Latest News:
  • Welcome to ALT Magazine & Press: Hazawi Prize Announces 2023 Shortlist: (Sana'a, Yemen) - The shortlist for the 2023 Hazawi Prize for Yemeni Literature has been revealed, announcing the ten writers who have been selected as finalists for this prestigious award.
  • Now in its second yearly round, the Hazawi Prize recognizes exceptional contributions to fiction in Yemeni literature. Organized by the Hazawi Cultural Foundation, this annual prize aims to promote Yemeni literature and support creative writers.
  • This year's shortlist features both emerging and renowned Yemeni authors. The ten works advancing to the final round of judging are:
  • - Abdullah Faisal shortlisted for his novel, Spirits and Secrets.
  • - Aisha Saleh shortlisted for her novel, Under the Ashes
  • - Farouk Merish shortlisted for his novel, A Dignified Stranger
  • - Ahmed Ashraf shortlisted for his novel, A Painful Belt
  • - Ghassan Khalid shortlisted for his novel, A Sky that Rains Fear
  • - Hosam Adel shortlisted for his novel, The Lord of the Black Dog
  • - Asmaa Abdulrazak shortlisted for her novel, Shrapnels
  • - Abdullah Abdu Muhammad shortlisted for his novel, The Road to Sana'a
  • - Najah Bahkeim shortlisted for her novel, The Final Decision
  • - Samir AbdulFattah shortlisted for her novel, What We Cannot See
  • The winner will be revealed at an award ceremony in Sana'a later where they will receive $1,500 USD. Second and third prizes of $1,000 USD each will also be awarded. All shortlisted works are celebrated for chronicling Yemen's rich culture and wartime experiences. This prestigious prize continues highlighting the nation's thriving literary community.

Excess of Joy

a poem by

Eman Assaeedi


I thought the poem was an impenetrable wall that would not be held by the gloom of the loin.

And that war will not reproduce in a cradle of an arc of joy.

And that the grass is the extension of spring, whose door the hand of the wind will not knock.

From the beginning of the light until the end of the darkness I feel a ember that has not yet died.

To defy the seedlings of a dream,

The moss of boredom climbs the walls of visions,

And time has no wrist holding his amputated watch.

The lake on whose banks death bathes has neither a leg nor a calf.

Why does the moon tear up conversations of water?

holding my thoughts,

A wandering lead me to the balcony of the city.

To my right is a willow biting the flower,

The mountain to my left is feeling a pierced helmet.

from here ,

Space seems to be an isthmus woven from the spray of corpses.

Houses are busy trimming their worn-out windows,

And by day a child decided to lie down and put aside virtue.

Why doesn’t death blow the long trumpet?

And what will the angels inherit from the howl of the air?

I watch a poet in my city – the daughter of Paradise,

friend of the poem.

Standing beside Zorba washes away tears with a river dance.

And gunpowder makes shivers of the bathroom.

From the wreckage of songs he makes a nest.

The nest creates a bird.

The bird is the voice of God.

Why is a superstition that vaporizes the pants of the earth with the dust of appetite?

Help me language.

Take off from the childhood of the clouds and the bat of nothingness.

From the palm of God stretch out a collar for stray wishes.

Mix star nectar with a cup that stumbles on a night bump.

Why did the sky remain in the field but a damaged seed?

Why is the harvest of war history topped by a scarecrow?

Spaces did not master the compass.

The compass standing dividing the laughter of fate; We are thrown out of the circle as pores that are overflowing with joy.

What will the unseen draw on the face of the orphan, and the ashes waving the yard’s handkerchief?


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