean,

You feel

The night is planting the seeds, stars begin to germinate.

The forest can brush its hair better,

The giraffe can see better and

It can be heard better.

The sun like a red balloon can see the earth with clarity.

The cold of earth opens its mouth and makes man talk

The earth gives birth to the water.


In Antarctica

We are the philosophers within books,

Who couldn't care less about the rise and fall of the tides?

We are the flowers of the same garden, not the same abscission.

We hear the wind howls, not the same place

Catches the foot of a passenger and

Leaves footprints;

Earth, is the last memory of a man

That can hold it tightly.


Excerpt from the book (Light and Darkness of Tugen and the Pocots).


3. I Want To Be Son of nature

Poem by: Peshawa Kakayi

Translated to English: Dlovan Ali

I want to be the son of nature

For deep wound, not going back to my doctor.

This doctor, putted in the outside of my worldview

I have to respect him.

So i should run away of him and searching for my soul.

I want rise up same a tree, but for shadow

Like root, put myself inside ground

For steaming smell of soil for around

Not working, fog in mountain with "Shimshal"* melody, not be a mixture of cloud.

What's a profit of wind? If he not boring dance inside my eyes,

Don't put Leaves drunkenness on the path of rivers.

But wind, is a traditional musical instrument

God, playing our words

And put it on a melody line.

Wind born on a burp of air

Instead smell, he was busy with buzzing

He ran behind the soil,

hanged himself with a claw: for the love of steam.

before our came, was busy pairing

he brought three girls into the world : snow, hail and rain.

rain, so softly umbrellaed:

stone liked to melt underneath it.

until the human came to the world:

learn from it and avoid cruelty.

when he saw the hail,

he's more far away from the soul.

But snow, with all this softness

he can’t calming down our stupidly

I want to be the son of nature.

When I was blind, put a drop of rain inside my eyes

When I was injured, wrap my wounds with a leaves.

When my hand is broken, grafting a stick of a tree from me.

so that my writing can be regreening.

When my hair is falling, plant a mint on my head.

so that instead of sweat, it will spread smell good.

When my hears deafness, take me to the sea,

Put two seashells for me, and at least it will move waves to me.

So that I will not be the son of nature,

When the basil goes back to the mint tribe

Mentha pulegium, who anyone doesn’t eat freshly,

When he get old, he’s height will rise as old man,

It will drying same old ‘Mentha pulegium "

Come on, let's be a nature, will spread peace!

18/06/2016 Qaladze, Kurdistan Region of Iraq

*Shimshal: It is a Kurdish cultural musical instrument. Type of a Flute