Freedom 

To my country

I sing everything that is in the heart 

From joy and from flame 

And I carry a bereaved tear

To my loved ones behind the anger sites 

And I bring another kiss

I caress her on two eyes

From afar and tired.

I write poems about you

I hug her at sea

Etched by tidal fire

Because poems, My Dear 

It is built of sorrows and freedom.

Love me mate was in distress 

And the memory illuminates time and space

It's hard for me to stay

Without exile ...

No homeland.

On The Fast Express Train

On the fast express train,

I look through the glass at the sidewalk and what is on it,

I see everything moving except me.

I see a woman from afar,

she stopped at the station not to wait for the train,

Rather, to say to whoever sees her through the window:

Bye bye, 

freedom for all, i'm waiting for Refugees.

And I ask:

How did i leave her alone on that sidewalk, 

silent and die? 

And the fire of longing is followed by Ulysses 

under flame showers. 

I am Ulysses...

Is my message still enough  

to triumph myths 

on the misguidance of the realist?

I Walk In Loud Silence

I walk in loud silence, 

through the corridors of the Surrealist Museum.

I see the beautiful drawings,

created by ancient civilizations and modern cultures.

Oil paintings, full of metaphors and images,

Its letters are made up of many colors,

her words are pregnant with wonderful meanings.

Silence fills the place,

but the chatter of some passers-by caused chaos.

The minutes passed, but time stands still and does not move.

I turned around, something burning besides,

but silence is the master of the place.

Between the answer and the question,

an elegant, charming woman contemplates,

she stands in solemn silence before the KamaSutra painting,

her features appear confused and anxiety,

tears flowed down her cheeks silently, as I stand before her beauty,

I wipe the pearls with my dry fingers,

to the sound of nothingness music…

Who am I to know the silence of nothingness?

There, at the heights of Mount Olympus,

at the palace of the great god Zeus,

myths remain silent before the beauty of nature

and what comes after supe-rnature.

MOAEN SHALABIA

MOAEN SHALABIA: Born on 14 October 1958 in Maghar town - In the sea of Galilee region. One of the Arab Palestinian national minorities in Israel. Finished his studies at Haifa University. Poet and prose writer, his writing career began in 1973, he published his poems in national local newspapers and Arabic papers abroad. He published six poetry books and three prose. His first-born was the first book of poetry in 1989. He participated in many local and international festivals around the world. He was awarded by the "Arab intellectual's forum" – Jerusalem Al-Quds). Besides, he has received many appreciations certificates a member of the union of Arab writers and the movement of world poets (Poetas del Mundo), and a Member of Mahmoud Darwish Foundation for Creativity. His literary production was discussed and criticized in universities and many sessions in the homeland and abroad. Some of his poems were translated into many languages, like French, Turkish, English, Romanian, Polish, Macedonian, Italian, Hebrew, Bosnian, Albanian, Croatian, Russian, Portuguese, Serbian, and Bahasa Malaysia language. His collection of poems was included in the national and international anthologies. He won the prize of pest poetry at the international poetry festival / Tetova – Macedonia / Albania. He recently won the big prize of the "Arab Writers Union" for poetry.