Soaring / by Nora M. Barghati


Your soul
is boundless
it is limitless
you hold the universe
within your core 
spread your long black wings
and soar
from mountain top
to valley deep
from desert land
to barren shore
set yourself free
be caged to circumstance
no more.

© 2018 Nora M. Barghati (All Rights Reserved)

Art “Andrew Wyeth ‘Soaring’ 1950”


The Answer / by Nora M. Barghati


A bee
Never asked for permission
To kiss a flower
Nor has a tree
Thought twice
About dancing
In a springtime shower
Why then
Should we
Question the reason to be?

“To be or not to be”
is not the question
rather ’tis the answer
I say.

© 2018 Nora M. Barghati (All Rights Reserved)


I am thrilled to announce; that a poem of mine will be featured in an anthology of poetry which is to be published in late 2018 by Inter-Link Press.

“Making Mirrors: Writing/Righting By Refugees” is a book by and about refugees. It seeks to connect artistic voices of those fleeing violence from Afghanistan, Syria, Palestine, Somalia, Iraq, and other war torn countries.

Can’t wait 

Newruz / by Nora M. Barghati


Tucked away
in the cool shade
of a blossoming almond tree
I watch
a bee
kissing a flower
with glistening petals
the remnants
of last night’s shower.

In the distance
boys fly kites
and run
while girls
in sparkling clothes
that catch the sun
play house with dolls
made out of sticks.

And in the jumbled mix
of music, laughter and food
lovers pretend to gather wood
away from the sights
of mothers
pretending not too see.

Sipping on cardamom tea
and cracking walnuts
with a rock
I anticipate
the returning flock
making their way home
from the field up ahead.

Guiding their wave
of ivory and gold
with a stick
Their Shepherd
with the terrain
of the mountain chain
stretched out behind him
beams a toothless smile my way
and nods his head.

A Bulbul lands
on a branch nearby
then sings
March let’s out a sigh
and as the rays
of harsh light fade
into night
the bird stretches its wings
and together with the day
they fly.

Way out yonder
with a leap and a chant
A fire is being stoked
“Out with the darkness
in with the light.”
© 2018 Nora M. Barghati All Rights Reserved
Image Official Site of General Board of Tourism of Kurdistan

Ten Year Anniversary / by Nora M. Barghati


I keep you tucked
safe and sound
in between
the folds
of words
that I write
I hide you there
secret and secure
like the old photograph
of her ex
my mother kept hidden
in her underwear drawer.

Yet I fear
that someday
your name will escape
the guard of my fingertips
like it escaped my lips
and spell its self out
in bold letters
across my art.

my art
I do call it that now
do you mind?

And yes
I breathed your name
last night in bed
did you hear it?
did it make its way
across the ether
and resound in your head?
when you kiss her?
do you think of me instead?

How long
has it been
since our last farewell
can you tell?
how’s life?
How’s work?
I heard you finally got a dog

I’m fine
He has been kind
to me
you know
I hope she treats you well.


Ten years have passed
and I still taste you
on my tongue.

© 2018 Nora M. Barghati (All Rights Reserved)
Art by Irina Klimenko


A Hymn for the Faithless / By Nora M. Barghati


From the summit
Of the town’s oldest
Your name was called
A hymn for the desolate and lost
A hymn for the broken and tossed
A hymn for the faithful
A hymn for the hopeful
A hymn for the one that did not fall
Your name was called
At the darkest hour of night
And all was bathed in light
All was bathed in light.


Like the dried branches
Of a dead tree
Spread through the walls of our home
A work of art
so disturbing and alive
They get bigger
Get wider
With every passing day
With every passing rocket
With every passing low-flying jet.


War doesn’t come knocking
On your door
Not really
It huffs
And it puffs
’til it brings your home down.


“I lost my father too”
She sobs
“Only seven months ago”
With a sigh she adds
“He was old
But we were not ready
To let him go”
And in the aftermath of her words
Palms cupping each other
Fighting the urge to make a fist
I sit still
And I will
a smile upon my face
One that shows I understand
But I’m sure
You know
I had no clue.


My lover tells me I have changed
That the old me
Is caged
Somewhere deep within
This darkness
That has consumed me
“You’ve become hard and cold”
He says
Yes; I think
But dare not say
Hard and cold
Like the bullet
That made a hole
In my father’s throat
Hard and cold
Like the floor
That broke my mothers fall
The day she was told
Her world has broke
Hard and cold
Like the sharp scalpel
They used
Fourteen days later
to tear my womb apart
And rip my child out
While still adjusting
to the darkness of the grave.


Eats one from the inside out
Swallows him head first
Kicking and screaming
Does no good
Begging and scheming
Does no good
And The soul
is usually
the last to go.

Sliding her glasses down her nose
She spoke in the voice
of one who’s seen it all
The voice of one who knows
“War child spares no one
War has no friends
It also
Has no foes’
Have you ever noticed
How the faces of those
who made it out of war
Are different to yours.

I pray to no God
for all Gods have forsaken me.


© 2017 Nora M. Barghati (All Rights Reserved)
Art by Andrea Kiss

Sit with Me (Gone Unanswered)/by Nora M. Barghati

What of the stars
And their eternal light
What of the heart
And its formidable plight
What of faith
And its binding hope
What of God
And his tightrope
What of love
And its trojan horse
What of war
And its one-way course
What of change
And its constant flow
What of time
And its way of letting go
What of pain
And Its fight to remain
What of rain
And its haunting reffrain
What of life
And its tight grip
What of death
And its sudden snip
What of dark and light
day and night
what of evil and good
what of creed
being the firewood
for greed
what of man
and the hemline
of a woman’s skirt
what of brotherhood
and your clan
killing mine
What of my bloodline
being better than yours
what of an eye for eye
and a tooth for a tooth
what of the truth
being a lie
what of you and I
what of you and I
What of a hush like
and a muffled
like dried leaves
crackling under foot.
What of a father’s eyes
as they fall
upon his daughter face
covered in lace
at her wedding day
what of the way
they spoke
of how his heart broke
giving her away
and how at the same time
it came back whole.
What of bleeding words
on cold bathroom floors
instead of blood
what of breathing
every scream
ever released
instead of air
what of living a dream
where he is mine
and I am his
what of poetry
always being there
when no one else is.
© 2017 Nora M. Barghati (All Rights Reserved)
Photo © 2017 Nora M. Barghati (All Rights Reserved)